“So,” I began, my voice measured, “you’re willing to make a contract with me?”

The stranger’s mouth curved in a barely-there grin that only deepened my unease. “Not from any fondness, I assure you. Only a lively struggle has enough entertainment value to distract me from that… stench that reigns upon you.”

I lifted an eyebrow, matching his gaze with feigned calm.

“So long as we’re clear on the terms.” My lips quirked. “Or… does my curse have you a little cautious?” I bit my tongue as soon as I uttered the words.

“Cautious?” His dark eyes glinted with mocking amusement.

No. You can’t take it back now, Penelope you fucking idiot.

“I simply have standards, Little Thorn. Even in my dealings with the cursed.”

I swallowed, chin lifted, making a point to meet his gaze, even if I had to strain against the height between us.

The night breeze began to pick up pace, sharpening the rustling of the hill’s long grass and brushing against the injury on my back, and rustling through my loose hair, almost long enough to reach my waist, wavy and light.

“Well then,” I said, mustering a steady smile, “I’ll take this as a rare fortune… For the both of us.”

“Luck has little to do with it,” he countered, letting each word linger, his exasperation obvious through his tone.

“Let us be perfectly clear: to save you would be a strategic nuisance. I would be interrupting fate to ensure your survival, Little Thorn. It is you who stands in far greater need of this contract. With such a powerful curse upon you, you shall surely meet your end within the week... if not sooner.” His gaze swept over me, as though he relished the weight of his words.

I couldn’t argue back; he was completely right.

“I am not so dull of mind; I understand my debt to you if this contract spares my life. Provided, of course, that you never speak of our meeting tonight, nor dispel any news of my supposed death, which I anticipate will spread soon enough. If you adhere to these terms, I will repay you in full.” I said, willing my voice to stay calm. “I shall procure the Tears of the Dead for you.”

“Oh, you will,” he repeated, slightly nodding in satisfaction. “And in return, I shall ensure your continued existence until that time.”

I nodded. “Very well,” I extended him my hand—bruised and shaky.

He looked at it with mild distaste but took it, his grip unyielding.

“Know this,” he said quietly, his tone a low, steely threat. “If you lied about your ability to deliver the Tears, your life is mine the moment this contract spell is sealed.”

I hesitated, and he caught onto it through my gaze, making him slightly raise an eyebrow and observe cautiously.

I wasn’t lying. I didn’t know if the book lied about Tears of the Dead as it lied about Penelope Ashdown’s death scene, but right now, I was not lying.

I held his gaze, swallowing down my fear. “I haven’t lied. Do your worst, Sir.”

A glint of approval crossed his face, quickly replaced by indifference again. “Oh, I intend to.”

My fingers were trembling against his warm skin, and although my chest felt stiff at this forced contact, I could muster this much patience for the sake of my literal life.

There was a chance this man was not well-meaning at all and this so-called deal we were about to make was but a scam, and I would get betrayed and my stupid trus—

A light sizzle noise came from the area where our skin touched, followed by a light tingle along my palm and up my arm, making me flinch. That, as it seemed, amused the stranger, since a light scoff left his lips.

His hand lingered for a moment.

“Done,” he whipped his hand away, brushing his palm against his cloak as though cleansing himself of the contact.

I braced myself for the deadly pain that I learned should come after a spell.

But nothing came.

I looked up at him, confused. Meeting his careful, sharp black eyes, I noted that the warmth of his skin, the neatness of his haircut, and the sharpness of his features became increasingly pronounced, growing more striking with each shift of light as it threatened to spill over the horizon.

The sun was rising.

“You’re tethered to me now. If you’re on the edge of death, I’ll find you.”

My shoulders rolled down as I listened to him talk.

“But do keep this simple,” he added, his sharp, gleaming eyes narrowing. “I have no patience for theatrics.”

A strange warmth spread through me, dulling the pain in my limbs. I exhaled, tension blending with a sliver of relief.

“Is that all?”

“For now, yes.”

