Art leaned against the low fence that surrounded the Black Bear Inn's frontage, picking the dirt out from under his nails.

His head was still throbbing from last night; he vaguely recalled a hooded woman coming to his rescue, then being dragged inside the inn to safety.

Footsteps crunching on the ground drew his attention upwards. It was one of the other three surviving men from the travelling cohort.

Art stared at him for a moment, realising he had no idea who this man was. They had spent days upon days together in that cramped, dirty wagon, chattering amongst themselves while Art simply wallowed in his self-pity.

"Alright, lad? You had a nasty one last night, didn't you? Heard it was a Cane Wolf that got Bronn, a big 'un at that. Marcus, by the way." He tapped himself on the chest.

He spoke with a lazy, guttural accent. It was obvious that he had come from the poorest regions outside of Grenforth, his father’s city.

"..."

"’Ello? Anyone in there? Wolf must’ve rung your bell real bad, aye?" The man let out a hearty laugh.

"Sorry?" Art looked at him blankly.

"The attack, last night."

"I don't really remember much; the whole thing was a blur. There was a woman though. I think she brought me inside."

"Aye, a real proper lady, that one. Had half the common room dancing to her tune when she brought you in, calling for this and that. Lads are saying she saved your arse."

Marcus gave a grave nod with that final comment, his tone suddenly serious.

"What happened after she saved me? Did she just leave?"

"You'll want to be thanking her, I suppose? You can do it yourself; she's headed over." He gestured behind Art to the door of the inn. Milton was standing by it, greeting the woman _very_ enthusiastically.

Art caught their conversation as they drew closer...

"...and of course, I thought it best to arrange a secondary carriage for you. We simply could not have you travelling with that group of filth." Milton made a wide gesture towards the transport he had arranged for her.

It was a simple, plain sort of affair; another carriage of dark wood and sturdy construction. However, it was clear that he had ordered some poor soul to spend their night elevating it to a suitable condition. At least, what could be considered suitable in a place as secluded and wild as this.

"It's wonderful, Captain. I dread to think how much this cost you. You bought it from the innkeeper, no doubt?" She smiled up at him.

Art kept listening as the woman smiled up at the captain. He seemed to be entranced by her eyes, his attention locked onto her in an almost _unnatural_ manner. He hung on to every word she said, his body language restless and... nervous?

‘No,’ he thought, ‘that can't be right, it's too out of character for him.’

He turned to his left, ready to make a comment about Milton's strange behaviour to Marcus, when he saw that the poor bastard had the exact same look on his face.

If anything, it was even more severe than the captain's.

‘What the fuck...’

Art took another glance around him at the few men who were gathered around waiting for the order to move out and continue their journey. It was the same for everyone. Every single man held the same entranced look on his face, his body language reminiscent of some drunkard or fool.

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‘What's the matter with these fools? Surely they're not _that_ starved for female attention...? Right?’

Suddenly, a feeling of cold dread washed over him. Something was wrong. He could not say exactly what, but it was clear to him that every man in the group was plagued with some kind of trance...

And it seemed to be coming from the woman.

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The carriage swayed and groaned as the cohort pressed on through the uneven forest tracks. Its musty interior was dark and dingy, cut off from sunlight at the request of the mysterious woman who had joined their travelling party that morning.

Inside the carriage, Art sat opposite the woman, his body rigid and tense. He was doing his best to appear entranced like all the other men in his group.

She leaned against the wooden backboard with one leg propped up on the seat. Her casual, laid-back stance was in stark contrast to his.

"Are you not going to thank me for last night?" She smirked at him.

"..."

"Well?"

Her tone immediately became impatient as her face twisted into irritation.

"... Thank you."

"That's much better," she said as the anger immediately vanished, replaced by a sweet smile.

A mischievous look flashed across her face for a moment before disappearing.

"I don't think I ever introduced myself, did I?"

"..."

"Answer me."

"No, no, you did not."

Art tried his best to appear dazed, not to show any signs of difference from the other men. A bead of sweat began forming on his brow.

"Well," she flashed another one of those fake, sweet smiles, "Call me Morrigan."

She looked him up and down for a little while, eyeing his features and taking them all in. For a moment, something deeper flashed across her face. It seemed weird to Art, as if it was completely foreign to her. As if she was feeling the one emotion she could not fake, though he could not tell what it was.

Suddenly, she lunged from her seat and pressed her face right up to his. Her hands were planted firmly either side of him on his seat, forcing him to stare straight at her.

"Strange... You really do look just like him," she said as she delicately traced the contours of his face with a sharp fingernail.

Art struggled against the urge to shove her off. He wanted to push her away and scream at her to leave him alone, but he could tell she would be furious. Every fibre of his being was brimming with discomfort and panic because of her.

The way that she moved, the way she spoke, and the way that her face flashed between emotions so rapidly...

It sent alarm bells ringing in his head too loud to ignore; it ran shivers down his spine that he felt in the very tips of his extremities.

Everything about her told him that he should run, that he should hide somewhere dark and hope she could never find him. Yet, for some foreign reason, a voice in the back of his head constantly whispered to obey her, to heed her and do whatever he must for her pleasure.

‘It has to be one of her skills, but what is it?’ he thought.

His mind raced through all the possibilities as he chided himself for not paying enough attention to the castle Meisters. If he could figure out the skill, maybe he could remember the method to counter it.

‘No, even if I could figure it out it would be useless; she must be at least two ranks above me.’

The sound of her soft voice began to lull his focus away.

Struggling, he pulled himself back to reality. She had pulled even closer now, close enough to feel her warm breath on his neck, causing goosebumps all over his body.

Art glanced sideways at her face; she was focused entirely on his neck now.

She slowly opened her mouth and ran her tongue across her top row of teeth. Her canines began to tear further out of her gums at a crawling pace.

He watched on as they grew, his face twisting in horror and panic at the long, razor-sharp fangs that had formed in her mouth.

Finally, the panic became too much.

His eyes wide in fear, Art jerked back in his seat and booted her in the chest with what little force he could muster, then scrambled towards the rear door of the carriage.

Morrigan crashed into the back wall, stunned momentarily. He should not have been able to even come close to overpowering her, yet she had let her guard down after convincing herself that he was harmless.

His fingers fumbled against the latch, frantically trying to unfasten it and put some distance between the two of them.

She jerked herself upright and lunged for him again.

Just as they were about to collide, Art finally managed to free the latch and rolled out onto the ground behind the carriage. He desperately scrambled to find his footing, his boots failing to catch any grip on the hard frosted ground.

He kept moving away; he no longer cared for whatever Milton could do to him, there was no threat he could have made to get him back into that carriage.

Bright sunlight pierced through the forest canopy and onto the hard ground below. Art could hear what sounded like pained screams as he finally managed to get up and run.

A few desperate strides later, he dared to look back, and the sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold.