By morning, Morgana had put the ladder back to the wall. The group woke up one by one, only Frank and Gostor aware of what happened the night before. Flynn and Acadian helped Frank down into the main room and onto a chair. His leg was much better when he woke up, only a light soreness remained.

He expected Morgana to be standing at the door, ready to kick them out. To his surprise, she was gliding around with a smile on her face as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Breakfast?” she offered them in a singsong voice.

They accepted her meal of eggs and hearty meats while she brewed tea over the fire. The scarce sunlight managed to twinkle in through the glass of the windows like silk strands dangling off of a spider’s web.

Flynn scarfed down his food before asking, “Where do you get proteins like this? We didn’t see any foul or pigs in those woods.”

“Well, I do occasionally venture beyond the treeline to Ailaydan for supplies. I only make that trip once a year - twice if I catch a particularly nasty winter.”

Acadian wiped his mouth, “That’s an awful trek for you to take by yerself.”

She shook her head and weaved some magic essence between her fingers, “What have we magic for if not for convenience?”

Frank clenched his jaw. He could still remember the stinging cold on his lips. He noticed she wasn’t looking at him, even as he dared to stare into her eyes.

Arsa was letting Zaun nibble on the scraps left on his plate, enamored by the creature. Circe hadn’t eaten anything but wandered aimlessly around the house. Occasionally, she would tilt a framed picture slightly off-center or pull a book only a hair out of place.

Acadian sat up straight, “You have been awful hospitable, ma’am. Can we pay you back for anythin’? Don’t wanna put you out.”

She laughed quietly but then clicked her tongue in thought.

“Perhaps,” she said, “there is something you could do for me. You’ve met my neighbor, of course. I certainly wouldn’t mind being free of his claws.”

Flynn cocked his head, “You want us to kill the… the Trimmer?”

Arsa cast a tired glance, “The Tailor, Flynn. The Tailor.”

Morgana stood and spun toward the window by the sink, “Oh, you’re right. It is much too dangerous a task. It was selfish of me to ask it.”

Circe glared at her, a look of suspicion on her face that only Frank took notice of. Before either of them could interject, Acadian was standing.

“We will do what we can, Miss Morgana,” he said with a slight bow.

She faced him and smiled, clasping her hands over her heart. She stepped over to the door, picking up the basket of roses she carried the other night. With an elaborate gesture, she handed over a handful of five roses to the elf.

“Take these,” she said. “The roses won’t kill the thing, but it does seem to be frightened of them. He hides in an old cabin across the river you left him in. You’ll find it easily. Follow the smell.”

They spent some time putting on their gear and piling their bags into the cart outside. Morgana watched them from the porch, looking more delicate than she had acted last night - even before Frank and Gostor read the book.

When they had all joined in the wagon, Morgana called out, “Bring me his hands, if you please. As proof that he is dead.”

~

The cart rattled its way through the woods, following the marks left in the path from the previous journey. It wasn’t long before they crossed over the river and into the other half of the forest.

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You seem quiet today, Frank heard in his head. Circe was staring at him with a face that was impossible to read.

I don’t have much to say, he responded.

She didn’t blink, The blackened skin beneath your jaw might suggest otherwise.

He felt around his throat. Indeed there were five tender spots around his neck where Morgana’s hand had been. He swallowed hard and looked away from Circe.

She’s lying to us, she said in his mind. She was pretending back there. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a trap.

Why are you telling me? He asked. Why not make Acadian take us on out of the woods instead?

She smirked for the first time, Just because it’s a trap doesn’t mean it’s going to work. Did you believe her tale last night? About the drow.

I don’t know, he shook his head, letting his hair dangle over his face. The cart bounced off a particularly large root, the rattle sending some dark birds rushing from the tangle of branches overhead.

Flynn began to cough. The smell hit them all suddenly, the stinging scent of decay overwhelming their sinuses. Arsa was trying hard not to gag as the smell only grew more intense.

Gostor arched his back and began to growl at something in the distance. The cabin soon came into full view. The crooked silhouette of the dwelling huddled amongst a clearing of gnarled trees. An exterior of mismatched timber planks jutted out and splintered in various directions. Moss and fungi climbed the walls, like veins over a rotted exposed muscle.

The windows were placed unevenly along the front, the glass long shattered from the panes. A thick door sat propped against the front opening, the rusted hinges nowhere to be found. All along the front porch were a series of deeply carved slashes, adorning the facade with stripes like that of a beastly predator.

Acadian stopped the cart and quietly slid into the overgrown grass. He pulled out his crossbow and loaded it with an arrow. The others followed suit, readying their weapons or magic. They moved in formation, even Gostor showing trepidation.

The two elves stood with their arrows pointing straight at the entrance as Frank and Flynn moved the heavy door out of the way. There was no target behind it, only a dark entryway and a swarm of gnats and maggots that sprawled out of the opening.

The smell was even worse now. Those that had the means to pulled up the cloth of their gear to cover their mouth and nose, and those without suppressed their vomit. Acadian handed everyone one of the roses Morgana had given him, leaving himself without a flower.

Flynn stepped ahead of the group, his eyes alighting with an amber color as he spoke, “Gladucis.”

His sword began to glow brightly a divine light. Immediately, the group saw the grizzly sight of humanoid bodies piled on top of one another.

Skinless.

Many were missing limbs, some were missing eyes and jaws, teeth and digits. All of them had been flayed in grotesquely specific fashions. Worms and maggots coated the mountain of gore, the long dried blood of the victims coating the entrance like paint.

They stood, stunned, in the doorway for some time. Even Circe and Gostor had to turn away from the sight. Flynn pointed his sword down a hallway to the right and held up his shield, creating a covering for the bodies. The others filed in behind him and followed the glow of his sword.

The house was a claustrophobic maze of halls and low ceilings. There were remnants of what may have been a livable home such as broken picture frames and the rare scrap of a carpet. All of it had been abused and neglected. There was no telling what any given room had been intended for, as everything had been ransacked and defiled. Except for the many mannequins that decorated every open space in the cabin.

Hung on wooden spikes that had been pushed through the crooked floorboards were crude effigies made from straw and cloth, some with bones woven into the bodies. They were draped with the blood-stained garments of, presumably, the unfortunate bodies that lay piled in the foyer.

In one of the rooms, perhaps a dining room or a study, Frank grabbed a long navy coat from a mannequin and slung it over his shoulders. He pulled the collar around to cover his face. The blood stains were unpleasant, but it at least partially blocked the horrid scent in the air.

Eventually, they came across a dark circular room outfitted with furniture that was still intact. A wooden table at the back had a mess of metal shards and blades lying atop it. Wooden chairs were placed upside down in a seemingly random pattern. Around the perimeter were small candles, lit with flickering black flames.

Snip snip.

Flynn pointed his sword toward the familiar shriek of metal. Facing the wall, the Tailor sat in a squat, his silver fingers twitching. His coat pooled on the ground in a messy fold of fleshy stitches. Slowly, the creature stood to its full height, turning only its eyeless face to the intruders. They all readied their attacks.

Acadian aimed his crossbow at the back of its neck, “This is the last stitch you’ll ever pull.”