How come this time it’s so different…?

“Oh, and one more thing.” The stranger leaned in, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “If you lie, try to break this spell, or fail to bring me the Tears by the deadline…” His gaze hardened, a glacial threat behind it. “You’ll wish that curse had killed you.”

I swallowed hard. “I understand... Wait, what deadline?”

“Yes, the deadline. For now, there is none.” He tilted his head slightly as if savoring the suspense. “But my heart will decide on one soon enough.”

“What? What kind of unreliable contract is this?”

He tilted his head with a slight smirk, his amusement sharp. “This, Little Thorn, a Ferdowsian Contract.”

“I knew this was a scam,” I muttered, frustration mixing with the unease.

“Hm?” His eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“Do let me know when your heart decides on the deadline...” The words slipped out, sharp-edged, but I couldn’t hide the unease creeping in.

“No more questions?” He asked.

“Nothing comes to mind.”

He scoffed. “You’re either fearless, or incredibly stupid.”

I met his gaze, a bitter chuckle escaping me. “Aren’t we both?”

He smiled, and for once, it reached his eyes, pronouncing the lines of his dimples and the squinting of his eyes. “Perhaps. But I think time will tell.”

His voice was deceptively light as he turned, the shadows gathering around him in the faint morning light.

As he turned to go, his little fox followed in his steps, and I exhaled a tense breath, half-relieved, half-dreadful. The shadows around him stretched with the first light of morning, leaving me alone with a sense of unwelcome relief.

Only once I was on my way back to the used-to-be camping site did I remember two things I had discarded in the mess;

I never asked for the stranger’s name.

And…

Whatever became of Sir Truman?

----------------------------------------

Standing beside the unconscious Truman, exactly where I’d left him earlier—unharmed and certainly not attacked—the noble, foolish part of me swore up and down that I was under the legal duty to check up on him and tend to his wounds.

I think he’s alive. But I’m too scared to check his pulse.

“I’ll be back. Hang in there, Sir Truman.” The selfish part of me won, this time around.

I shook my head and tightened my hold on his glass dagger while sprinting past his unconscious body, and hurrying towards the destroyed campsite.

My arms were still shaking from all that had happened, and my heart was pounding, telling me to open my eyes wide and stay on guard.

I just need to hurry and get what I need, then come back and tend to his wounds so we can leave together.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

My steps faltered as I reached the remnants of the camp. Charred wood still smoked faintly, scattered debris a mute testament to all that had happened here.

Broken carriages lay overturned, wheels splintered, their contents scattered across the muddy ground—tattered tents, shattered crates, torn leather.

The smell of decay hit me before I even saw them: the bodies of the horses, twisted and bloated, their once-glossy coats now mottled with rot. Strewn among the carnage were the lifeless forms of knights and servants, their faces frozen in terror.

The bloodstains had long since dried, but the grotesque remnants of the unnatural clung to the scene like a curse.

There was no living soul in sight, not even the birds dared to fly down and gnaw at the remnants of the people, of the monsters, no trace of motion in a disturbing picture of the chaos.

For some time, I stood frozen, the image searing into my mind despite my effort to move on.

The sun had detached itself from the horizon and was climbing up the sky. A scouting party will likely arrive here soon. There was no way all of the screaming and screeching from yesterday went unheard.

I shook my head, curling my palm into a fist as I looked through the area, resisting the familiar, ever-so-appalling stench of blood permeating the air.

I headed towards one of the less damaged but overturned carriages. Its door was on its surface, and the compartment I targeted was vertical.

I searched through jumbled items, ignoring my stupid curiosity to seek out the source of the pungent metallic stench I knew was nearer than that of the corpses lying close by.

… It came from inside the carriage I was searching.

I grabbed whatever clothes I found, as well as the basic leather box I recognized to contain some medical treatment material. Bandages, salves, smelling salts, and a small bottle of alcohol. It wasn’t much—just a crude, stinging antiseptic—but it would have to do.

