𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓 (18+)

The upside to the torrential storm raging outside was that the annual sacrificial ceremony had to be postponed. You couldn’t hope to incinerate a person with soggy kindling—and even if a fire did spark it would be put out in seconds under that relentless downpour.

Muriel breathed into her cupped palms as she sat there on her raggedy old bed. A scratchy brown blanket was wrapped snuggly around her form, keeping in as much warmth as possible. Damn this cold, wet climate.

She rubbed her hands together, her green eyes glancing towards the small pantry where she kept her rations. It was nearly empty. She had meant to fetch more days ago, right when the storm had reared its ugly head. At first she didn’t think heading out was worth the risk of catching sickness. After all, medicine wasn’t cheap. But as she didn’t see an end to this dreary weather anytime soon, she figured it had to be risked.

A beat of damp wings and scratch of talons drew her gaze to the windowsill at the opposite stone wall. A thrown rock had broken the glass months ago—a prank on the town’s mysterious orphan girl—and since then the crows had decided her small, drab home was theirs as well. This crow in particular was a regular. It cocked its head at her after it squeezed inside, ruffling its feathers to keep warm.

“I’m afraid you won’t find it much better in here,” Muriel said to the bird with a wry smile. Various pots and pans were laid out to catch the water dripping from the few cracks in the aged ceiling.

It just clicked at her then flew down to perch onto a nearby pan. It dipped its beak into the water and lifted its head to let the drops fall down its throat. After doing this a few times it hopped down to the cold floor, its beady eyes searching for forgotten crumbs.

Muriel sighed as she watched the scavenging crow, nestling further into her blanket. “You and me both, Mister.”

She listened to the rain pummeling against stone for a while before finally having the courage to unwrap the blanket from her body and get ready. Immediately the cold seeped into her bones and her teeth chattered, goosebumps raising on her tan skin. She put on another layer above her plain white dress then threw a heavy wool cloak on over that, as grey as the clouds in the angry sky.

Hastily, she put her long black hair into a braid around her head and pulled up the hood of her cloak to cover it. She grabbed her gloves off the small table in the corner and pocketed what little coin she had. Of course Harriet would refuse it, the sweet woman that she was, but nonetheless she would offer it anyway. She wasn’t entitled to people’s charity.

A soft caw drew her eyes back to the crow peering up at her from the dirty floor. She smiled at it. “I suppose I can bring you a little something to eat. If you think you deserve it?”

The black bird clacked its beak.

“Alright, then,” she said as if it had spoken to her. “I won’t be long.”

As soon as she left the small dwelling, she wished she hadn’t. The rain was relentless and determined to soak through her thick layers if she wasn’t fast enough. So she set off down the muddy road towards the village. Her boots were thick with mud by the time she hit cobblestone.

No one else was crazy enough to be outside but her, it seemed. She was grateful for that at least. No prying eyes would follow her, no whispers would reach her ears, and she wouldn’t feel the sting of rejection every time a person avoided her on the street as if she had the plague. If she had known who her parents were then maybe they would have treated her differently.

Her short trip ended and so did her troublesome thoughts as she knocked on a wide wooden door. It opened to the smiling round face of a shorter, plump woman with greying brown hair and darker brown eyes.

“Muriel,” she said so warmly it reached her heart. “Come out of this rain, come in,” she insisted, ushering her into her home and near the crackling fire.

Harriet’s home was bigger and more furnished than her own. It had wooden floors instead of stone and there were no leaks in the ceiling. Her two boys, one 9 and the other 12, were playing with wooden toy soldiers on the floor by the fireplace. Their father, a sailor, brought his children a new carved toy each time he returned from sea. They looked up at the cloaked woman when she came in.

Thomas, the older boy, gave a cheerful grin and waved, “Hello, Miss Muriel.”

His younger brother beside him, Henry, barely glanced up at her before looking shyly back down at his toy, fiddling with its stiff arms.

“Hello,” she returned the greeting with a warm smile as she sat down on the sofa while Harriet went into the storage room. “What do you have there?” Muriel nodded towards the wooden figures in their hands.

“These are soldiers,” Thomas said, holding up his toy and lifting its arm to have it wave at her up and down. “Mine is from across the sea. He was sent by a far away king to save the captured princess.”

“Oh he must be very brave to travel so far from home,” she commented.

“Mine is brave, too,” Henry spoke up softly, still looking down at his little wooden soldier. “He saves the princess from a big scary dragon when it tries to eat her.”

The younger boy held up another toy she hadn’t noticed before. It was the figure of a dragon carved from lime wood. Its jaws were open in a roar and its wings were spread as if to take off in flight.

“Wow,” she whispered, staring at the wooden beast. “Your soldier is very brave indeed.”

Henry’s gentle features broke into a bright smile that could light up the darkest night.

Harriet came in holding two bags filled with baked goods, fruits, vegetables, and some dried meats. “Here you go, dear,” she handed her one bag, then the other. “The second one is for Agatha, if you would be so kind as to send this to her.”

Muriel nodded, accepting the food. “Of course. I’ll take this to her immediately,” she stood from the sofa, wishing she could give the woman a hug but her hands were full. “You are so kind, Harriet. Allow me to pay you this once?”

