'Birth, old age, sickness, and death all pay strict obedience to nature. Within this city, there exists neither absolute good nor evil. The earth turns upon its axis; at dawn, the deer emerge to forage, and at dusk, the wolves howl into the twilight. It was then that I first met Princess Myrtle. Her silver eyes held the depth of a stormy mist, and her skin was soft and fair as down feathers. The key pendant resting against her chest... caught my eye so thoroughly... I could not help but wonder what manner of lock that key was forged to open—'
(The remaining ink upon the parchment was smeared beyond recognition.)
Huu! Huu!
The faint hoot of an owl echoed from outside the cottage.
"Well then! That shall be enough for tonight," Mary murmured, rising from her chair as she closed the journal.
Just then, her eyes caught a reflection in the glass window: the flickering glow of torches along the village road. A man missing his left arm was single-handedly dragging a wooden cart down the cobblestone path toward the dense, gloomy woods. Recognizing him instantly, the maiden quickened her steps and hurried outside to help him steady the cart.
"Hey! Thou there!" Mary called out into the night.
"Hmm?" The young man turned to find the kindhearted nurse standing before him once more. "Oh! Thou art... that nurse from before," the injured man greeted her faintly.
"Thou art no longer wearing thy crow attire?" Mary asked, placing her hands upon the wooden cart to help ease the load.
"A cripple... can hardly perform the duties of a physician, request thee. Art thou not abed at such an hour, to come out and lend thy strength?"
"Think nothing of it. Though... I have yet to learn thy name. Thou mayest call me Mary...."
"Edward Conleth. We ought to have asked each other much sooner, heh," the young man replied, steering the cart toward the overgrown thicket. "I am bound for the Church of Helms."
"The Church of Helms is not so far. A short walk shall bring us there."
Under the luminous glow of the full moon, the two pulled the empty wooden cart down the secluded path beneath the canopy of trees.
"I merely wish to wash myself clean; that church lies near a waterfall." Mary said.
"Danger lurks in these parts; wolves often lie in wait behind the bushes. Stay close to me, lest thou lose an arm as I did."
"Or perhaps I might lose my other arm as well... Forgive me, I am not particularly skilled at jesting."
Realizing her words sounded harsh, Mary quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
"Feel no regret; a busy man like me is hardly skilled at conversing with maidens either," Edward offered a faint smile.
The brilliant moonlight bathed everything in a pale radiance, lifting Mary's spirits as if kindling a spark of hope once more.
"And doth a maiden as fair as thee truly dwell in that humble cottage?"
"Indeed~ The house may appear somewhat dilapidated, yet I am... content," Marilyn spoke, masking the quiet sorrow in her heart.
"Thou art a diligent soul. Yet 'tis a pity thou wert born in such a wretched city."
"Hardship forged me in my youth. Shouldst thou ask me to plant carrots, I could easily do so—were I not too poor to afford the seeds."
"Perchance thou couldst plant a seed to grow my arm back, ha-ha! Just jesting."
"If I possessed such power, I would surely be an angel."
"Is that so? Art thou not one already? Amidst all this creeping darkness, thou art still able to smile. Knowest thou what Father Sereza said of the Liberating Angel? 'She shall know no fear, and when the plague of Casletia is ended, she shall bestow her smile upon both the living and the dead.'"
"Art thou playing tricks on me now?" Mary turned her face away, embarrassed as if he were likening her to a divine entity.
"Thou seemest like a nun to me: possessed of wisdom, responsibility, and an unyielding heart."
"Dost thou know I once resided at the church of Adtoris?" Mary asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Indeed. I visited the infirmary to collect remedy before, and saw thee tending to those patients. Thou didst comfort their spirits in a truly noble manner. I wished I could be like thee, yet I am a physician... We practice our crafts differently."
"Whatever one's calling, all are the same in essence. It relies far more upon one's actions and virtues."
"See? I spoke no falsehood. Thou art far more a nun than a nurse." Edward's words coaxed a gentle chuckle from Mary.
"Hehe, Dost thou require one?... Tell me, 'thou dwell at the church alone?"
"Aye. For the most part, I am absorbed in seeking a cure, rarely stepping out of my chamber. Father Sereza tried to persuade me to rest, but alas... having come this far, the remedy progresses well. A few steps more, and I shall be able to heal this curse. Furthermore, the royal guards of Casletia Castle have been vanishing one by one—a strange mystery indeed. Most recently, I heard rumors regarding the execution of Jesper's wife, a front-line guard, several weeks past."
"I shall pray for thy success... ahem!" Mary felt a sharp shiver run down her spine as they traversed the eerie, deserted woods.
"Nightfall brings such chills; 'tis only natural."
"As a physician... ahem... dost thou know the origin of this sickness? From what I have gathered across our continent, this plague hath never appeared anywhere before. Are those rumors true?"
"A century ago, a bloody war raged between Caslette and Gwenderlan. Gwenderlan dragged Caslette into the fray, claiming countless lives. After Gwenderlan fell, we wrote the history books—yet behind the curtain, something hidden remains... It sounds mad, but my grandfather fought on that battlefield. He told me when I was a child, having served in Princess Myrtle's guard, that he found human bite marks upon the necks of hundreds of fallen Gwenderlan soldiers. The truth is, that war was fought not merely between Caslette and Gwenderlan... Someone else fought alongside us on that field."
"The book merchant told me as much, though he did not venture into great detail—as if guarding a secret."
"Art thou a true native of Casletia?" Edward asked.
"Yes. I once lived in a cottage with the man who took me in—the old man for whom I ever mourn," Mary spoke of her solemn past.
"The years slip away rapidly, I know well. We must simply forge ahead and accept whatever comes to pass. And what of that wound upon thy wrist?" Edward had noticed the mark upon her skin earlier and probed gently.
"I-I merely cut myself on a small twig... It bears no pain."
The distant roar of a waterfall echoed through the trees, signaling that the two were drawing near the outcast church. Through the gloom, they spotted dozens of figures clad in black cloaks, holding burning torches as they filed out from the sanctuary toward the cliffside.
At that very moment, beneath the fresh scratch upon Mary's left wrist—where the strange ember had cut her—a subtle, petunia-violet light pulsed beneath her skin. The veins along her upper arm began to flicker faintly, as though her mortal flesh had devoured something unorthodox...
Was this the strange aftermath of that cursed piece of stone?