When kindness borrows violence, even mercy bleeds.

  The expanse around the cottage, strewn with cadavers of men and beasts alike, had been blanketed with a thick coat of snow. The cold congealed streams of scarlet that once flowed like water. The breeze meanwhile, dispersed the stench just enough to keep revulsion at bay.

  The stillness and lull tricked one into believing that the massacre was days, if not weeks, old. Though time hardly carried any meaning for the departed.

  The only witnesses that could corroborate the grisly scene were three people in front of the cottage; and one more who silently observed everything from the cottage's window.

  A pair of ruby-red eyes followed every movement outside; silent and unflinching before the bloodbath. Now, they watched the trio who, despite their unassuming appearance, had played a decisive role in the battle.

  "Do you think we should stay for the night here?" the older of the two girls spoke.

  "Are you crazy, sis?! So many people died here that cottage is haunted for sure. I say, we burn all of our clothes and possessions. We don't want ghosts after us. Believe me, you don't wanna wake up to the sight of me walking up a tree with my limbs all messed up," the younger girl said.

  From behind the frosted window, the watcher tilted his head. They are siblings... the little one seems stupid.

  "Lea's right," the young man said.

  "She is?" the older sister spoke.

  "See—now off with your clothes everyone," the younger sister, Lea, interrupted.

  Just as Lea began to remove her clothes, her sister struck her head. "Stay put."

  Lea dropped to a cross-legged position and began innocently picking snow.

  Stupid but tamable... good.

  The older sister turned to the young man. "You were saying."

  "I meant that too many people have died here, and if nobody returns with any news, it will look highly suspicious. We cannot stay here."

  "Start with that the next time... Let's forage for supplies and leave; the woods ahead can be dangerous."

  Can be? That's usable.

  "Pipsqueak, let's go."

  "What? No way am I entering that haunted house of my own free will!"

  The older sister looked at the young man, who assured her: "It's fine. We won't be long, besides we'll be meters away only."

  The older sister shook her head, and sighed. "Alright... Scream very hard if you notice anything odd. Understand, 'squeak?"

  Lea repeatedly nodded.

  Her sister and the young man entered the cottage.

  Left alone, deep frowns formed on Lea's face. She began drawing on the snow with her fingers to relax her mind.

  However, each glimpse of the macabre scene made her frowns deepen. Her stomach clenched with a strange stiffness.

  Unable to make sense of the carnage surrounding her, she faced away from the cottage and the pile of corpses littering around it, and resumed drawing.

  Nothing I can do... Lea thought.

  A brief moment passed, when a low-guttural moan came from behind, startling her. She flinched back and turned toward the bodies, though she had closed her eyes. The moan returned; this time longer and shrill. The hairs on her neck stood on end.

  Don't be a ghost, don't be a ghost... She repeated in her mind.

  Between Lea’s frightened instincts and inquisitive side, the latter won. She slowly peeked ahead—and beheld death. Hollow, bleak, and terrifying.

  Yet amidst the countless mute bodies, a crying brown horse spooked her the most.

  Its body was trapped between the carcasses of its brethren and humans. It had somehow struggled its head free, just enough to voice its lament.

  "Horsy..." Lea approached slowly.

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  "Wait. I'll call sis and Corvus. They must know what to do."

  But her steps faltered. What if sis gets mad?

  She looked back and forth between the wailing horse and the cottage's gate. Gritting her teeth, she decided: I will help horsy myself.

  Lea rolled up her sleeves and tried to free the horse. At first, she pulled at its head, but after the horse’s panicked protests and the near loss of a few fingers, she relented.

  Only one option left, she gulped.

  Grabbing a sword from the ground, she strained to roll aside a body and peered into the mass beneath for the next obstacle. But the moment she did, her senses—sight, taste, smell—all flared at once. The surface stench had thinned with the wind, yet the rot buried beneath the corpses still lingered—concealed, but there.

  By removing the body and peeking inside, Lea had given the trapped stench an escape—and herself as its destination.

  The rotting gust hit her like a wave. Her tongue caught the metallic tang of blood and the sickly sweetness of decay, revolting her mind and body.

  She stuffed her mouth with snow to dull the taste. It did nothing.

  The snow melted into water, leaving her with the distinct, sickening sense that she was swallowing everything she had wished to wash away.

  Lea coughed to spit it all out, while her stomach churned as bile surged. Kneeling, she hugged her stomach and vomited. Yet the stench and the image of the dead in her mind persisted, as vivid as ever. She puked again.

  As soon as her vomiting stopped, Lea felt weak. Her entire body began shivering. Only then did she realize,

  Horsy's legs are all broken... twisted.

  She could not bear to look at the horse again. She turned away, tucked her knees to her chest, and held them tight as her body shivered. She tried to shut her mind off—to stop feeling anything—but the horse’s cries would not let her.

  Please, shut up, Horsy...

