I feel my own eyes widen in shock as Aislin continues to rattle off these bizarre examples. What manner of devilry is this primitive realm harboring beneath its squalid veneer?

"An' don't even get me started on the O'Neills!" Aislin crows with a merry laugh. "Why, that whole fam'ly's blessed - or cursed, dependin' on who ye ask - with the most shockin' array o' colors! The young wife Orlaith's hair be the brilliant blue of a cloudless sky, matched by eyes like purest sapphires. An' her husband Niall's hair is the deep, rich green of fertile fields in high summer!"

I can only gape at the mad woman, utterly at a loss for words. An entire village of what, exactly? Some manner of preternatural, inhuman species masquerading in mortal guise? Aislin prattles on, oblivious to my mounting horror.

"So ye see, lass - them bonny eyes o' yers ain't nothin' to be feared! Just the Lord's way o' blessin' us simple folk with a wee bit o' the fae's magic, that's all!"

Holy shitballs, this is like some next-level Willy Wonka fever dream right here! What kind of mutant freak show did I wake up in? We're definitely not dealing with regular Homo sapiens here, that's for damn sure.

I sneak a sidelong glance at my grimy paws, flexing the tiny digits as my mind races. What evolutionary branch did we freaky nature spirits take to wind up like this? Some offshoot of the Eloi mixed with the Oompa Loompas? Or maybe we're the end result of the X-Gene finally expressing itself after millennia of dormancy? Shit, I could be the next Professor X for all I know - minus the swanky wheelchair and debonair bald look, of course.

Yeah, no amount of thoughts and prayers are gonna unravel this freak genetics show, toots. I'm gonna need some high-tech lab equipment and a crack team of geneticists to even begin dissecting our genome - assuming we even have DNA in the traditional sense!

I resist the urge to start plucking strands of hair for analysis right then and there. As fascinating as it would be to study our physiology up close and personal, I've got a feeling these yokels wouldn't take too kindly to their "Lord's blessed miracle" getting vivisected in the name of science. Better play the obedient rube for now and bide my time.

But oh man, the possibilities! If I can somehow get my mitts on the right tools and resources, I could be the one to finally map the first extraterrestrial genome! I'd be more famous than Neil Armstrong, more lauded than Stephen Hawking - a pioneer blazing new frontiers of scientific enlightenment!

...Assuming, of course, I can find a way out of this medieval buttcrack of a village and back to the 21st century, that is. Otherwise, I'll just be the weird kid who stares at people's hair a little too intently while the other brats play in the mud puddles.

Fuck my life, seriously. This is some real Twilight Zone-level insanity right here.

The rickety wooden door creaks open, and Oisin stomps inside, his boots leaving muddy prints on the hard-packed floor. A freshly killed rabbit dangles from his meaty fist, its limp body swaying with each step. The stench of fresh blood and death wafts through the cramped hovel, making my nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Woman!" Oisin barks, his ruddy face twisted into a scowl as he glares at Aislin. "Gut this mangy beast and toss it in the pot. I'm famished after toiling in them fields all blasted day."

He thrusts the limp carcass towards Aislin, who scrambles to her feet and accepts the grisly offering with a murmured, "Aye, husband." As she carries it to the rickety table, I can't help but stare at the rabbit's glassy eyes, their dull sheen reminding me of my own haunted gaze in the washbasin's murky depths.

Oisin grunts as he lowers his bulk onto the bench, the rough-hewn planks creaking ominously under his weight. "Well?" he demands, fixing Aislin with a glower. "What're ye dawdlin' about for? Get that carcass dressed and in the pot afore it starts stinkin' up the whole damned place!"

Aislin flinches at his harsh tone, her shoulders hunching as she quickly sets to work skinning and gutting the rabbit with deft motions. The sharp tang of fresh offal soon fills the air, mingling with the reek of old sweat and piss that seems to permeate every surface.

