The morning light was soft and golden when Alana stepped outside. The air smelled faintly of dew and wildflowers, and for a brief second, she thought, maybe today will be good. The grass glistened under the sun, and the gentle hum of cicadas filled the silence. She shaded her eyes, squinting toward the neighboring house down the path, when she noticed the stable doors slightly open at the back.
"Hello?" she called, her voice hesitant.
From inside came a cheerful reply. "Back here!"
Erica's voice.
Alana followed the sound, walking carefully over the uneven path until the earthy scent of hay and horses met her. The stable was tidy, beams of sunlight slicing through gaps in the wood, dust floating like gold specks in the air. Erica stood inside, her hair tucked under a scarf, her rounded belly brushing softly against the side of a chestnut mare as she brushed its coat. The horse snorted and stomped its hoof, but relaxed when Erica murmured something gentle.
"Oh, you're up early," Erica said, her tone as warm as the light spilling in. "Sleep well?"
"I did," Alana lied politely, still thinking of the dream. "I just wanted to return your plate. Thank you again for the meal—it was really kind of you."
Erica smiled, taking the dish but not setting it down right away. "You're welcome. Grandma Jane always used to feed half the town, so I figured I'd keep the tradition."
Alana chuckled softly, watching as one of the horses nudged her arm. She stepped back instinctively.
"He won't bite," Erica said with a grin. "Go on, try petting him. He's gentle."
Hesitant, Alana extended her hand. The horse's breath was warm and surprisingly soft as it brushed against her palm. She laughed—really laughed—for the first time in months.
"There now," Erica said, smiling wide. "He likes you. That's a good sign."
But then Erica's smile faded as her gaze shifted to Alana's face. "Are you… feeling okay?"
Alana blinked, confused. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"
Erica hesitated, her hand half-raised before gently brushing the edge of Alana's sunglasses, right where the bruise peeked through the makeup. "You just look a bit… sore, that's all."
The touch made Alana flinch before she could stop herself. She stepped back, arms crossing reflexively. "I'm fine," she said quickly, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just tired, that's all. Actually, I was wondering—do you know how I can get to town? Is there a taxi or something I can call?"
Erica's expression softened again. "Oh, honey, no taxis 'round here. Tom's already at work, and most drivers are busy with the airport crowd for the festival."
"Festival?"
"Mm-hmm," Erica said, brightening. "You came just in time! The hollow Festival starts in a week. It's like Christmas around here. We all dress up—women wear white dresses and flower crowns, the men go all old-fashioned with swords and vests. There's music, food, a bonfire that burns all night… it's magical."
As Erica spoke, Alana's smile faltered. The words white dress and mask made her stomach twist. She remembered her dream, white dress. . . coffin. . . mask. . .blood
"That sounds… nice," she managed, her voice light but hollow.
Erica beamed, not noticing the shift in her tone. "You'll love it"
Alana nodded, clutching her bag. "I'll, um… I'll try to stop by."
She waved a small goodbye and turned back toward the path, the sound of hooves shifting in straw behind her. The morning warmth seemed to dim slightly as a breeze rustled through the trees, lifting her hair. For a brief moment, she thought she heard whispering again—faint and distant, like wind threading through the woods.
She froze, heart pounding.
But when she looked back, Erica was humming softly to her horse, completely unaware.
Alana shook it off and continued down the path toward town.
The walk to town took longer than she expected, but the air felt alive — crisp with the scent of pine and grass, When she finally reached the town square, the quiet countryside opened into a gentle bustle of life. Vendors called out greetings to familiar faces, wind chimes clinked softly above store doors, and the cobblestone streets gleamed faintly under the morning sun.
Alana drew a few glances as she passed. Not unfriendly ones — just curious, lingering looks. It wasn't hard to guess why. The granddaughter of Jane had finally come back. People whispered as they adjusted fruit baskets or leaned over porch rails. Grandma Janey was more popular than Alana remembered.
She passed the florist, the bookshop, and an old antique store that still had the same faded clock ticking in the window. When the scent of warm sugar and baked bread drifted from the next corner, her stomach gave an ungraceful growl. She hadn't eaten breakfast.
The small bakery was cozy, the kind that smelled like childhood. Butter, cinnamon, and something faintly citrusy filled the air. Sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, painting gold dust on the wooden counter where an elderly Asian woman stood with a soft, knowing smile.
"Good morning, dear," the woman greeted warmly. "What can I get you?"
Alana froze — not from nerves, but from indecision. Everything looked so good. Rows of pastel-frosted cupcakes and sugar-glazed doughnuts lined the counter. She hadn't treated herself like this in years, and something about the freedom to choose anything made her heart flutter.
"I'll take… four slices," she said finally, her tone almost giddy. "All different flavors. And some doughnuts — also different kinds, please."
The woman chuckled, pleased by her excitement. "A girl after my own heart."
As she packed the boxes, her eyes flicked up, studying Alana with quiet curiosity. So this was the girl everyone had been whispering about yesterday. The one who came back to grandma jane house — the one said to have returned only for inheritance. But standing before her now, this young woman didn't look greedy or cold. If anything, she looked fragile. Tired even. It's easy to spread rumor in a small town like this, she heaved a sigh, she's sure the girl has her own stories.
Alana paid, thanked her, and turned to leave — boxes in hand, warmth in her chest — when she collided with something solid.
The impact jolted her, and her treats tumbled from her arms, splattering across the floor in tragic, frosting-covered defeat. She froze, staring down in disbelief. Her cakes. Her doughnuts. All gone.
A deep voice stammered, "I— I'm so sorry."
She looked up — slowly — at what she'd hit. It wasn't a wall after all but a man, broad-shouldered, tall, and clearly horrified. His shirt smelled faintly of pine and smoke, like someone who worked outdoors. He bent slightly, hands half-raised in helpless apology.
For a moment, Alana just stood there, eyes wide, lips trembling as she whispered, almost childlike, "My doughnut…"
The man's guilt deepened. "Umm…Madam Kim!" he called toward the counter. "Can we get those again? I'll pay for them."
Alana blinked, surprised. She wanted to say it wasn't necessary — that it was fine — but her voice betrayed her. "Thank you," she murmured instead.
Madam Kim smiled gently as she packed the new order. "This clumsy fellow is Eugene," she said with mock irritation. "Don't mind him, dear. He's harmless. Mostly."
Eugene shot her a sheepish grin. "I really am sorry. You sure you're okay?"
Alana nodded quickly, clutching the new box like a fragile treasure. Men — no matter how polite — made her uneasy. The instinct to withdraw was sharp, automatic. She offered him a faint, polite smile, muttered another thanks, and slipped out the door before he could say anything more.
The bell above the bakery door jingled as she left.
Eugene stood there for a moment, watching her retreat through the window, her long hair catching the sunlight as she walked away. There was something strange about her — not in a bad way, but different. And why was she wearing sunglasses indoors?