One week on.
Walking along the footpath beside the road with the weighty bag of groceries from the market, the two made their way.
The lanes were straight but more congested than usual with traffic.
"Hmm… so many people today. Wonder what's going on?" Jade said in an attempt to break the silence.
But Sapphire did not answer. He just kept walking in silence.
"Ahh… again," Jade grumbled to himself, aware that Sapphire was not listening.
"Brother, I apologize for what went down. But what's done is done. We can't turn back time now."
"That's the whole point—you keep using this we, but it was you who got us into that mess, and we both got caught for it," Sapphire snapped in frustration.
"Oh, come on! Isn't that what brothers do? Stand by each other?" Jade shot back.
"Yeah, but not always…"
As they conversed, an impromptu shove by the crowd forced them off to the side from the center of the road to the curb.
"What in the world is happening?" Jade scratched the back of his head.
"I don't know," Sapphire shrugged.
"Shhh…" a man ahead of them quieted, holding up a finger to his lips. "Quiet! Can't you children see who's approaching?"
Both of them leaned in, trying to peek through the crowd.
They saw a march of armed soldiers passing by. Behind them, a decorated caravan rolled along, carrying nobles inside.
"Oh… some rich people," Jade said, amused.
"Yeah, sure looks like it," Sapphire agreed.
They overheard two strangers nearby talking about the visitors.
"I've heard they're here for some event," one said.
"Yeah, I've heard the same," the other replied.
"Something about the Green Hills or… something like that."
When Green Hills was mentioned, the two boys exchanged a look and hastened to make their way through the crowd, dashing back to the orphanage.
There, they rushed to Mrs. Beck's room—quiring Miss Merry would be useless.
There, Mrs. Beck reclined on her bed, sleeping. She had not been well lately, and rest had become a requirement.
They crept up and knelt next to her.
"Ma'am, are you awake?" Sapphire said gently.
Her eyes opened. With a slight cough, she answered,
"You two. Oh dear, yes, I'm awake."
"How are you feeling today?" Sapphire inquired.
"Better now. Yesterday I had a little fever, but it passed."
"So, what do you do here?"
Their faces lighting up with excitement, Jade spilled,
"Ma'am, we saw a whole caravan of carriages in town! We heard that they're here for some event… Is it true?"
"Oh yes, the event. You two haven't heard about it yet?"
"Yes, they're coming for a fair we're putting together—to bring in donations from rich tourists for the orphanage."
Both boys froze.
"Ohhh… that's awesome!" Jade exclaimed.
Then, an idea crossed his mind.
Oh ma'am, I have a wonderful idea! Let's have a play for the guests! We had so much fun!"
He smiled.
"I could be a dashing knight guarding the kingdom, and Sapph—Sapph would be the princess!" He chuckled. "He certainly does look like one."
"Hey! That's uncouth," Sapphire snarled, obviously angry.
Mrs. Beck exploded in a laugh. Wiping away tears in her eyes, she said,
Oh Jade, you naughty boy. But really, that is a wonderful idea. We do not yet have a headline for the fair."
"Yes, yes—do proceed with it! I'll let Mrs. Martha know that you two boys are organizing the event and may miss classes for the time being."
Grinning, the boys departed from the room. As Jade closed the door, Sapphire jabbed his shoulder.
"Hey! What was that for?" Jade cried.
"For calling me a princess, dumbass."
"Whatever," Jade grinned. "Look on the bright side—we get to avoid chores now. All it cost was you being a princess. That's a good deal, right?"
Saying that, Jade took off with a laugh as Sapphire chased him down the hallway.
A little later, the two became absorbed in writing a script and recruiting volunteers for their play.
Let us put them on hold for now and go to somewhere else...don't worry. it wont take to long.
Under a foggy, black night, somewhere on the town's western side,
A woman in her early twenties cared for her bedridden mom.
The elderly woman hacked spasmodically. Her frame seethed with fever.
"Oh, Mother… this is serious. We have to call for a doctor right away," the daughter replied anxiously.
