The sky should have changed by now.
Mara sat on the edge of her bed, hands resting on her lap, eyes unfocused. A faint line of color had begun to press against the horizon, but it wasn't the usual warmth of dawn. It was dull, like the sun had forgotten how to rise properly.
She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there. The stone and the charm were still on her desk, untouched since she placed them there before lying back down. She hadn't gone back to sleep. She hadn't even tried.
The voice from the night still rang in her ears. Not loud. Not even frightening. But real.
She didn't know why that was worse.
She stood and walked to the basin. The water inside had cooled overnight. She splashed it against her face, watching the droplets trail down and drip into the bowl. Her reflection didn't look different. But something about her eyes made her pause.
She leaned closer.
What am I supposed to see?
Behind her, the old floor creaked. She turned sharply.
No one.
Of course, no one.
Still, she moved quickly to the wardrobe and dressed. Plain clothes. Faded blue. No thought put into it.
She didn't like staying inside the room after nights like that. Too many corners. Too many places where silence could hide things she couldn't name.
Downstairs, the hallway smelled of damp wood and leftover candle wax. The air felt stale, like the house had been holding its breath along with her. She passed the kitchen without stopping. She wasn't hungry.
At the door, she hesitated. There was no real reason to leave. No errands. No instructions.
But staying felt worse.
She stepped outside.
The village was quiet. It was always quiet at this hour, but something about today made the silence more obvious. No clatter from the baker. No distant clanging from the smithy. No footsteps. No chatter.
She walked along the dirt path, keeping her eyes low. Her shadow barely stretched across the ground.
The sky hadn't brightened.
Halfway toward the creek, she paused. There was a smell in the air. Wet stone? Maybe iron. Not blood. Not exactly. But it made her stomach tighten.
She scanned the edge of the woods.
A single crow stood in the tall grass, unmoving.
Not the same one. She could tell. The eyes weren't silver. Just black.
Still, it was staring at her.
She took one step forward.
The crow didn't move.
Two more steps.
Still nothing.
It wasn't afraid of her.
When she came close enough, she could see something in the grass near its feet. A scrap of cloth. Torn. Faded red.
Mara crouched and reached for it. The crow gave a single caw and flew up, disappearing into the canopy. Her fingers brushed the fabric.
It was part of a scarf.
She knew this pattern.
Her aunt had one just like it.
Mara stood up slowly. Her breath had become shallow without her noticing.
She turned back toward the house. Walking faster.
The path seemed longer on the return. The stillness was heavier now. The doors and shutters of every home stayed closed.
She didn't see a single person.
When she reached her doorstep, she paused with her hand on the knob.
The stone and the charm. She had left them in the room.
Something told her not to go back up.
She opened the door.
Inside, the house no longer smelled of wax or wood. It smelled like smoke.
Thin, faint.
She walked in slowly.
Her steps made no sound.
At the foot of the stairs, she looked up.
She heard something.
A breath. Or the echo of one.
It wasn't hers.
And it was coming from above.