Cordelia was tired. Very tired. Positively exhausted. But she tossed and turned instead of sleeping.

The coarse and somewhat stank blanket rubbed her all the wrong ways. But it was not that.

She thought of many things, and at times not quite sure if she was dreaming or thinking thoughts of a stranger. A mixture of dread and excitement and disbelief. Only one thing was sure: all that had transpired thus far in this world hardly augured a bright future. Violence, poverty and a demon in her mind made up only the surface details of her problems. The worst perhaps was the uncertainty of what tomorrow may bring. And yet this unknowing was a novelty and something to relish in the moment. How many times had she gone to sleep in her past life wishing she would never wake up? Or that if she did, it would be another world where the expected tedium and daily dread should never come? At least this anxiety keeping her from sleep was fresh. It portended as many hopes as it did despair.

So what if she was in reality worse off than even the fictional version she had created for herself? No relatives, no friends or acquaintances, sure. But there had never been one in her past she could call a friend in the first place. Except for one person, who was far away and in all ways irrelevant to the life she remembered. She had no knowledge of the land, and was unequipped to deal with a life as removed from modernity as could. But it was that modernity that she hated, that age full of cruel people and the few good ones who would rather mind their business. No one had ever extended a helping hand the way Esme had.

Here, death is at hand and evil coils around her wrist. But there, dread awaited behind closed doors, evil allowed by eyes averted.

A world she had deliberately and devastatingly left behind could not be missed nor maintained in her regrets.

But she was afraid.

When Esme had suggested she stay with them, she had seen all too clear the path ahead. Everything had been carefully planned, the plot meticulously crafted. The incident at the road, the chase of the fey wolves. All had served to deliver her smoothly into this household of the siblings. All she must needs do was follow this path, earn the Maiden of God’s trust, and a place in her future deeds. Then when the time comes, she would ultimately betray the clueless girl.

The devil would reward her with power, and the siblings would guard her from immediate dangers. And this she had no doubt, for they had swiftly conquered these beasts and proved their strength beyond and shadows of doubt.

She had elected not to take the easy path. She wanted to live again. And she wanted to live differently. Who cares if she would not be rewarded. All she wanted was to live her life afresh, one without all the misfortunes and suffering of her past life. She would not let the devil dictate how she should spend this second chance.

Again, she could almost hear in a darkness somewhere a serpent snickered.

The temptation persistently haunted her mind. So the only way to avoid the slippery slope is to never go near it in the first place. And so she must go far, far away. No matter where, she just needs to get as far from Esme and her brother as possible.

The newfound conviction lent her strength, and some peace.

Esme rustled.

Cordelia turned.

“Did I wake you?” the blonde asked.

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Are you still scared?”

Even in the dark, the innocent girl’s face was fraught with concerns. No doubt she would have flung her arms over to comfort Cordelia if not for the latter’s extreme reactions to physical contact till now.

“I’m fine now. Just thinking about the future.”

“That’s still a scary thing.”

“Indeed.”

A silence. Cordelia stared at the low ceiling. “Honest,” she said, “do you hate to see me leave?”

There was that awkward smile again. “Somewhat.”

“It must be lonely out here,” she remarked sagely.

Esme thought on it. “Not too much to bear. Just...” she searched for the right words, “it’s been a good while since I met someone my age.”

“How long?”

“Some years. I can’t remember.”

Esme was not a good liar.

“Why?”

It was an obvious question. As a stranger to the land, there may be yet many customs Cordelia must learn. But from what little glimpses she’d had of their ways of life, there were civilizations - villages, towns, cities, perhaps even nations. And neither did the siblings seem born and bred in the wilderness. The masterfully wrought armors were telling, and also the way they had talked of the life in town, polite estates, taverns, barmaids, and implications at less than savory professions.

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At any rate, there came a long silence that she near thought Esme had hated her for putting the tactless question.

Then the blonde stirred, gazing also now at the ceiling. At length, she said, “You lied, didn’t you?”

Cordelia froze.

“Ah, don’t worry,” Esme said quickly and guiltily, “I’m not angry. You are alone without friends, and who are we to you but perfect strangers, whom you would not be blamed to distrust? But from your story it seems there’s more than what you let on. Maybe there’s something about your being orphaned since birth, and yet adopted to a noble house. Something about the nature of the disagreement between your house and that lord. Whether you are a lady-in-waiting or the young lady herself. Or even something else. I do not know and I shall not ask. So you see...” She turned her head to Cordelia now. And from the look in Esme’s eyes, she could tell it had taken the girl some measure of courage. “...Sometimes there are things we cannot tell another. Sometimes for a good and forgivable reason. So you just have to trust me as I trust you. That we both have our forgivable causes to lie.”

