Aislin walks slightly ahead, her shoulders hunched under the weight of the empty baskets as she makes idle small talk with Colm. The Viking healer responds with that deep, rumbling baritone of his, but I pay little heed to their words. My gaze is too busy drinking in the splendor of this forest sanctuary, so vastly different from the squalid village we've left behind.

Then, as we round a bend in the trail, the trees part to reveal a sun-dappled clearing - and there, nestled amidst a meticulously tended garden of herbs and vegetables, stands the most breathtaking cottage I've ever laid eyes upon.

It's like something plucked straight from the pages of a fairytale, all rustic timber and stone with a thatched roof and arched windows framed by climbing ivy. Delicate wisps of smoke curl from the central chimney, lending an almost ethereal quality to the idyllic scene. Colm's home is the very picture of rural tranquility, a true paradise far removed from the filth and depravity of Baile Rois.

My jaw literally drops as I take in every minute detail - the neatly trimmed hedges lining the garden beds, the quaint wooden fence, even a ramshackle shed off to one side overflowing with gardening tools and supplies. And there, rising from the main cottage like a sentry tower, stands a lofted attic room with its own peaked roof and shuttered windows.

By the heavens, this place is absolute perfection! Colm has carved out his own personal Eden amidst these ancient woods, a bucolic haven far from the prying eyes and boorish ways of the village peasants. I can scarcely fathom how the Viking managed to acquire such a luxurious homestead. Surely this level of comfort and self-sufficiency is unheard of for a mere freeman, even one as skilled in the healing arts as he claims to be?

I gape openly at the cottage's splendor, feeling an acute pang of envy towards Colm's good fortune. While Aislin and I wallow in that cramped, filthy hovel reeking of animal droppings and sour body odors, this man has been living like a lord of the land! No wonder he turned his nose up at our humble pottage last night - the Viking clearly has access to finer provisions than anything those turnip-munching cretins could produce.

As we approach the cottage's gate, I can't resist shooting Colm a sidelong look of utter disbelief. Just how in the seven serpentine hells did this wandering foreigner manage to secure such an idyllic paradise for himself? This level of comfort and luxury should be utterly unattainable for a mere peasant, regardless of trade or standing.

Perhaps the Viking isn't being entirely truthful about his origins and purpose here after all. The more I witness of Colm's life, the more blatant discrepancies arise between the man's words and his actual circumstances. Could he be some manner of nobility traveling incognito, slumming amongst the peasantry for reasons unknown? Or does he possess some deeper, darker secret that's allowed him to carve out this personal Elysium in defiance of the social order?

One thing's for certain - I can no longer take anything about this enigmatic stranger at face value. Colm is clearly playing a deeper game here, one far beyond the ken of these brutish villagers. And I'll be damned if I don't get to the bottom of his mysteries, no matter how many layers of deception I'm forced to peel away.

Aislin turns to Colm, her brow furrowed in confusion as she asks, "How did you manage to construct such a grand dwelling here? And when? I must admit, I never took you for a man of wealth until yesterday."

A sly grin spreads across Colm's rugged features as he grasps the gate latch. "All shall be revealed in due time, good woman." With a creak of iron hinges, he swings the gate inward and gestures for us to enter. "I built this homestead myself over the passing seasons. A true craftsman's labor of love, you might say."

Curiosity piqued, I can't resist piping up. "Just how many summers have you dwelled here in Baile Rois then, Colm?"

The Viking's emerald eyes glitter with amusement as he regards me. "Merely two revolutions of this realm's sun have passed since I first arrived with my beloved Brigitte. We carried naught but a chest brimming with plundered riches from our raids across the whale-road."

Aislin's eyes widen at this admission, but Colm continues unperturbed. "Aye, I've toiled ceaselessly since then to raise this very cottage from the soil using mine own calloused hands. Though I'll admit, the task remains unfinished - I originally intended we depart for fresh horizons once Brigitte quickened with child."