As Aislin labors over the gory task, Oisin's piggish gaze swivels towards me, his lip curling in contempt. "An' why ain't the little runt helpin' ye?" he demands, gesturing crudely at my huddled form. "Or are ye both just a pair o' useless slugabeds content to laze about all day?"

I bristle at his insult, biting back the urge to hurl a blistering retort at the drunken lout. But Aislin quickly comes to my defense, her voice placating as she replies, "Nay, husband - Lile's been a good lass today, I swear it. She helped me tend the garden and gather the eggs, same as any grown woman could."

Oisin snorts derisively, shaking his head as he leans back on the bench. "Well I'll be..." he mutters, almost sounding impressed despite himself. "So ye two ain't just a pair o' lazy bums after all, eh?" A harsh bark of laughter rumbles from his broad chest at his own pathetic attempt at humor.

Aislin doesn't respond, keeping her head down as she finishes dressing the rabbit and dumps the gory remains into the simmering pottage. She wipes her hands on her tattered skirts, then turns to face Oisin with an oddly determined look.

"Husband..." she begins, almost hesitantly. "I've had an idea, ye see. One what could make our fortunes, if the good Lord's willin'."

Oisin arches a bushy brow, his expression one of mocking disbelief. "Is that so?" he sneers. "An' when did ye become such a scholar, woman, to be havin' grand ideas an' the like?" He lets out another contemptuous snort, shaking his head slowly.

But Aislin doesn't back down, her pale eyes meeting his unwavering gaze. "This idea could make ye a wealthy man, Oisin," she presses. "Richer than any freeman in the whole village, I'd wager."

That seems to give the drunken oaf pause. He leans forward, fixing Aislin with a look of grudging interest as he grunts, "Well? Out with it then, woman. Let's hear this grand scheme o' yers."

Aislin takes a deep breath, her chapped lips parting to reveal a sliver of yellowed teeth. "That Norseman, Colm...I hear tell he's still unwed, after losin' his dear Bridgett some months past. An' from the whispers 'round the village, she bore a strikin' resemblance to our Lile here - same bright hair and eyes, same delicate features..."

A sly look crosses her sallow face as she continues, "So I thought, mebbe if Colm was to lay eyes on the lass, he might be...amenable to payin' a bridal price, ye see? To take Lile as his new wife once she's had her first bleedin' an' all?"

The words are barely out of her mouth before Oisin throws back his head, letting out a raucous guffaw that seems to shake the very rafters. I flinch at the mocking sound, my face flushing with humiliation as he howls with laughter.

"A bridal price?" he chortles once he's caught his breath, wiping away tears of mirth. "Fer that scrawny runt? Why, the only man like to cast an eye on the girl is that poxy blacksmith from the next village - an' even that daft bugger's naught but a filthy child-fancier!"

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Another peal of laughter bursts from his lips, his meaty jowls quivering with each wheezing guffaw. "Where d'ye get such fanciful notions, woman?" he demands, fixing Aislin with a look of utter derision. "That great brute of a Norseman wouldn't give two shits about our ill-bred get, no matter who the lass might resemble! He'd sooner piss on her than pay a proper bride price!"

Aislin's shoulders slump in dejection, her head bowing as she mumbles something about Bridgett's fair hair and eyes. But Oisin is having none of it, slapping his knee as another bark of laughter escapes him.

"Well, keep the japes comin', wench!" he crows, shaking his head in mock delight. "Yer fanciful tales are like to split me sides, they are! Mebbe I should take ye on as me own personal fool, seein' as ye spin such amusin' lies!"

I can't help but bristle at his callous words, my small hands clenching into impotent fists as I glare daggers at the back of his lolling head. How dare he mock Aislin's efforts to better our lot, however naive her schemes might be? The injustice of it burns like dragonfire in my breast.

But before I can unleash my razor-edged tongue, Aislin speaks up once more, her voice tinged with desperation. "Husband, I only thought...well, what've ye to lose, askin' Colm to look upon the lass? If he takes a shine to her yeller hair an' such, ye could be a wealthy man come her next bleedin' day!"