“Nonsense!” Harriet shook her head as if offended by the idea of taking her money. “I don’t want to hear you talk about payment ever again, you understand? Good. Now off with you, and don’t stay out in the rain too long else you’ll catch a cold.”

Muriel chuckled at her motherly friend as she walked to the door. “Yes, ma’am.” She shouldered the door open and looked back at her one last time. “Thanks again, Harriet.”

They shared a smile and then she was gone.

The walk to Agatha’s house was a longer walk from the village than her own was. The woman was a witch and suffered the same isolation Muriel did. But kind people like Harriet and her boys made their situation less bleak.

Eventually she came upon the stone hut, smoke billowing from its chimney. With a huff, she set down one of the bags and knocked on the door.

A middle-aged blonde woman cracked the door open, peering out suspiciously before her beautiful blue eyes locked onto her. She opened the door wider and offered a small smile.

“Muriel, what a pleasant surprise.”

Picking up the other bag from the dry spot on the ground, the cloaked woman handed it to the kind witch. “This is from Harriet.”

Agatha accepted the bag and her smile softened. “She is so sweet. I wish I could pay her back.”

Muriel laughed. “She’d sooner beat you with a stick than let you give her money.”

The pretty witch laughed softly with her. “I suppose you’re right.”

The longer she stood out there, she started to notice the rain had soaked through both the heavy wool of her cloak and the second covering she wore. Muriel gave the woman a small, respectful bow of her head. “Well, I have to be going now. I’m scared to know what Harriet would do if she found out I let myself catch a cold.”

The witch snickered. “Yes, you’d best take care of yourself,” she said, her giggling fading to a contented grin. “It was nice to see you. Don’t be a stranger, okay? You’re welcome here any time.”

Muriel nodded with a grin of her own. “I’ll have to take you up on that offer soon. Take care,” she said with a wave goodbye before turning to head back home.

“You, too,” she heard her reply before the sound of the door latching shut reached her ears.

Her heart felt lighter as she walked back to the village on her way to the old dilapidated building she called home. Her thoughts traveled to Harriet and her family. The older woman hadn’t mentioned it, but her husband had been gone for longer than usual. For a sailor that wasn’t a good sign, but Muriel held out hope that the boys’ kind father would return and Harriet would be happy again with her family complete.

A figure rammed into her and she almost dropped her bag of food. The other person nearly fell over but Muriel righted herself before grabbing their arm to stabilize them. When she got a good look at them she realized it was the old mute beggar woman that lived on the streets, keeping to herself. She also wore a cloak, though it was tattered at the edges and very dirty.

“I’m sorry,” Muriel apologized, releasing the old woman’s arm once she was stable enough. “I was lost in thought and didn’t see you. Here,” she opened her bag quickly and took out a bread loaf. “Please take this.”

The mute, hooded woman looked at the offered food before tentatively accepting it from her and hiding it under her cloak to protect it from the rain. The beggar gave a respectful nod and Muriel interpreted it as a thank you.

She smiled. “If you ever need a place to rest your head, you’re welcome in my home any time.”

The old beggar bowed again and then walked off into the village, most likely to go back to her usual covered alleyway.

She wondered why the beggar preferred solitude even when it came at the cost of her comfort. But she didn’t think too deeply into it. Soon she was back in her own sorry little hut, kicking off her muddy boots and leaving them by the door.

A sharp caw made her heart jump and she pressed a hand to her chest as her gaze whipped over to the cheeky black bird now perched on the back edge of the wooden chair in her small kitchen area. Muriel narrowed her eyes at it before stomping over to the pantry and organizing her new rations into it.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she accused as she finished arranging the food inside the cool storage space.

It cocked its head at her when she glanced over at it and she sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I got some food for you. I don’t think you deserve it, but I am a woman of my word,” she said, tearing a chunk off of a loaf. She ripped the chunk into smaller pieces and slowly fed them to the happy crow.

As it gobbled up its fifth tiny piece, she found herself smiling softly while she sat there on the thin mattress of her bed. With cold, achy fingers, she unraveled the braid around her head and let her black locks fall down her back. As her fingers toyed with a few dark strands, she wondered if she got this feature from her mother. She imagined her as a kind, selfless woman—probably with a vast knowledge of medicine to help people because her heart was so big it could encompass everyone within it.

If her dark hair was from her mother, then maybe her forest green eyes were a gift from her father. She imagined his own eyes had crows feet at the edges from years of laughter. He must have had a big, warm laugh that made everyone around him feel happy and welcome. In her mind he was a strong man, rough on the outside but soft in his heart. He used his strength to build homes for those who couldn’t do it for themselves.

Muriel vowed to be just as kind, selfless, and strong as she imagined her parents had been, whether or not her ideas were true. Other kids had grown up with role models they could see in the flesh, and she also had people to look up to and aspire to be like, even if they only existed in her head.

Hours passed and she realized it wasn’t raining anymore. When she took a peek out of her cracked window, she looked up in search of angry clouds. She found none.

The sky was ominously clear.