My cheeks flush hotly as Erik leans down to pat my shorn curls, his calloused palm rough yet oddly gentle. Aislin clears her throat and bobs an awkward curtsy.

"We should be off then, good sir," she murmurs, not quite meeting his gaze. "Come along now, Lile - and mind you stay close by my side for the journey."

I nod obediently, but can't resist one final impish query as we turn to depart. "If Erik's not escorting us, does that mean he has...other errands to attend?" I ask meaningfully.

If Aislin catches my insinuation, she gives no sign. "The healer is a busy man with many duties, lamb," is all she says. "He's already been generous enough for one day."

We set off down the winding forest path at an unhurried pace. I glance sidelong at Aislin, noting the way she keeps one hand pressed protectively to the pocket where the vials and coins are stowed.

"Where did you put those bottles Erik gave you?" I ask innocently. "The ones with the special ointments?"

Aislin's shoulders tense briefly before she forces a smile. "Right here in my skirt pocket, along with the silvers," she reassures me. "I'll not let them out of my sight, I promise."

We lapse into silence for a few beats. Then Aislin heaves a weary sigh, shaking her head slowly.

"I pity you when you're a woman grown and wedding, Lile," she murmurs, almost to herself. "Truly, I do."

I blink up at her in confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

Aislin shoots me a sidelong look, the corner of her mouth quirking wryly. "Why, Erik is just a...very big man, poppet," she replies delicately. "We'll leave the matter at that for now."

I can't help but giggle again at her oblique reference, feeling deliciously wicked at the implication. Aislin simply shakes her head in resignation as we continue on our way back to that wretched village.

Okay, so it seems my life is finally taking a turn for the better after enduring three utterly miserable days in this wretched hovel. All it took was Aislin's efforts to convince that drunken bastard Oisin to speak with Erik about me, my strange appearance being precisely what the Viking healer was searching for, and the proverbial cherry on this shit sundae - Aislin debasing herself by orally pleasuring Erik.

I can scarcely believe I was on the verge of ending my own life earlier today if circumstances failed to improve. Yet here I am, garbed in the finest silks and velvets, my belly full of hearty stew, and with the promise of regular coin and even finer indulgences to come from Erik. I suppose my desperate pleas for deliverance from this nightmarish existence were answered after all, in the most depraved manner imaginable.

As I glance sidelong at Aislin's weary yet relieved expression, I can't resist a bemused shake of my head. The poor wretch actually seems grateful to have orally serviced the Viking, likely viewing it as a small price to pay for ensuring my safety and comfort going forward. Her psyche is so thoroughly broken by years of abuse and oppression that she's come to accept - nay, welcome - such debasement as a wife's duty.

Enough dwelling on the past, I chide myself. What's done is done, and I've no time for regrets or self-pity. The question now becomes - what are my next steps to solidify this tentative reprieve from torment? Clearly, I must endeavor not to draw Oisin's ire through any thoughtless actions or childish antics. That drunken monster's rages are best avoided at all costs, at least until Erik's steady stream of silver has him well and truly domesticated.

More importantly, I need to remain vigilant in ensuring Aislin's safety and welfare. While Erik's generosity has secured my own protection for the foreseeable future, that wretched woman is still very much at Oisin's cruel mercy. I'll need to devise ways to keep her out of the bastard's line of fire, perhaps by encouraging her to spend as much time as possible at Erik's cottage when she isn't tending to me.

But there's still so much about this primitive, brutal world that I have yet to unravel. My childish guise and limited perspective means I'm viewing everything through a distorted, incomplete lens. If I'm to have any hope of not just surviving but truly thriving here, I need to start peeling back the layers of this society's many secrets and mysteries.

Let's see...next Sunday, I'm meant to begin religious instruction and "learn the duties of a proper Christian wife" according to that addled old goat Brogan. I'll need to pay close attention then and learn all I can about this "Gwenhwyfar" figure the peasants seem to revere as the Virgin Mary. There's clearly some deeper significance there that's eluded me thus far.

Beyond that, I should make a comprehensive list of everything I still need to understand about the intricacies of village life and the harsh realities underpinning it all:

- The nature of Brianna's otherworldly, fey-like coloring and features. Is she some manner of supernatural being passing as human? If so, what manner of entities could they be?

- The full breadth of supernatural threats and entities spoken of in Oisin's drunken ramblings. Werewolves, vampires, demons, and the like - I need to ascertain whether the bastard spoke truly of such horrors stalking the wilderness, or if it's all mere superstitious folly.

- The complex web of alliances, feuds, and power dynamics between the various noble houses and landed gentry who ostensibly rule over these peasant serfs. Understanding the political landscape could prove vital.

- The extent of the church's true influence over the populace. Are they truly as omnipotent and all-controlling as their blustering priests claim? Or are there cracks in their dogmatic foundation that could be exploited?

- The boundaries and limitations of the primitive "science" and folk knowledge that governs hygiene, medicine, and all practical applications of logic here. I need to gauge just how deeply ignorance and superstition have taken root.

- The extent of Lord Eamonn's personal power and influence over the village, and what sort of man he truly is beneath the noble veneer. Friend or foe?

