Phoebe hurried to catch up with the others, falling into step beside Seth.
"Everything alright?"
He asked quietly, noticing her delayed return.
She t his gaze, her earlier levity gone.
"I’m not sure..."
She murmured, her voice low enough that only he could hear.
"That vendor... I felt a bit of malice from him."
Seth’s expression imdiately shifted from relaxed to alert.
He didn’t question her intuition.
In this world, a witch’s feeling was often the only warning you got.
Seeing the clear worry on his face, Phoebe tried to downplay it, a feeble attempt to comfort them both.
"Don’t worry too much. Most people walk around with a little malice in their hearts—a grudge against a neighbor, anger at a boss. What I felt from him was small... in fact it was quite miniscule."
Seth was silent for a mont, processing this.
He watched the crowd, his mind working analytically.
"The amount of malice isn’t the main problem..."
He rebutted, his voice still low.
"The problem is the why. Why did he, a complete stranger selling food at a joyful festival, suddenly harbor any malice towards us, his custors, the mont we walked away? We paid and we were quite polite. There should be no reason for it..."
Phoebe nodded, acknowledging his point.
It was the irrationality of it that was unsettling.
"Don’t worry," she said again, this ti with more concrete reassurance.
She subtly opened her hand, revealing a small, toy that had exaggerated and cartoonish features.
It was the monkey toy that was placed in front of the stall.
Seeing it, Seth imdiately understood her intentions.
It was a witch’s contingency plan, a direct, personal link to the man.
If any harm ca to her or her family that could be traced back to him, she had the necessary component to enact a retaliatory curse...
It was a dark form of insurance, but it was effective.
The knowledge eased the tightness in his chest quite a bit.
After a few more minutes of walking together, Seth excused himself to wander on his own.
He said he wanted to see more of the festival, and Phoebe didn’t stop him.
He walked without a specific direction, using the ti to observe the city and its people when they were at their most open and celebratory.
As he wandered through the busy street, sothing caught his eye.
At the far end of the road stood a small, weathered house.
Its walls were worn down, the paint chipped, and a faint scent of candle wax hung in the air.
While every other structure was draped in colorful ribbons, this one was grey and mournful.
And there, on the dusty ground in front of the house, sat a rough, poorly made wooden coffin.
A small, sad cluster of wildflowers lay on its lid.
A handful of people, their faces somber, would occasionally stop, bow their heads in a quick prayer, and then move on, hurrying back towards the festival’s joy as if escaping a grave.
But it was the woman sitting beside the coffin who truly held Seth’s attention.
She had a sickly fra, her skin pale as parchnt and stretched thin over sharp bones.
Her eyes were hollow pits of exhaustion, drooping with a grief so profound it seed to physically weigh her down.
Her hair was a tangled ss, and her clothes were worn and dirty.
Clutched in her trembling hands was a small, frad photograph.
A cold knot tightened in Seth’s stomach.
He rembered this woman.
She was the one who had rushed into the market, desperate and weeping, begging the witch for help to find her missing daughter.
His gaze dropped to the photograph in her hands.
It showed a girl of about fourteen, with bright eyes and a shy smile.
And as he looked closer, a chilling recognition dawned.
The shape of the face, the set of the eyes... there were differences, yes—the girl in the photo was clean, her expression hopeful, not twisted by pain and sin—but the foundation was unmistakable.
’Isn’t that the demon that attacked and Phoebe in the forest...?’
He stared, the festive sounds around him fading into a dull roar.
The pieces clicked into place with a grim finality.
’So, in the end, her daughter was found. But not as a living girl. She was found as the demon we killed. After we put her down, soone must have contacted the authorities, and what was left of her was returned to her mother.’
A heavy, sorrowful understanding settled over him.
He had killed a monster, but that monster had once been this broken woman’s child...
Driven by a complex mix of pity and a strange, personal responsibility, Seth walked towards the coffin.
The woman glanced up at him, her eyes empty and unfocused.
She didn’t seem to care who he was... she was lost in a world of her own pain.
The coffin lid was firmly shut.
Seth assud it was sealed to hide the demonic corruption that had surely marred the girl’s body, to give the mother one last image of her daughter that wasn’t a monstrous distortion.
"I’m sorry for your loss," Seth said, his voice quiet and sincere.
He felt the inadequacy of the words the mont they left his lips.
"I offer my sincerest prayers for her."
The woman offered him a fragile, broken smile that didn’t reach her deadened eyes.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, then seed to think better of it, simply shaking her head slowly.
"Prayers will no longer help her..."
She whispered, her voice raspy with disuse.
"It’s too late for that."
Seth understood.
In the beliefs of this world, a soul that had turned into a demon was lost forever, barred from heaven.
No amount of prayer could change that damnation...
He had nothing else to offer.
With a final, silent nod of respect, he turned and walked away, leaving the island of profound grief amidst the sea of celebration.
As Seth left... the woman spoke to herself.
Her voice was soft and tired.
Swas looking up at the sky, a bitter, broken smile on her lips.
"God is dead..."
She whispered to the empty air.
"And soon, this whole town will plunge itself into eternal damnation."
She looked down at the photograph in her hands, cradling it like a sacred relic.
Her voice dropped to a tender, heartbreaking murmur.
"Maybe I should just join you in the afterlife, Elara. There’s nothing left for here."
Clutching her daughter’s photo to her chest, she stepped back inside her dark, silent ho and closed the door, shutting out the celebration.
A mont later, the faint sound of sothing sharp piercing flesh broke the silence inside the house.
The photo slipped from her hands, falling face-down into the growing pool of red.
Her body slumped beside it, eyes still open but empty—
Finally at rest beside the daughter she could not save.
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