Cordelia bit her lips, closed her eyes. Many thoughts like storm clouds whirled in her head, conjured by the girl’s gentle and honest speech. She wanted to weep, and at the same time, she wanted to shout. She would have liked nothing more than to stay and befriend this girl, to repay a little of her kindness and unwarranted trust by allaying some of her loneliness. But she could not, for the same reason that she wanted to stay. She must go far, far away. And soon.

“Why do you trust me?” she asked bitterly.

“I don’t know,” Esme said as though it was the most natural thing on earth, even as the trust for her brother. “I think you are a good person.”

“Then you think wrongly. I’m not good. I’m not even anything.”

“Mayhap you are not. Mayhap you are wrong.”

“You never lose an argument, don’t you?” Cordelia gave her a sidelong glance.

“You concede your point too easily.”

Cordelia laughed. The both of them laughed. Pure and simple, for no reason at all.

She would that they could go on that way forever. But there must be sleep as the night wore on. And slowly darkness claimed her. And for the first time in a long while, she fell into the embrace of sleep and dreams unhaunted by anxiety or dread.

In the morning found herself alone, reinvigorated if not in the body then the mind. Her back ached still from the cruel acts of yesterday. The fallen carriage and the impact against a tree had not been kind. And somehow she felt weakened in an unguarded state.

“Morning,” a voice announced.

She started up, looking for the person. The blanket she had shared with Esme last night slid away, revealing several bruises on her limbs. The shack looked even more miserable in daylight. Derrick’s armors gleamed on a shelf and the firepit was cold. But she could see no one.

Mastema slithered languidly on her wrist. She might never grow used to the skin-crawling sight. Never.

“Morning!” it repeated a bit louder. And yet the voice was unreal, entirely in her head.

“What is it?” she said coldly, having no warm feelings whatsoever for the creature and its purposes.

“Nothing much, mistress. I merely think you will appreciate a little guidance - a sort of tutorial, if you will, to get you accustomed to the controls and all.”

“Speak plainer.”

“Not a morning person, eh?”

“Not a snake person.”

“Well, but you literally are one.” The snake cackled as though it was a capital joke.

That aside.

“Regarding your overtuned senses, I did tell you it could be switched off.”

“Did you? Am I...” she struggled to speak the word, “a demon too? A fey? Is that why the slightest touch of ‘the Maiden of God’ could hurt me?”

“Yes. And no. Yes, you are a fey, even as I. Though some of us are more attuned to our senses than others. No, you weren’t burnt because you are vulnerable to blessed mortals. Quite the opposite actually. They are prey to those like you, and you, the einhejar, are their natural enemy. Let me illustrate the point. Imagine a ladder, a food chain, if you will, where at the bottom exists humans, the most common race of this land. Though weak and feeble, their number dominates the land and they live under the sun while we live in the shadow. We feys are creatures of far fewer numbers but stronger and of deeper lore. We prey on humans in numerous ways, either taking them as food, lovers, or other sources of nourishment for our individual needs. But humans are not completely helpless, for among them there are those blessed by the good gods, who take an oath to vanquish feys and defend humanity. Knights, as they called themselves, whose tidy work you witnessed firsthand yesterday. You see where I’m going?”

“Even as they hunt feys, people like me hunt them?”

“Not only them, for sometimes a patron god would have greater purposes. Nor are you einharjar all-powerful or invulnerable to certain methods humanity may employ against our kind. But each comes equipped with certain abilities to guard you against knights. Unique to your repertoire is a special sense to detect knights and those imbued by the power of the good god.”

“So, it’s like an alarm of sorts?” Cordelia nodded. She had not the slightest intention to go out of her way to fight those powerful knights, if the siblings were any indication of their prowess. But to avoid them specifically, it was indeed a helpful ability.

“A sense, aye. And like many of your abilities, its effectiveness is governed by your attributes. But...” the snake licked the air, shaking its head, “yours is a peculiar case I could not make sense of. As a Snakeling, your Perception ranks E, which is standard for newborn feys, if a little better than the less gifted. But it should not warrant that measure of reaction you got. It is as though...” it hesitated, “it is as though you already have a deep fear for human contact--”

“Does not matter,” she cut it off curtly. “This suits me just fine. I shall leave this ‘sense’ on.”

The snake eyed her as though she was an alien. Which was in fact not so far from the truth.

“ ‘Tis good to be cautious,” it said, “but do you not think it will prove an inconvenience?”

“How so? I’m not in any pressing need to let Esme rub my shoulder or anything.”

“I mean,” Mastema giggled, “The name of your class is telling. It is what you do best. Your greatest asset, if I may.”

“No!” Cordelia shouted without restraint. Her other hand struck the wrist on which the demon perched.

There came a sound from outside. And as though on cue she rose at once, whispering, “And that’s enough of you. I shall learn on my own lonesome what I may with this einherjar thing!”