  "Just shut up already!" she snapped, turning her head back.

  In the horse’s pitiable eyes, a little girl screamed at it. The horse fell silent and shut its eyes, tears slipping down its muzzle. It surrendered its life to the mercy of the little girl—or to the cruelty of fate.

  Lea watched the horse lower its head before her. Obedient. Helpless. Waiting.

  What does it want? Sis should know, yes, Lea stepped forward—something clanked under her foot. It was the sword she had picked up earlier; a reminder of her failure.

  And the answer.

  She had known what to do, but had refused to acknowledge it. However, with the truth right beneath her now, Lea could no longer feign innocence.

  She steeled herself and picked up the blade again, not to save, but to do what swords were made to do: kill.

  As her shadow fell over the horse, it opened its lost eyes—distant and lost—and stared at her.

  Lea stared back, her gaze trembling under the weight of grief, pity, guilt, and anxiety.

  She desperately searched for a place to strike but could not decide. Her sword, mirroring her turmoil, dangled aimlessly.

  Even so, she raised it above her head.

  The horse sensed the blow to come but made no move to resist. It only closed its eyes, accepting the little girl’s kindness and her sacrifice.

  "...Sorry, Horsy," she meekly whispered.

  Just as she swung, a handkerchief drifted down and came to rest across the horse’s neck.

  It gave a spot for her sword to follow.

  Lea struck there. The cut was modest but precise enough to sever the horse’s windpipe.

  The horse gasped as blood rose in its throat, choking it from within. Its body convulsed, trembling in pain.

  Lea dropped the sword and crouched beside it, her hand shaking as she brushed its head.

  Its agony lasted only a moment, but hers was only beginning.

  The faint light soon faded from its eyes. The horse galloped free of the nightmare at last.

  Lea looked down at the handkerchief, Did the wind blow it here, or—

  She looked up and froze. A pair of ruby-red eyes stared at her.

  "Aah!" Her voice echoed across the clearing.

  Within a heartbeat, Corvus appeared, with Elsyn close behind. They found Lea pointing at the window above.

  "What is it?" Corvus asked.

  "Ghost—a red-eyed ghost! There! Inside the window!"

  Elsyn followed her sister’s gaze, then frowned. "Pipsqueak, there’s no one there. Are you sure you saw something?"

  "Yes! I am certain—Why won't you believe me?!" Lea yelled.

  Elsyn blinked, taken aback by her sister’s sudden outburst. Crouching, she studied Lea closely. "Why do you smell like vomit... and blood? What happened, ‘squeak?"

  Lea could no longer keep the barrage of emotions pent up inside her; they burst out at once. Her defenses crumbled, and she began to sob uncontrollably, like a child who’d finally seen too much.

  Elsyn pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her sister—the only comfort she could offer.

  What happened in these ten minutes? Elsyn thought.

  "Lea's right. Someone up there. There are handprints on the glass," Corvus said.

  "No, th-that c-can’t be... ghosts don’t leave fingerprints... I read it in a book," Lea stammered through tears.

  If that's a ghost at all, that is, Corvus thought, and dashed inside.

  Before long, Corvus returned, and in tow came another figure.

  A small, mysterious boy with ruby-red eyes and albino-pale skin. He was barely older than Lea, yet his eyes bore a strange edge, and depth beyond his years.

  "Who is he?" Elsyn asked.

  "A slave, according to him. The rest you figure out. I won't even try this time," Corvus replied and moved past Elsyn. Fully aware of his mean streak, he left the boy to her.

  As Corvus approached Lea, something on the snow caught his eye. "Lea, what are these?"

  Lea had calmed down by now, though a few tears still clung to her lashes. "Drawings," she said weakly. "Of Sylphy."

  "Why are there rope-like lines extending the Air Numina's head?"

  "They're moustaches, obviously."

  "You mean whiskers, right?"

  "It's the same thing—don't be nitpicky. That suits sis only."

  "True. But considering I'm an artist myself, I can't in good faith neglect a young talent." He sat beside her and drew a few lines.

  "What’ve you done to my beauty?" Lea exclaimed, her voice almost back to its usual liveliness.

  "Relax, junior. Those are the Sylpharion's legs."

  "Why are Sylphy's legs twice as long as its body?"

  "Good catch, let me..." Corvus added some more lines. "...and finished. What do you think?"

  "Sylphy doesn't have nine legs! And you didn't even erase those monstrously long ones!"

  "That's the problem with young artists; you can't see the art from the artist's perspective. Try to not see those extra legs—my perspective."

  "Hey, I'm the original artist here."

  "See? My point exactly. You have to visualize me making..."

  The inane gossip of the two self-proclaimed artists continued with no clear winner.

  Elsyn spared them, Pretty sure there weren't even dots for the Air Numina's eyes.

  Then, with a sigh, she turned her attention to the boy.