I freed myself from the ragged dress and the corset beneath it, every movement pulling at the raw ache in my back. I took off all of the gold on me and threw it into a neckerchief, then set it aside.

I couldn’t see what the wound looked like, but I knew I had to treat it if just minimally for the time being. Once I made it out of here, I would get someone to look at it.

The salve tin caught my eye. Quickly, I removed the lid and sniffed the pale green, waxy ointment, catching a few ingredients based on that. Thyme, and something sharper—perhaps lavender—rose from it, mingling with the earthy smell of lanolin.

This was a fortunate find. At least I wouldn’t be worried about any tearing or dryness for the wound.

I smeared alcohol on my hands, grabbed a clean cloth, and drenched it next before dabbing where I felt the injury to be with it.

The sting from the injury should have been intense, but with every moment I wasted on this ghostly campsite pulling on my sanity, I could feel my nerves less and less.

Once the wound was dressed and secured, carefully, I pulled on some brown wool trousers, which were a little too big for me, but the sturdy fabric felt reassuring as I cinched the waistband tighter. I shrugged into the high-collared shirt, its crisp edges brushing against my neck and wrists. It was big enough to leave my bandaged back untouched. I slipped some boots on; sturdy, low-heeled, and made from well-worn leather.

The kerchief hiding my treasures went into my trousers’ deep pockets, and I fastened the dark, weighty overcoat on me.

I stood up, ready to move along when my eyes accidentally landed on the source of the stench I had tried to ignore until now. My palm flew to my mouth, clenching around my face.

“Aah…” I groaned in pain.

The door of the carriage was broken in, which gave me access to the sight inside of it.

Disorderly, incomplete, crimson body parts smothered the carriage’s walls, and even leaked outside on the ground, broken chains lay handing out of the carriage. But the victims inside this carriage weren’t the usual lifeless knights or unrecognizable maids.

… Small body parts.

Before I could completely comprehend what I’d seen, suddenly, my vision went dark, and I lost sensation of my feet. The next thing I felt was the strong bang of my head against the ground.

For several moments, I lay on the wet grass, groaning as my mental desire to flee this scene combatted the void sitting in the pit of my soul.

The more I blinked, the more violet the sky turned, the shadier the trees in the distance became, and the darker the color of the glass I laid on got.

I plastered both palms on the ground and firmly propelled myself back up. Then, I grabbed the bag of clothes and remaining medical supplies I had prepared for Truman.

I had to move.

I was walking. Wobbly, tears running down my face, but I was walking.

It’s okay. Everything is alright.

I’m almost done.

I’m almost there.

I reached a convenient puddle of red, and an unrecognizable woman’s corpse lay lifelessly on it.

With shivering hands and blurry vision, I tore the clothes off of whatever remained of her and threw them away. I dressed her hollow chest in my corset and tore up my rag, though it was already in pieces, and drenched parts in the puddle, making it seem as though the rag got torn along with… her…

“I can’t…” I was huffing, head slipping down now and then when my vision momentarily abandoned me.

No… It’s fine.

I grabbed the glass dagger from the leather bag and used it to cut off my hair.

The length it now became wasn’t consistent throughout. I was left with nearly neck-length hair, smothered in dried blood and dirt.

I threw the hair onto her face and around her body. There was enough to paint a dramatic scene, charged with all of the emotions that were slowly driving my sanity down the drain.

That was the last piece to my puzzle, and thanks to the fact that the maid’s head was… incomplete…

It should be recognizable enough.

“I’m done,” I huffed, mustering a weak grin. “Thank, huff, you…” I smiled at my designated doppelgänger.

I pulled the newsboy cap low over my eyes and relied on the ground to help me stand back up as I searched for the forest.

“—go! Stop!” Distant noise. Perhaps my internal self…

I trudged towards the forest, the glass dagger in my hand. It was time to go…

“—elp—! Someone!”

“You— hear you, my lo—!”

A man’s voice?

I stopped, frowning as I threw a glance back.