An awkward silence falls as the unspoken truth hangs in the air. At last, Aislin murmurs, "But then...she died birthing your babe. You have my deepest condolences for such a tragic loss."

Colm's expression shutters briefly before he waves a dismissive hand. "Enough of this maudlin talk. The past is ashes - better to let its embers die than dwell overlong on what can't be changed." His tone brooks no argument as he nods toward the small graveyard I've just noticed nestled amidst a copse of trees. "Brigitte and our stillborn son slumber there now. I've no need for such bitter remindings."

My heart clenches painfully at the sight of those two simple mounds, one large and one heartbreakingly tiny. To lose a wife and child in the same cruel breath...even I can't fathom the depths of such anguish. Seeming to sense my morbid fascination, Colm clears his throat pointedly.

"But you've tarried long enough on my threshold. Come, let me show you the true splendors I've wrought with my own hands."

With that, he strides toward the cottage's arched oak door, unlatching it with a casual flick of his wrist. The heavy portal swings inward with a groan to reveal...

...Absolute paradise.

I can't stifle my gasp of wonder as I drink in the rustic yet luxurious interior. Smooth wooden floors and walls paneled in fragrant cedar stretch out before me, leading to a spacious main room dominated by a massive hearth built right into the stone. An actual brick fireplace with a proper chimney to carry the smoke away! The ingenuity of it all...

A heavy oak table ringed by four matching chairs sits just off the hearth, while a plush armchair upholstered in supple leather nestles invitingly before the empty firepit. Two smaller doorways flank the hearth - one likely leading to Colm's sleeping quarters, the other perhaps a bathing room of some sort? And there, just behind the staircase ascending to the lofted upper level, I spy a trapdoor set into the floor itself. Some sort of root cellar or storage space, no doubt.

It's all so...so civilized! So indescribably decadent compared to the rude squalor of our village hovels. I turn slowly, mouth agape as I try to absorb every breathtaking detail.

A muffled sniffle breaks the reverent silence. I glance over to see Aislin's shoulders shaking, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks as she takes in Colm's paradise.

The Viking frowns, crossing those tree-trunk arms over his broad chest. "What ails you, woman? Do my humble chambers not meet your approval?"

Aislin quickly shakes her head, swiping at her damp eyes. "Nay, milord...forgive me. 'Tis simply...you dwell here amidst such splendor, while my own family and the other villagers scratch out our wretched existences in crumbling mud hovels. The injustice of it sears my very soul."

A flicker of...something...passes across Colm's chiseled features. Sympathy? Regret? If so, it's quickly banished as he shrugs those powerful shoulders.

"I offer no apologies for the comforts I've earned through the sweat of my brow, Aislin Ban. While you peasant folk whiled away your days grubbing in the dirt like swine, I plied the whale-road and reaped the rewards of a warrior's life. This home is the just fruit of my labors - naught more."

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I can't resist a derisive snort at that, earning a sharp look from the Viking. As if butchering and pillaging innocent villages qualifies as "honest labor" in any civilized realm! The sheer arrogance of this brute...

Still, I know better than to voice such thoughts aloud. Aislin has suffered enough indignities this day without me adding to them. So I simply bite my tongue and follow her inside, determined to unravel the mysteries surrounding Colm's good fortune...by whatever means prove necessary.

"Wait here while I prepare the copper tub for bathing," Colm instructs us. A copper tub? I can scarcely believe my ears - such luxury is unheard of for peasants like us!

Colm disappears through a doorway, likely leading to some sort of washroom. Curiosity piqued, I glance at Aislin before slowly following after the Viking. She trails behind me, no doubt equally intrigued.

We find ourselves in what can only be described as a bathing chamber crafted by the gods themselves. Smooth stone tiles line the floors and walls, while a massive copper tub easily large enough to submerge a grown man dominates the center of the room. Colm kneels beside it, carefully arranging a small pile of kindling beneath.

