Pushing aside my wayward thoughts, I flash Ciara a bright smile. "It's nice to meet you!"

Holy mother of...wow. This Ciara girl is stunningly beautiful, even by my admittedly jaded standards. Those exotic features - the heterochromia, the vibrant emerald tresses, that flawless porcelain skin - she's like a living doll crafted by the gods themselves!

I find myself gaping openly, unable to tear my eyes away from her delicate, ethereal beauty. Ciara regards me with an amused look, seemingly used to such reactions. I quickly snap my mouth shut, feeling my cheeks flush hotly.

Get a grip, Alexander! I mentally chide myself. She's just a child, for pity's sake. A breathtakingly lovely one, to be sure, but still an innocent little girl undeserving of your lecherous ogling.

And yet...I can't quite banish the sense of awe washing over me as I drink in Ciara's exquisite features. Even at her tender age, she outshines the vast majority of women I encountered in my past life. With those exotic, almost fae-like looks, I can only imagine how devastatingly beautiful she'll become once she blossoms into womanhood.

I shake my head slowly, letting out a soft whistle of appreciation. These peasant families may live in utter squalor, but they certainly don't lack for feminine loveliness, do they? Between Ciara, Mary, Eilis and the others I've encountered, it's as if the gods decided to bless this wretched backwater with an overabundance of exotic beauty.

A small, wistful smile curves my lips as I ponder the possibilities. If I'm still trapped in this primitive hell once Ciara and the others reach adulthood, well...at least I'll have some delightful eye candy to help pass the long, dreary days. Every man needs a harmless indulgence to stay sane, after all.

Though I'd best be cautious about indulging too freely in such fancies. Wouldn't want the villagers to start burning me at the stake for being some manner of lecherous deviant, now would I? No, best to keep my admiration subtle and discreet for the time being.

With a soft sigh, I tear my gaze away from Ciara's bewitching visage. Right, time to play the sweet, innocent little girl again and avoid arousing any undue suspicion. I can always revisit those deliciously wicked thoughts later when I'm alone.

"Come along inside, Aislin," Muireann calls out, gesturing towards her humble abode. "Let the young ones play for a spell."

Aislin nods, but little Cormac lingers behind his mother, peering at me with those big amber eyes. Muireann notices and turns back with a warm smile.

"Now then, Cormac, why don't you join Aislin's girl and yer sister for some games?" she asks gently. "It'll be fun, I promise!"

Cormac just shakes his head shyly, mumbling a soft "No..." before turning to gaze at me again. Aha, so the lad's a bashful one, is he? I can certainly relate to feeling out of place amongst my rambunctious peers.

Ciara pipes up, giving me an apologetic look. "Sorry about my brother, he's awfully shy and scaredy sometimes."

I simply nod in understanding, not wanting to embarrass the poor boy further. With that, Muireann and Aislin head inside, leaving Cormac trailing reluctantly behind them. Guess it's just me and Ciara out here for now!

"Do you want to play a game together?" I ask the older girl, trying my best to sound casual and childlike.

Ciara's face lights up with a radiant smile that highlights her exotic beauty. Seriously, this girl is utterly bewitching - it's like staring into the face of a fae princess from the old tales! Before I can dwell on it further, she reaches out to take my hands in hers, her touch warm and gentle.

"Come with me, Lile!" she exclaims, already tugging me along behind the small chicken coop.

I follow obediently, my eyes widening as we round the corner to find a simple rope swing hanging from a gnarled oak branch. A delighted grin spreads across my face at the sight of such a quintessential childhood delight. Ciara beams back at me, clearly pleased by my reaction.

"I want you to push me on the swing!" she declares happily, already scampering over and plopping herself down on the rough wooden plank.

I nod eagerly, moving to stand behind her. With a gentle shove, I send Ciara swinging back and forth through the crisp winter air. She lets out a peal of giggles, the sound bright and joyful. For a few blessed moments, I allow myself to simply enjoy this innocent playtime, pushing aside my usual cynicism.

As Ciara's laughter fades to contented humming, I decide to try making conversation. "Where's your papa today?" I ask curiously.

"Oh, he's at the tavern like always," she replies breezily, seemingly unbothered.

I raise my brows at that, giving her another gentle push. "And...does he treat you and your mama well?" Maybe not the most tactful line of questioning for a child, but I can't resist probing a bit.

Ciara just laughs again, her emerald and amber eyes sparkling with joy. "Papa is nice and gives us all we want!" she declares proudly, swinging higher.

Huh, well I'll be...the poor lass is utterly oblivious to the harsh realities of peasant life, isn't she? Clearly her father has managed to shield her from the worst of the deprivations and cruelties, at least so far. A rare feat for families of our station, to be sure.

"You have a nice family then," I remark with a small smile, genuinely happy for her even as a part of me feels a pang of wistful envy.

Ciara giggles again, the sound light and carefree. "You could live with us too if you want, Lile!" she offers impulsively. "Papa has enough for everyone!"

I feel a lump form in my throat at her innocent words, so naive and trusting. If only you knew the struggle your father likely endures to keep you all fed and sheltered, little one. The sleepless nights, the backbreaking toil, the constant fear of destitution...

