“Do you have a bed?” Acker asked, finally breaking the silence.

“A bed? Ah, yes.” Rose blinked a few times, snapping out of her daze before guiding Acker to that room that held her bed and kitchen. He gently lifted Dahlia into his arms, carrying her over to the bed and laying her carefully on the straw mattress. He pulled a worn blanket off the floor, its rough edges fraying, and tucked it around her. Rose blinked again, surprised to find it there—how long had she had that exactly?

They left Dahlia to rest, returning to the entryway. Acker turned to Rose, his voice low and heavy. “I… I can’t let her see what happens next.”

Rose stared at him, a knot forming in her stomach. “What… happens next?” The room grew quiet, her question hanging in the air.

Acker gave her a weary smile, shaking his head slowly. “Tell her I went to get her mother, that I’ll be right back.” His gaze drifted to the doorway, where Dahlia lay sleeping peacefully on the bed, unaware of the tension beyond the walls.

“What are you talking about?” Rose’s voice was urgent. But Acker simply headed to the door. Walking away without another glance back. In a panic Rose reached for his sleeve, “Wait!” grabbing hold of him just as he started to turn. The sudden tug pulled his robe aside, revealing the fabric beneath—and what lay beneath that.

Rose gasped as the thin, bloodstained shirt shifted, exposing the horrors beneath it. Acker’s torso was clawed open with some horrid weapon or claws. It was held together by scraps of dark rags, soaked with blood, leaving him vry little for himself. The wounds were darkened with dried blood and raw at the edges while his belly was hung half opened.

The sight made the color drain from her. It seemed impossible that he was still standing, let alone speaking. Once again she was reminded about the story. Dahlia’s parents were killed early on. Leaving her alone with the evil aunt.

Acker groaned, looking miserably at her. He managed a weary smile. “Help me get back into that, would you?” he asked. A chill overtook Rose, numbing her entirely as she picked up the cloak that had tumbled to the ground, assisting him as he wrapped it back around his battered frame.

He turned, giving her one last smile. “Take care of her,” he murmured before turning to leave.

“Head north,” she called out as he reached her door. He stopped, not even glancing over his shoulder. “Once you see a statue of a man on a horse, turn left. Keep going until the guards stop you. Tell them… tell them you want to request Oranpréfieu. The church there… They do charity healings sometimes. It helps their image.” Her voice shook as she spoke, the words feeling hollow in her mouth.

A heavy sense of dread weighed down on her even as she made the suggestion. A charitable healing—a fleeting mercy that might never even come. It was rare in the novel coming out mainly to placate the people. But they hadn't the coin for anything that might… save him.

Acker nodded and with that, he was gone.

As the door closed, Rose fell to her knees, strength evaporating from her body like ice thrown into fire. The hopelessness of it all pressed down on her, leaving her feeling as cold and empty as the room he had just left.

----------------------------------------

By the time Rose collected herself, the residents of Pelteman were already beginning to clean up for the day. Realizing this, she quickly stood, panic prickling at her skin with the sudden, terrifying realization: Acker had appeared so suddenly, and then just as quickly, he had disappeared—leaving behind a child. A child. She couldn’t take care of a child; she barely had enough food for herself. Without a second thought, she sprinted down the street.

There was a tiny woman all residents on this road knew. The old bat in the neighborhood, outlived three husbands and had no children by any of them. She had taken in her third husband’s daughter, who abandoned her as soon as she got married. She never let anyone forget about that ungrateful…cow.

Now, the old woman had moved to this district, using what little coin she had left and bringing with her a skill few others possessed: cooking. She sold completed meals, she cooked all day, it was what she did with her life, all she did with her life. However, while they were cheap there was another price one had to pay.

She was one of the few who never packed up her stall at the end of the day; at nearly fifty, she was well past the age of caring about guards or their silly little fines, and the guards wouldn't fine the street's favorite, not when she could drop dead any day now.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Rose found her sitting in her chair, looking cross as usual. The old woman sat with her small, weathered arms crossed, leaning back in her seat. Her short, curly white hair had clearly been cut short by a knife simply because she couldn't be bothered anymore. Her face was lined with age and weariness, and her piercing green eyes narrowed as Rose approached.

"Closed," the old woman said flatly.

"Ah." Rose shifted on her feet, glancing back at her home. "Well, the thing is…" How was she going to explain this? Could she even tell the truth—would that work?