"No, dear. It's too dark outside. You can't venture out by yourself. It's not safe," the mother weakened in protest.
"Don't worry, Mother. I'll be all right. There's nobody else around, and I need to get assistance—now."
Through her mother's insistence, the woman tied on a shawl and ventured out into the darkness.
The streets were resolutely still. Obscurity engulfed the way, and a thin fog wrapped itself around her ankles, obscuring her sight.
The medical facility was distant, and traveling would take time.
She walked.
And walked.
And walked.
Only silence filled the night—no birds, no footsteps, no voices.
Nothing but a grave, unnatural stillness.
Suddenly, a sharp noise made her heart jolt.
"What… what was that?" she whispered, glancing around in fear.
She looked up.
It was just an owl, perched high on a wall.
Its sudden call had startled her.
She exhaled, trying to calm herself.
But her pace quickened.
Faster.
And faster.
Each step is faster than the one before.
As she marched, her breath misting in the chill air, an odd shiver tickled her backbone. She had covered half the distance to the medical center, but something… something did not feel right.
There—once again.
Presence.
It was not the wind. It was not mist.
She froze. Glanced around over her shoulder.
Nothing.
But her gut said otherwise. She sensed it—eyes on her from an unseen place. Her heart picked up speed and thundered louder.
She hurried faster.
The air was thick, like passing through webs that are invisible. Her breath constricted. Silence had become louder, the type that consumes sound as well as thinking.
Her shadow danced abnormally with the rotation of a faraway streetlight—then separated briefly, practically as if another one moved along with her.
She spun around. Nobody.
Fearful anxiety seized her.
She made the first turn she could see—a cramped, fog-swallowed alleyway with broken pavement. Maybe a detour. Perhaps escape.
But the farther she proceeded, the more the way twisted.
Walls closed in on her. Garbage cans towered over her like stooping giants. A rusty pipe creaked somewhere overhead, and the fog crawled along the pavement like hell's smoke.
Then—a wall.
She wheeled about. Her heart a storm in her ears.
She attempted to go back over her ground but in her hurry—
Thud!
She collided with something tall, cold, and unyielding. She staggered backward and landed with a clang on the wet cobblestone.
Blinded, she gazed upward.
At first, she could see only a shadow—thin, tall… still.
Then, the golden light from a dancing lamp above illuminated the figure just enough to show her the details.
And what she saw sucked all the air from her lungs.
It wasn't a pole.
It was a person—a thing like a person.
At least six feet tall, and dressed in a long, worn coat that dragged heavily to its ankles. There were silver buttons down its middle like bones. On its fingers were immaculately fitted black gloves—too fine, too white for this dirty world.
But the face.
The face.
A beaked mask—sewn from black, leathery material—encased all from brow to chin, such as the plague doctors of bygone centuries. Cracks disfigured the beak, as though something within had attempted to burst through.
The mask's right eye was obscured—hidden behind a veil of blood-red hair that was long and gleaming even with the dirt encircling it. The left eye alone, which showed, lacked human warmth. Only a cold, dead glass that stared without flinching.
On top of its head was a large cartwheel hat, imposing and unsettling. Its rim frayed a little but still held an aristocratic elegance—worsened by the dainty pink ribbon neatly wrapped around it and a small dangling pendant that softly chimed… like a forgotten lullaby of long ago.
The figure leaned forward.
She attempted to scream—but her voice stuck in her throat.
Her body stiffened. Not of choice—but as if her limbs had been taken over by the very fog itself.
The figure stepped closer. The wooden sole of its boot struck sharply against the stone. Then again. And again—until it stood directly before her.
It leaned down.
The eye flashed.
A breath was heard behind the mask—clear, deliberate, and colder than death:
"Princess."
She shuddered. Her lips parted, but nothing emerged.
The figure cocked its head, nearly. amused.
Then it lifted a gloved hand—slowly, as if enjoying the gesture—and extended it toward her.
Before she could act, before she could do anything, the fog between them heaved like a wave, engulfing both her scream and the figure.