But no, I won't shatter Ciara's idyllic illusions, not yet. Better she remains blissfully unaware of the harsh world beyond her doorstep for now. She'll have more than enough time to face life's bitter realities as she grows.

For my part, I simply smile and keep pushing, allowing the rhythmic creaking of the swing's ropes to lull me into a rare moment of tranquility. Maybe, just maybe, I can find fleeting pockets of joy amidst this wretched existence after all.

"What's your papa like, Lile?" Ciara asks curiously as I give her another gentle push on the creaky rope swing.

I plaster on my best innocent smile. "Oh, he's really nice! He gives me lots of pretty things and never yells."

Ciara giggles, emerald and amber eyes sparkling with childlike glee. "The whole world is so fun and nice! I can't wait to go on adventures and play with all sorts of new people when I'm bigger."

I nod along, privately marveling at her naivete. If only this sweet girl knew the harsh realities that await beyond her idyllic bubble.

"I love my papa and mama so much," Ciara continues wistfully. "Even though papa already found me a husband for when I start bleeding down there."

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I frown, letting out a small sigh. "My papa found me a husband too. His name is Colm."

Ciara's eyes widen in recognition. "Colm? But he's the nice healer man who helps folks when they're sick or hurt! He came to our house last winter when mama had that bad cough."

She nods vigorously. "Aye, Colm is a good mister. He visits our village lots to check on everyone."

I raise my brows, intrigued. "How often does he come around?"

Ciara hums thoughtfully, kicking her feet. "Well, mama says Colm tries to see each family at least once a month to make sure we're all hale."

"Ah, I see..." I murmur, filing that information away. So Erik - or Colm, as he's known here - does indeed take his role as village healer quite seriously. But then why has he never once paid a visit to the Ban household before? No doubt because of that drunken wretch Oisin and his foul temper.

"Lile, stop pushing for a bit!" Ciara suddenly pipes up, slowing the swing's momentum. "I want a turn pushing you now."

I obediently hop off the wooden plank as she scrambles to her feet. Ciara positions herself behind me, small hands gripping the rope as I settle onto the swing's rough seat.

"Do you have a doggy like me, Lile?" she asks, giving me a gentle shove.

I shake my head. "No, I didn't see any puppy around your house."

Ciara responds by letting out a shrill whistle. To my surprise, a small furry form comes bounding out from beneath the rickety hovel, yapping excitedly.

I blink, taking in the scruffy little mutt as it dances around Ciara's feet. Its wiry coat is a nondescript brown, save for a distinctive patch of white fur on its chest. The dog's floppy ears are comically oversized, one cocked quizzically as it regards me with bright black eyes. A pink tongue lolls from its panting jaws, stubby tail wagging furiously.

"This is Oisin!" Ciara declares with a giggle.

I can't help but burst into laughter at the absurd coincidence of her pet's name. Of course the poor beast would be saddled with that lout's moniker!

"Oisin, stop peeing on me! I gotta push Lile!" Ciara suddenly yells out, her melodious voice ringing with exasperation.

I can't help but burst into a fit of giggles at her words, doubling over on the creaky swing as peals of laughter shake my small frame. The absurdity of the situation - this beautiful, ethereal girl scolding her dog for urinating on her while we play - is just too much for my adult mind to handle. I laugh so hard that dark spots start flickering at the edges of my vision, threatening to make me lose consciousness entirely.

Ciara seems utterly oblivious to my inner turmoil, simply giggling herself as she resumes pushing me back and forth with gusto. The ropes creak in protest, the old oak branch groaning under our combined weight as I'm propelled through the crisp winter air again and again. I can feel the chill biting at my rosy cheeks, taste the faint tang of wood smoke on my tongue with each gasping breath.

"Okay, let's play something else now!" Ciara finally declares, stepping back from the swing.

I quickly grab the ropes to slow my momentum, planting my booted feet firmly in the dirt as the swing gradually loses speed. "We should play hide and seek with Oisin!" I suggest impulsively, nodding towards the scruffy mutt panting happily in front of us.

Ciara's face lights up in a radiant smile that highlights her exotic beauty. "Ooh, that sounds like so much fun!" she agrees readily.

Hopping off the wooden plank, I land with a soft thud and immediately crouch down to give Oisin an affectionate pat on his shaggy head. The dog's tail wags even harder at the attention, his pink tongue lolling out in a doggy grin.

"You aren't going to sell me into prostitution too, are you?" I mutter under my breath, unable to resist a dark chuckle at my own morbid joke.

Oisin simply cocks his head at me, those big brown eyes regarding me with open curiosity. Then, without warning, he lurches forward to slather my face in a long, wet lick from his slobbery tongue.

"Ewww!" I squeal in mock outrage, quickly wiping the drool from my cheeks as I dissolve into another peal of childish giggles. "Bad doggy!"

"Aww, I think he likes you, Lile!" Ciara pipes up with a warm laugh of her own.

I can't help but laugh even harder at her innocent observation, clutching my belly as I double over again. Oh, if only this sweet girl knew the twisted thoughts swirling through my head! She'd likely faint dead away from the shock.