- The church's specific religious dogma, teachings, and core tenets - beyond just the blatant misogyny and gender oppression. What other insidious beliefs are they indoctrinating the peasantry with?

- The full breadth of peasant superstitions, folklore, and supernatural beliefs surrounding beings like faeries, trolls, goblins and the like. There could be deeper truths buried beneath the surface.

- The complex hierarchies, customs, and unspoken rules governing serf society and daily village life that I'm likely unaware of as an outsider.

- The boundaries and geography of the surrounding lands and wilderness areas - how isolated and remote is this village truly? What other settlements exist nearby?

So much to uncover, so many layers of deception to peel away! This cruel, oppressive world may have beaten me down for the moment, but I'll be damned if I don't claw my way back to the top of the proverbial dung heap. No more will I be a victim, but the master of my own destiny - and woe to any who dare stand in my way!

As we continue our trek along the winding forest path, my mind keeps drifting back to that strange woman with the vivid pink hair who was cleaning our hovel earlier. Her unnatural coloring is so striking, so unlike anything I've witnessed in this primitive world thus far.

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"Mama?" I pipe up, tugging at Aislin's tattered skirts. "That lady with the pretty pink hair...is her hair normal? I've never seen colors like that before."

Aislin glances down at me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her careworn mouth. "Why, of course it's normal, poppet. There's naught to fret over."

She gives a little chuckle, shaking her head indulgently. "Out there in the wider world, you'll find all manner of folk with the most peculiar hair hues - greens and blues, even vivid violets like the dawn! And their eyes too can shine in wondrous shades beyond simple brown and blue."

I can't help but gape at her words, utterly transfixed by this revelation. People with naturally vibrant green or blue locks? Violet tresses that shimmer like a sunrise? My mind whirls with possibilities.

Seeming to sense my fascination, Aislin pats my shorn curls affectionately. "In fact, why don't we pay a visit to some of the neighboring families tomorrow? You can meet the other village lasses and see their colorings for yourself while you play."

I nod enthusiastically at the prospect, practically bouncing with excitement. Finally, a chance to explore the mysteries of this strange realm beyond our cramped hovel!

Holy fuck, so I've been reborn in a fantastical world if such colorings are real...

No, I mustn't let my thoughts run away with fanciful notions. There has to be a rational, scientific explanation behind these unnatural hair and eye pigmentations. Perhaps some manner of genetic mutation or recessive trait unique to this region? Or could it be the result of environmental factors like radiation exposure or mineral imbalances in the local water and soil?

My mind races with hypotheses to test. If only I had access to a proper laboratory, I could begin analyzing cellular samples and dissecting the bodies of these strangely colored natives. Extracting DNA, examining bone and tissue structures - any data could provide vital clues to unraveling this bizarre phenomenon.

Genetic mapping, spectroscopic analysis, even rudimentary radiation testing - all tools in my metaphorical scientific arsenal. I just need the resources and materials to begin probing this mystery in earnest. Surely there must be a plausible, empirical explanation behind their vibrant locks and kaleidoscope irises, some rational root cause that adheres to the fundamental laws of biology as I understand them.

Yes, I simply must remain open-minded yet skeptical. Dismissing these peculiarities as mere fantasy would be the height of intellectual laziness. The universe still has so many wonders to reveal through the lens of science and reason!

My mind is buzzing with questions about this strange world I've awoken in. Glancing up at Aislin, I can't resist voicing my curiosity.

"Mama, what other villages are near Baile Rois? Are there many people living out there beyond our woods?"

Aislin arches one thin brow, peering down at me with an indulgent smile. "Why this sudden interest in the wider world, poppet? You were content enough playing amongst the chickens just this morning."

I pout exaggeratedly, kicking at a pebble in our path. "Well, Erik made me curious about what's out there when he mentioned other places. I want to know more!"

Chuckling softly, Aislin gives my shorn curls an affectionate ruffle. "You're a bright child with a mind full of questions, that's for certain. Perhaps too clever by half for your own good sometimes!"

She lapses into silence for a moment, seeming to gather her thoughts before continuing.

"Well now, let's see...the village I was born and raised in is called Rath Cruachan. It lies a few days' hard travel to the west of here, or so I'm told. I haven't laid eyes upon it since being sold to your father at twelve summers."

My eyes widen at that admission, but Aislin doesn't seem to notice my shock. She's already pressing onward, ticking off village names on her calloused fingers.

"As for other nearby hamlets, there's Dun Laoghaire to the north where your aunt Maeve was to be married before...well, before she was sent away." A shadow crosses Aislin's face briefly before she continues.

"Then you have Inis Fraoigh, Baile Mordha, Cluain Ghlais, Dun Barrach, Rath Naoi, Baile Ui Lochlainn, Cluain Ard, Dun Eideann, Baile Fearghal, Baile Mhic Chuain, Baile Bheag, Baile Mor, and Baile an Rí to the east along the river road."

I blink slowly, struggling to absorb the sheer number of unfamiliar names she's just rattled off. Aislin seems to sense my confusion, patting my hand reassuringly.