Oisin's laughter dies in an instant, his ruddy face contorting into a look of utter contempt. "Ye seek to tell me what to do, woman?" he growls, leaning forward to glower at Aislin's cowering form. "Is that yer game, then? Tryin' to put fanciful notions in me head?"

"N-Nay, husband!" Aislin stammers, actually dropping to her knees before the brute. "I spoke out o' turn, 'tis true - but I'd never presume to order ye 'bout, I swear it! I was merely...merely suggestin', is all."

Oisin snorts derisively at that, shaking his head as he leans back once more. "Suggestin', eh?" he mutters, his lip curling. "We'll see 'bout that..."

Suddenly emboldened by Aislin's words, I scramble to my feet and scurry over to stand before Oisin, widening my eyes in an expression of childish innocence.

"I wanna be a nobleman's wife!" I pipe up, unable to resist a bit of playful cheek. "Then I can do all the cookin' an' cleanin' fer him, an' have pretty dresses an' jewels like a real lady!"

Oisin blinks down at me for a moment, his brow furrowing in confusion. Then his face splits into a mocking grin, and he lets out a contemptuous chuckle.

"Ye'd do best to shut yer trap, ye daft brat," he sneers, shaking his head slowly. "Lest I take a switch to that impudent tongue o' yers!"

Stung by his rebuke, I can't help but pout my lips in an exaggerated sulk, stomping over to the corner in a show of childish petulance. "I hate ye, Oisin!" I wail, widening my eyes to brim with fat crocodile tears. "Ye never let me do nothin' fun!"

The drunken oaf merely chuckles at my theatrics, shaking his head in sardonic amusement. "There's the Ban blood flowin' true in that one, I'll grant ye that much," he mutters to Aislin.

But the wretched woman is undeterred, actually dropping to her knees before Oisin as she pleads, "Please, husband - I beg ye, at least try what I suggested with Colm! See if ye can't get as much from the man as possible, fer the lass's sake if naught else!"

Oisin grunts, fixing her with a look of grudging consideration. "An' just how much did ye have in mind, then?" he demands gruffly. "If yer scheme's so clever, that is?"

Aislin hesitates for a moment, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Then, almost reluctantly, she replies, "Well...mebbe three silvers, if Colm's feelin' generous? Enough to see us through the winter, at least."

Oisin's eyes widen almost comically at Aislin's words, and for a moment I think he might actually strike her. But instead, he lets out a derisive snort, shaking his head slowly.

"Three silvers?" he echoes, his tone dripping with contempt. "Fer that scrawny runt? Why, ye must be utterly cracked in the head, woman!"

Aislin flinches as if struck, shrinking back with a look of abject terror. But to my surprise, Oisin doesn't follow through with any blows. Instead, he heaves a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his bulbous nose.

"But...I suppose it's worth a go, if only to shut yer incessant yammerin'," he mutters at last. "I'll have a word with this Colm on the morrow, see if the daft bastard's as blind as ye seem to think."

Unable to contain my childish glee, I let out a squeal of delight and scamper over to throw my scrawny arms around Oisin's meaty calf.

"Oh, I like ye now, papa!" I trill, beaming up at him with my best impression of adoration. "Ye're the bestest ever fer gonna talk to Colm 'bout makin' me his wife!"

Oisin blinks down at me, his brow furrowing in confusion for a moment. Then his face splits into a mocking grin, and he lets out a contemptuous chuckle.

"We'll see how keen ye are on that notion once the Norseman's had his fill, ye daft brat," he sneers, shaking his head slowly. "Now get off me afore I decide to take that switch to yer backside after all!"

Giggling, I quickly scamper away and resume my place in the corner, widening my eyes innocently. Despite his harsh words, I can't help but feel a small spark of triumph. For once, the drunken oaf is actually listening to reason - even if his motivations are as selfish and mercenary as ever.

Good, if this Colm is even one bit a decent human... human? Whatever, human being, then he would be a good match, better than being wed to a pedophile, rather take my chances with the pillagers.