Since when did my internal voice sound like a man’s—

I caught it. Blurry eyes and all.

There, where tents were once set, stood two figures… and a beat-up carriage.

My vision cleared up as the tears dried from my eyes.

“Get off me! You fucking lunatic!”

“Hey, I’m just trying to get a taste, let me…”

Alice.

And that toothless knight.

She was pinned against the carriage. The knight, covered in a brown substance, was holding her by the neck.

My breaths grew distant, as I slowly pieced together what was happening.

He was reaching for his pants.

And she was screaming bloody murder.

I heard the noise of a swallow, and then nothing else.

And the blood. It was still everywhere.

There were bodies around them, lifeless. But that man didn’t seem to care.

I wasn’t doing anything, but somehow, I was getting closer and closer to the two.

Alice was wide-eyed, beating the guy’s chest with as much power as she could.

My vision went black every few seconds.

My ears began ringing.

The head bang from earlier… No, something internal. Something visceral was taking effect…

Memories were returning to me, accompanied by such cold, suffocating rage.

Alice’s pink eyes flashed green. And Fars’ stature morphed into one much more recognizable. His dark hair curled into blonde strands. He snarled down at her, his glasses catching some harsh, imaginary gleam. Was it him? Or was this just…my mind turning on itself?

He was shouting at her face, the back of his body facing me.

Young Penelope, her green eyes bloodshot, and that man’s firm grip on her curly brown hair. She pushed back against his grip, eyes searching her surroundings for a weapon.

She wanted to kill him.

She wanted to get him off of her.

I couldn’t let him do that to me.

Images of my dark apartment lounge, and the quiet shrill of an eerie summer night.

Similar to the one that filled the air now again.

The purple sky’s color through the lenses of my barely conscious mind was a backdrop to something that I needed to relieve, long since my death.

Every bruise on my body echoed the words in my head: harder, harder.

But my vision was dark, and all I could see was from the inside.

Flashes of a heavy car against my corpse. A curled fist against my jaw. The burning tears and her cold corpse in my arms. A cold shard against my neck. All of the despicable blood smeared on my gloves—hungry, murderous intent haunting my soul.

“You’re cursed.” That stranger said.

How stupid of him to point out a fact so clear to me since the day I was birthed.

Everything went dark.

… Then I saw myself behind Benjamin. Or is it Fars?

I saw hope intertwined with fear inside her green eyes. No. Pink eyes.

All black again.

The dagger’s handle felt cold in my hand. It kept moving without my consent.

The ringing in my ears came to a halt. The next thing I knew; I was on my knees.

My vision was clearer this time.

Alice was saved. On her knees. Eyes open wide.

And Benjamin was on the ground, facing down.

“… Why’s my dagger red?” I muttered, looking at the weapon in my hand.

I looked up, vaguely discerning Alice’s emotional gaze. Fear, gratitude, and… Fascination.

What a strange combination to hold in one’s eyes.

She was in tears, ripping the dagger out of my hands and frantically wiping the red off of them.

“It-it’s alright,” She spoke words neither of us believed.

The lightheadedness was perhaps my body’s last solution to prevent the head-splitting headache I was struck by.

The sky had regained its blue color.

And all I wanted was to let out the sharpest, most painful scream I could.

Because I was aware of what I’d done.

… I’d done it again, and again, and again, and again.

And I was also aware that this headache wasn’t pain.

It was my sanity giving up on me.

“Penelope,” Alice’s hands held my shoulders and shook me. “My lady, are you okay!?”

My lips parted so I could scream, so I could talk, so I could whisper the words. My chest felt hollow, like every breath was swallowed by a black hole in my ribs.

I’m sorry.

I wanted to say it so desperately.

My eyes rolled back, and with a snap—like a string breaking inside my mind—my head lolled, and a strange, warm numbness seeped in as I felt myself fold down, sinking deeper and deeper, slipping into somewhere dark and quiet. The tension melted, leaving nothing. Just… silence.