The days were calm, serene. Bright mornings and quiet nights folded into each other like the pages of a book left open too long.
Vien and Orthan took turns teaching her the rhythms of daily life in Elioudra, the little wisdoms, the quiet ways.
They treated her as if she were their own daughter.
By the elderberry thicket, Vien guided her with a soft voice.
"Oh, be careful with those, dear. The purple ones are fine once you cook them, but don't touch the green ones, they'll make you sick as a dog. I always add a bit of honey when I'm making jam. Takes the edge off the tartness."
She smiled at the knowledge, nodding, warmed by Vien's presence and gentleness.
The basket on her arm swayed lightly with every step.
There is someone watching behind you. Turn around. Look at me.
There is someone following your footsteps. Turn around.
Look at me.
Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking.
Lurking beyond the thicket.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Turn around. Look at me.
───⸻⟐༒⟐⸻───
The pot simmered. Gulyás. Thick with herbs and tender meat. Vien stirred it slowly, carefully, like a mentor guiding a first-timer.
"You can't hurry a good stew, deary. I learned that the hard way when I was young and impatient. The meat needs time to get tender, and don't be shy with the paprika, that's what gives it the real flavor. You know It's not done until the kitchen smells like home."
She breathed it in, savoring both the smell and the moment. She smiled, she nodded.
There is someone watching behind you. Turn around. Look at me.
There is someone following your footsteps. Turn around.
Look at me.
Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking.
Lurking behind the window pane.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Turn around. Look at me.
───⸻⟐༒⟐⸻───
In the kitchen, Vien leaned on the counter, knife in hand. She chopped the legs off a rabbit Orthan had caught that morning.
"Wild rabbit's lean," she explained. "It can also be tough if you're not careful—not much fat on them. I always cook mine low and slow with whatever root vegetables I have. And don't throw away those bones when you're done—they make the best broth if you let them simmer all day."
She watched every movement, studying her hands with reverence. Like watching a master at work. She smiled, she nodded.
There is someone watching behind you. Turn around. Look at me.
There is someone following your footsteps. Turn around.
Look at me.
Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking.
Lurking beside the windowsill.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Turn around. Look at me.
───⸻⟐༒⟐⸻───
Along a rocky wall, past the thicket, there was an old cave, carved slowly by time. Orthan struck a rock with his pickaxe, his shovel strapped across his back. With a crack, a silvery stone fell loose.
"Iron's a jealous metal," he said. "Dig it raw, and it'll fight you. But heat it right… It becomes a blade. Or a plow. Same struggle, different purpose."
Her eyes widened, filled with wonder. She smiled. She nodded.
There is someone watching behind you. Turn around. Look at me.
There is someone following your footsteps. Turn around.
Look at me.
Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking.
Lurking behind a boulder.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Turn around. Look at me.
───⸻⟐༒⟐⸻───
That night, under moonlight, Orthan handed her a piece of obsidian.
"Glass born of mountains," he said. "Volcanic glass, that's what this is. Sharper than any metal you'll find, but it chips easily. Good for special work like ceremonies and such. Not something you'd want to depend on for everyday use."
She turned the stone over in her hands, letting the firelight dance against its surface. She smiled, staring into the fire. She nodded.
There is someone watching behind you. Turn around. Look at me.
There is someone following your footsteps. Turn around.
Look at me.
Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking.
Lurking between bushes.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Turn around. Look at me.
───⸻⟐༒⟐⸻───
She held a photograph—Orthan, younger, standing in a volcanic cavern back in Kaelshara. He gently stepped beside her, glancing at the photo over her shoulder.
"Lava's work is slow," he said. "Those old lava tubes go deep. I've walked through a few in my time, they were dark as anything, but the rock's solid. Just watch your step and bring good light. Even when the mountain's done with its fire, but it remembers."
She looked up at Orthan, eyes full of admiration and respect. She smiled. She nodded.
There is someone watching behind you. Turn around. Look at me.
There is someone following your footsteps. Turn around.
Look at me.
Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking.
Lurking beside the drapes.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Turn around. Look at me.
───⸻⟐༒⟐⸻───
By the river, Orthan sat beside her, hands weaving willow twines into fishing nets.
"My grandfather taught me this," he said. "Weave nets from green willow shoots. You set them where the current's gentle, where fish like to rest. Takes patience, but they come to you instead of fighting every catch. These young folks with their hooks and lines, I see them always in such a hurry, but then call it progress."
She watched, fascinated. She smiled. She nodded.
There is someone watching behind you. Turn around. Look at me.
There is someone following your footsteps. Turn around.
Look at me.
Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking.
Lurking atop a broken branch.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Turn around. Look at me.
───⸻⟐༒⟐⸻───
Her breath was thin. Strained. Her body, unmoving on her bed. The moonlight pooled in cold streaks across her floor.
The cabin was quiet. Still.
Days passed. Then nights. Then days again. She didn't stir.
Her eyes stayed shut.
In the shadowed corner of her cabin, something is unmoving…
It watched.
Eyes—wide. Dead. Unblinking.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
Her lips parted with the faintest sigh.
Her skin dulled.
Her soul was fading.
There is someone watching beside you. Open your eyes. Look at me.
There is someone watching you dying. Open your eyes. Look at me.
Eyes—wide. Dead. Unblinking.
Lurking. Silent. Still. Waiting.
Open your eyes. Look at me.
No one came.
Not Vien.
Not Orthan.
No wandering adventurer.
No stray animal.
No light.
Only her.
And the still… waiting… thing.
She exhaled what seemed like her last breath. And a single tear of blood rolled down her cheek.
And with that single tear of blood… the solemn dream she indulged in cracked...
Quietly, but completely.