"Why are you laughing so much?" Ciara asks, her brow furrowing in confusion as she peers at me. "I want to laugh too!"

Quickly composing myself, I flash her my most winning smile as I straighten up. "Oh, it's nothing! Just...a funny memory I had of my father, is all."

Ciara's eyes widen comically at that. "Your father? You mean...Oisin?" She glances down at the dog, then back up at me, realization dawning.

I nod sagely. "Aye, that's right - my papa's name is Oisin too! I'll bet your mama named this sweet pup after him."

Ciara lets out a bright peal of laughter, the sound like tinkling bells on the winter breeze. "You're probably right!" she agrees with a grin. "Though I can't imagine why she'd want to name a dog after that grumpy old man!"

I simply shrug, not wanting to reveal the sordid details of my so-called "father's" drunken rages and abuse. Better to let Ciara remain blissfully ignorant of the harsh realities for now.

"Well, are we going to play or not?" I ask instead, giving Oisin the dog another playful scratch behind the ears. "I'll even let you be the seeker first!"

And just like that, we're off - Ciara covering her eyes and beginning to count as I scamper away, the dog bounding along at my heels in a flurry of excited barks and yips. For a little while, at least, I can simply be a carefree child again, my adult cares and burdens forgotten amidst the simple joys of play.

We must make quite the sight, I muse - a young peasant girl in a luxurious sapphire dress darting about the garden with a mangy mutt in tow. If any of the villagers were to happen upon us now, they'd likely think the world had gone utterly mad! I have to stifle another snicker at the thought, pressing my small hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.

Ciara finishes her counting and calls out in a singsong voice, "Ready or not, here I come!"

And so the game begins in earnest. I duck behind the rickety chicken coop, Oisin flopping down beside me with a contented whuff. Peering through a gap in the weathered slats, I can just make out Ciara's slender form twirling in the middle of the garden, her emerald tresses catching the pale winter sunlight like shimmering gemstones.

My breath catches in my throat at the ethereal sight. Even in this wretched backwater, true beauty can still flourish, it seems. I shake my head slowly, a wistful smile tugging at my lips as I watch the girl dance and spin, utterly carefree.

"Lile? Oisin? Where aaare you?" Ciara's lilting voice rings out in a playful taunt.

I press my finger to my lips, giving the dog a stern look as he starts panting heavily. Oisin simply blinks at me, his stubby tail thumping against the hard-packed earth in excitement.

Ciara's searching draws nearer, her soft footfalls crunching through the frosty grass. I tense, ready to bolt at a moment's notice should she happen to glance this way. The thrill of the hunt has my heart pounding in my ears, my childish giggles threatening to give away our hiding spot.

Just then, the creak of a door opening makes me start. I chance a peek around the corner of the coop to see Aislin emerging from Muireann's humble dwelling, my friend's mother following close behind her.

But it's the third figure that gives me pause - a tall, broad-shouldered man with a wild mane of emerald curls and piercing amber eyes. He moves with an easy grace that speaks of a lifetime of hard labor, his simple homespun garments doing little to conceal the powerful physique beneath. This must be Cathal, Muireann's husband and the head of their household.

I drink in the man's rugged features with open fascination. His face is deeply tanned and weathered from long hours toiling beneath the sun, each crease and line a roadmap of the hardships he's endured. And yet, despite the obvious toll of his peasant existence, there's an innate nobility about Cathal - a quiet strength and dignity that instantly commands respect.

As the trio make their way towards us, I feel an odd sense of trepidation stirring in my breast. Something about the casual way Cathal carries himself, the subtle power in his broad shoulders and sure stride...it's almost intimidating, in a strange way. Like he's a man utterly secure in his place, unbowed by the weight of the world.

A tiny shiver runs down my spine as I contemplate the implications. Is this what a true peasant patriarch looks like? One who hasn't been utterly broken by drink, despair and abuse like that pathetic wretch Oisin? A man who can still stand tall and proud, despite the squalor and oppression that surrounds him?

The thought is...unsettling, to say the least. I frown, my brow furrowing as I ponder the unfamiliar emotions roiling within me. Respect? Envy? Fear, even? I can't quite put my finger on this strange new dynamic.

Aislin, Muireann, and the tall, rugged man named Cathal approach the chicken coop area where I'm crouched behind with Oisin the dog. Aislin gestures towards me and says, "That's my little Lile over there, Cathal."

Cathal nods, his piercing amber eyes finding me as he strides over. He crouches down in front of the coop, the rough fabric of his breeches stretching taut over his muscular thighs. Oisin the dog scampers out from our hiding spot, yipping excitedly as he darts between Cathal's legs.

A warm smile spreads across Cathal's weathered features as he reaches out to pat my shorn curls. "Well now, she's a bonny little lass, ain't she?" His calloused palm feels reassuringly solid against my scalp.

I can't help preening a bit under his praise, my chest swelling with childish pride. Cathal gives me an appraising look. "Name's Cathal, young'un. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Before I can respond, a small figure emerges from behind Muireann's skirts - her son Cormac, sucking noisily on his thumb. He blinks at me with those big amber eyes, so like his father's.[...]