"Don't fret over remembering them all for now, lamb. The important thing is that each of those villages falls under the domain of our lord, Eamonn MacRuarc. We're all but serfs bound to toil upon his lands and holdings."

That piques my interest. "Lord Eamonn? What kind of man is he, this lord of ours? Is he...is he a bad mister, or a good one?"

Aislin's brow furrows, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Well now, that's a question with no simple answer, poppet. Lord Eamonn is...he's not the cruelest master, to be sure. But he's far from the most merciful lord to serve under as well."

I frown, not quite understanding. "What do you mean by that, Mama? Has Lord Eamonn been unkind to our village before?"

Aislin heaves a weary sigh, slowing her steps slightly as we continue along the winding path. When she speaks again, it's in a low, somber tone.

"Over the years, Lord Eamonn has proven himself both generous...and utterly merciless towards we peasants, depending on his whims. Why, I can recall one cruel winter when the snows lay thick upon the land and our food stores dwindled to naught but crumbs and rations. The children grew thin and sickly, their bellies swollen for want of a decent meal."

She shakes her head slowly, a faraway look in her sunken eyes. "Yet when we sent our pleas to Lord Eamonn's manor, begging for any surplus grain or meat to see us through to spring...he turned us away without a scrap. Said it was God's way of culling the weakest from the herd, and that we should thank the Lord for his mercy in allowing us to starve."

I can't help but shudder at the callous cruelty in her words. How could any person of power view the suffering of innocents in such a heartless way?

But Aislin is already continuing, a hint of grudging respect creeping into her tone now.

"And yet, that very same winter, Lord Eamonn's own grandson took deathly ill with the agues. The finest physicians and healers were summoned, but none could rouse the poor babe from his feverish slumbers. 'Twas then that our lord sent his men riding to every surrounding village, gathering any known wise women and hedge witches to attend his grandson's sickbed."

A faint smile ghosts across her lips. "Why, Lord Eamonn even had auld Molly the Crone fetched from our very own Baile Rois, despite her reputation for truck with the devil himself! And wouldn't you know it - 'twas her poultice of moldy bread and frog spittle that finally broke the wee bairn's fever and saved his life."

I blink in surprise, hardly able to reconcile this "generous" act. Aislin seems to sense my confusion, patting my hand again.

"You see, poppet? Our lord can prove as harsh as the bitterest winter gale in one breath...yet shower us with kindness and mercy in the next, should the whim strike him. 'Tis best we simply keep our heads down and pray his fickle favor shines upon us more oft than his wrath."

I can only nod slowly, my mind whirling as we continue on our way. This feudal hierarchy and the utter subservience it demands is all so foreign, so utterly bewildering to my modern sensibilities. Yet for Aislin and these other downtrodden peasants, it's the only existence they've ever known.

And how exactly is summoning a village crone to heal his grandson seen as 'kind'? This Lord does nothing but show the middle finger...

As Aislin and I approach the outskirts of Baile Rois, she quickens her pace and urges me in a hushed tone, "Hurry now, Lile! I must see if those servants did their work properly and left our home spotless."

Her eyes dart furtively from side to side, as if fearing prying eyes. "And pray they didn't pilfer from your father's strongbox while we were away..."

I increase my stride to match Aislin's urgent gait, my new velvet cloak swishing around my ankles. When we reach our hovel's gate, I push it open and we hurry through, making a beeline for our dilapidated hovel.

Aislin nods for me to open the door. Grasping the latch, I give it a firm tug...and gasp aloud. The humble interior is utterly transformed! Every surface gleams, the hard-packed dirt floor looks freshly swept. The entire space seems to glow with a cleanliness I've never witnessed in my short life.

"Well I'll be..." I murmur, gaping around in awe. This ramshackle dwelling is positively shining like a newborn babe's bottom!

Aislin rushes inside, carefully setting down the bundle of greens and Erik's gifted jug of mead. She runs a tentative hand along the battered tabletop, eyes widening in disbelief at the utter lack of grime and filth.

"Blessed Mother..." she breathes, already moving towards the sleeping alcove. Aislin inhales deeply, a look of wonderment crossing her careworn features. "I don't think this place has ever known such cleanliness before!"

Her head whips around, gaze zeroing in on the nook where Oisin stores his meager valuables and coin. In a flurry of skirts, Aislin darts over and crouches before the small alcove, peering inside intently. A relieved sigh gusts from her lips.

"Nothing's been pilfered, thank the Lord!"

I watch in silence as she retrieves the three gleaming silver coins Erik gifted us and carefully tucks them into the hiding spot. But something in the corner catches my eye - a small wooden bucket I've never noticed before. Curiosity piqued, I wander over and peer inside.

"Well, what have we here?" I exclaim delightedly. "The servants have left us a gift, Mama!"

Nestled within the bucket's confines lie half a dozen bars of fragrant lye soap and a few stiff-bristled brushes. Aislin hurries over, brow furrowing in confusion until she too spies the unexpected bounty.

"Blessed Jesus..." she murmurs, one hand rising to clutch her silver crucifix. "This is beyond good news, lamb! Why, perhaps your father will even allow me to bathe him on the morrow, to keep our humble home pristine!"[...]