"Thank ye kindly, husband," Aislin murmurs, rising from her knees. She shuffles over to the hearth, ladling out a portion of the thick pottage into a wooden trencher. The aroma of boiled rabbit and root vegetables wafts through the cramped hovel, making my mouth water despite the humble fare.

Aislin carries the steaming bowl over to Oisin, setting it before him on the rickety table with a deferential nod. The drunken oaf grunts in acknowledgment, already shoveling the gruel into his gaping maw like a starving mongrel. I watch in morbid fascination as flecks of spittle and grease fly from his cracked lips, splattering the tabletop with each animalistic slurp.

In what seems like mere moments, Oisin upends the empty trencher with a resounding belch that makes me wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Woman! More!" he barks, slamming the bowl back onto the table hard enough to make it jump.

Aislin scrambles to obey, refilling the trencher from the pot hanging over the hearth's smoldering coals. By the time she's deposited the fresh serving before Oisin, he's already licking his filthy chops in anticipation like a feral cur.

I can only gape as the brute sets upon the second helping with the same bestial fervor, grunts of exertion rumbling from his broad chest. How can one man consume so much at a single sitting? This level of gluttony is simply obscene!

At last, Oisin shoves the empty trencher away with a grunt of satisfaction, using the back of his meaty hand to wipe away the grease and spittle dribbling down his whiskery chin. "That'll do fer now, wench," he growls, already heaving himself up from the bench. "But I'll be wantin' a jug o' yer finest ale come first light, ye hear? Can't be expected to toil in them fields on an empty belly!"

"Aye, husband," Aislin replies in a subdued tone, ducking her head in a show of obedience. "I'll have it ready afore ye wake, I swear it."

Oisin grunts again, already turning to stomp towards the sleeping alcove. I watch his meaty rump sway with each lumbering step, my lip curling in revulsion. What a repulsive, gluttonous pig of a man!

Once he's disappeared into the cramped chamber, Aislin lets out a soft sigh and turns back to the hearth. She ladles out two more modest portions of the pottage into a pair of wooden trenchers, then beckons me over with a weary smile.

"Come along now, poppet," she calls in that saccharine tone mothers use. "Let's get some food in that belly o' yers afore it's time fer bed."

Obediently, I scamper over and clamber up onto the bench, my bare feet scuffing against the hard-packed dirt floor. Aislin sets one of the trenchers before me with a nod, and I immediately set upon the humble fare with gusto.

Despite the simple ingredients, the pottage is surprisingly tasty - the boiled rabbit lending a rich, gamey flavor to the hearty root vegetables and grains. I slurp it down greedily, savoring each mouthful as it slides over my tongue. Compared to the bland, watery gruel we usually subsist on, this is practically a feast!

By the time I've drained the last dregs from the trencher, my belly is pleasantly full and warm. I pat the slight swell with a contented sigh, grinning up at Aislin in childish delight.

"That was real good, mama!" I chirp, unable to resist a bit of playful flattery. "Ye cooked it up right nice, ye did!"

Aislin chuckles indulgently, already rising to clear away the empty trenchers. "Well now, I'm glad ye enjoyed it so, poppet," she replies. "But we'd best see to our evenin' needs afore retirin' fer the night."

I bob my head obediently, sliding down from the bench to trail after Aislin as she heads for the door. The wretched woman pauses to grasp the frayed rope latch, pulling it open with a creak of rusted iron hinges.

The last slanting rays of the setting sun spill across the hard-packed earth as we step outside, bathing the pathetic little hovel in a warm, golden glow. I blink against the harsh glare, shielding my eyes as I follow Aislin around the crumbling rear wall.

There, nestled in a small copse of scraggly bushes, we squat to relieve ourselves in plain view like animals. I can't help but grimace as the pungent reek of my own waste assails my nostrils, my face flushing with humiliation. Even after witnessing such degradation time and again, I'll never grow accustomed to this wretched existence![...]