My gaze roves over every breathtaking detail - the shelves stocked with plush linens and fragrant soaps, the ornate metal braziers set at intervals along the walls to provide warmth and illumination. Even the ceiling soars in a vaulted arch, letting in hazy beams of dawn light through a series of small windows. This is no mere washroom, but a veritable bathhouse on par with the finest Roman spas!

Colm strikes a spark to the kindling, soon coaxing the small flames to grow and lick hungrily at the tub's gleaming copper belly. I realize with a start that the vessel is already filled with water, the liquid gently steaming as it begins to heat.

The Viking straightens, brushing his hands off as he turns that piercing emerald stare upon us. "You two shall bathe once the fire dies down and the water has cooled somewhat," he rumbles. "I'll brook no arguments on the matter."

My heart sinks at the prospect of being forced to expose my scrawny, lice-ridden form before this imposing stranger. But Colm is already continuing in that deep, authoritative tone.

"I shall also cut the girl's hair until she resembles a lad. That matted tangle is beyond any comb's ability to tame." His eyes narrow slightly as they rake over my slight frame. "And I'll need to examine her thoroughly for any other parasites before allowing her into the bathwater. We can't risk ticks or other vermin infesting these chambers."

Aislin bobs her head gratefully. "You are most generous with your hospitality, good sir. Though...Oisin may take issue with Lile's shorn locks. He's quite proud of the family's golden tresses, for all they've fallen into such disrepair of late."

But Colm simply arches one eyebrow disdainfully. "Then he can take it up with me directly. I'll not have that louse-ridden mop contaminating my home any longer than need be."

He sweeps an assessing gaze over me once more before nodding curtly. "Once you've bathed, I shall provide a salve to treat the girl's...injuries as well. And fresh garments for you both - I'll not see you departing in those filthy rags again."

Aislin's eyes widen at this latest pronouncement. "Oh sir, you are too kind! But...Oisin, he..." She falters, chewing her lip anxiously.

"Speak your mind, woman," Colm rumbles, his tone softening somewhat.

Aislin swallows hard before continuing in a small voice. "My husband, he...he would surely rip any new clothes from my body the moment we returned home. He...he does not approve of finery for his womenfolk."

I can't help the derisive snort that escapes me at that. As if that drunken bastard has any right to dictate what simple comforts we're allowed! Aislin flinches, shooting me a reproachful look. But Colm simply nods, seemingly unsurprised.

"I suspected as much," he murmurs. "Very well, I shan't press the matter of fresh garb. You know best how to handle that brute's rages, after all."

Aislin visibly relaxes, offering the Viking a tremulous smile of gratitude. Colm returns it with a curt nod before gesturing back towards the main chamber.

"But enough talk of unpleasantries. Come, sit yourselves at the table while I prepare a hearty stew to fill your bellies properly. You'll both eat your fill and then some every time you grace my cottage, I can promise that."

As we make our way back to the rustic yet finely crafted table, my mind whirls. Aislin seems utterly overwhelmed by Colm's generosity and opulent living conditions. But all I can focus on is the sheer wealth this man so casually flaunts.

A copper bathtub? Fragrant soaps and fine linens? Promising us new clothes and more food than we could ever eat? Just how much coin must the Viking be sitting on to afford such decadent luxuries?

Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I blurt out, "Just how much money do you have, Colm?"

Aislin's eyes go wide with shock. "Lile! A lady does not ask such impudent questions of her betters!"

But I simply pout exaggeratedly, feigning a childish sulk even as I study the Viking's reaction intently. To my surprise, Colm merely chuckles - a deep, rumbling sound that raises goosebumps along my arms.

"Fret not, Aislin. The little one's curiosity is only natural given her circumstances." His emerald gaze meets mine, glittering with some unreadable emotion. "To answer your query...I currently possess around two thousand gold pieces in my personal coffers."

I feel my jaw drop, utterly gobsmacked. Two thousand gold coins? That's a veritable dragon's hoard of wealth by peasant standards! Suddenly Colm's casual promises of fine garments and endless provisions make perfect sense.