She was fine with cabbage soup herself, but Dahlia had just come from a long journey, after something traumatic. Right now, the girl was only resting peacefully because her father had promised they were safe, and she still believed she was in his arms. Soon she would wake up to find him gone, left with a woman she’d only met minutes before—and Rose would have to break the news no child should ever hear.

She swallowed dryly. The girl could use a good meal. She could lie… Lies had once come easily to her, as natural as breathing. She’d lied to her friends, to her family—even to herself. Especially to herself. But she didn’t want to lie anymore. She was finally free of them… She shook her head. "Uh… so…" she managed, her voice dry and strained.

The woman’s eyes narrowed further. "Closed," she repeated, her tone firmer.

Rose took a steadying breath. “My sister… she died.” The words slipped out easily, almost too easily, and the bluntness of them surprised her.

The woman hummed, her expression barely softening. "Still closed," she said, though Rose wondered if she imagined a slight softening in the old woman’s tone, just a hint of sympathy beneath the hard edges.

But then the woman waved her off. “Closed, piss off.”

At least she knew now she’d imagined the sympathy. Still, there was something oddly comforting in the fact that this old woman hadn’t changed one bit. Dismissive, crude, and blunt—but she never changed.

Something about that allowed her to breathe easier. "Her husband came by, brought their daughter, and then…" She shook her head, feeling the knot in her throat tighten. "He’s… he’s not coming back."

The old woman sighed, glancing down the road with a detached, almost bored expression. "Ditch the girl."

"What?" Rose was stunned by the woman’s words.

"They’re ungrateful wretches, all of ’em.” she answered smoothly, watching the rest of the street finish breaking down their makeshift stalls. “Better to let them fend for themselves." She nodded down the southern road. "Orphanage’ll take her. She’ll make a fine toy for some nobleman."

It took a few more blinks for Rose to fully process what was just said. She shook her head. “I… I just need a meal for today. She’s come from… god knows where, and she just… I just need a day.” Rose’s words tumbled out, her breath coming faster as she spoke.

The old woman sighed heavily. Jerking her head toward the wall beside her. “Sit.”

Rose looked around, hesitating. The wall was made of rough stone, interconnected from one building to the next, giving the street a cramped, almost fortress-like feeling. Yet in this narrow, oppressive space, next to the crankiest woman on the street, Rose found herself sinking down onto the hard ground, letting herself breathe. Here, she was able to pause and process everything that had just happened.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, only that when she finally stood, the old woman had a large plate of food held out to her. “Trash,” she muttered dismissively, thrusting it into Rose’s hands. “Bring back the plate after you throw it away.”

Rose felt her nose sting, fighting the burn of tears as she tried to keep her composure. She managed a small nod. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking the food.

“Thank me after you save yourself the trouble.” The old woman waved a dismissive hand, brushing her own words away. “That girl will not be worth your time.”

“I…” Rose bit her lip, then nodded. “Thank you.” With that, she turned and left, feeling the evening chill wrapping itself around her as she made her way back home.

She entered her house quietly and found that Dahlia was still asleep. The poor girl must have been through so much. Moving as softly as she could, Rose placed the plate of food on the small table. It was quite a generous portion—a modest pile of roasted root vegetables, some barley bread, and a small portion of stewed beans. She then realized she never paid her. The whole plate would cost more than she had but… she shook her head. She wouldn't demand payment afterwards right?

Her gaze drifted to Dahlia, curled up in her bed, wrapped snugly in the blanket. She looked so peaceful now. So untouched by the hardships that had brought her here, it was hard to imagine the grand destiny awaiting her. The fact that in all her misery, this was only the beginning for her.

Rose slipped out of the room, finding her usual spot on the bench in the other room and pulling the blanket around herself. She felt a pang of regret at losing her bed but knew there wasn’t much difference between that thin layer of straw and the solid wood beneath her. Still, it had been one hell of a day.

She lay awake, her mind spinning through thoughts of the future, the past, and the stark reality that she no longer had a job and was now expected to take care of a child. The woman’s words echoed in her mind—crude, but maybe with a grain of truth. The orphanage did take care of children, even if some nobles selected them for dubious reasons. Most were adopted harmlessly enough, and at least the children had warm food, beds, and blankets. The caretakers knew what they were doing, and most of the orphans had lost their parents. That was what an orphan was right?

But… Acker might return. There was still that slim hope he might find healing. This was a fantasy world after all, there was always hope… always.