Aislin seems similarly stunned, her eyes going wide as saucers as she gapes at the Viking. "Two...two thousand?" she sputters incredulously. "Why sir, with that level of fortune you could purchase a lordly title and lands of your own if you wished!"

But Colm waves a dismissive hand, his chiseled features hardening somewhat. "I've no interest in buying my way into the ranks of sniveling, self-important nobles who strut about lording their bloodlines over us mere 'commoners'," he scoffs. "I'd sooner consort with the pigs in their well-adorned sties."

I can't help but giggle at his scathing assessment, picturing the foppish lords of this land decked out in their finery yet behaving no better than the grunting swine we peasants tend. Colm's lips quirk in an approving half-smile as he catches my amusement.

In that moment, I find myself inexplicably drawn to this imposing yet irreverent stranger. For all his gruff mannerisms and imposing presence, there's an unmistakable aura of power and confidence about Colm that I can't help but admire.

I have a feeling the Viking healer's arrival in our lives is going to upend everything in ways I can't even begin to fathom. And strangely, I find myself eager to unravel the mysteries surrounding this compelling, rough-hewn man of means and hidden depths.

As I watch Colm deftly slice through vegetables and toss thick cuts of meat into the bubbling stew pot, I can't help but admire the raw masculine power in his movements. His broad shoulders ripple beneath that fine green tunic as he works, the fabric straining against the swell of corded muscle.

God, why couldn't I have been reborn into this shithole as an adult woman instead of a scrawny, lice-ridden child? All I want is for this rugged Viking stud to bend me over and pound me into a sweaty, quivering mess until I black out from sheer ecstasy. Just the thought of Colm's thick cock stretching me wide and pumping me full of his potent seed has me squirming on the hard bench. I can practically feel my tight little peasant cunt clenching with need, aching to be claimed and bred like some filthy alleycat in heat.

But who am I kidding here? This is just my depraved psyche's latest coping mechanism for the unending nightmare that is my existence. I'm like some poor chinawoman sweatshop worker who glimpses a wealthy businessman through the factory window and instantly starts fantasizing about seducing him to escape the squalor.

Not that the reality is any less fucked - Colm truly is my one chance at clawing my way out of this festering backwater. Which means I'll have to eliminate any potential romantic competition, even if that means slitting the throats of every blonde-haired, yellow-eyed village waif who so much as bats her lashes at the Viking. He's mine, the only one who can see me for what I truly am - the living incarnation of Gullveig, that radiant goddess of gold and sorcery.

With Colm by my side, I can finally embrace my destiny and shed this pathetic mortal shell. So they'd better watch their scrawny peasant necks, because a bitch is going to get cut around here!

And as much as part of me wants to dismiss it as a morbid joke, I know the cold truth - I absolutely must kill any other girls or women who bear my resemblance. I cannot, will not, risk someone taking my place in Colm's eyes and stealing away my one chance at survival in this nightmarish existence.

I'm incredibly fortunate the Viking seems unable to venture beyond the confines of this backwater village. Otherwise, who knows how many potential rivals he might have already encountered during his travels, their strange golden eyes and sickly pallor marking them as kin to the ancient goddess he so fervently seeks. Hell, I should count my blessings that no new families ever arrive to take up residence here. The stagnant, isolated nature of this primitive mudhole is likely the only thing preserving my singular status.

Still, the possibility that another female bearing my unearthly traits could materialize at any moment fills me with dread. I don't care if she's a babe in arms or a withered crone on her deathbed - I will show no mercy. A quick knife across the throat or poison will ensure any threat to my security gets permanently neutralized. I didn't claw my way back from oblivion and into this wretched flesh prison just to have some fresh-faced doppelganger usurp my destiny.

No, I'll cut a bloody swath through any who dare challenge my primacy, no matter how innocent. Colm is my path out of this squalor, my key to unlocking the next phase of...whatever this is. And I'll be damned if I let a few artlessly slaughtered peasant girls get in my way now. Survival of the fittest, as those ancient Greeks were so fond of saying. Only the strong can inherit the earth.[...]