The rooster crowed across the wooden rooftops of Korrin Village, its voice carrying through the cool morning mist.
Inside one of the stone-and-thatch houses, Amabel bent over a clay pot boiling on the hearth. Steam rose with the scent of herbs, minty and sharp. Behind her, a girl with messy auburn hair searched frantically through cupboards.
"Talia," Amabel called, not looking up from the pot, "you'll fetch the duskroot today. I'm running low."
"I know, I know." The girl scurried across the floor, glancing under the table. "Where's the basket? I swear I left it by the door last night."
"Check under the bench. And hurry. Morning market starts soon, and I don't want you dawdling."
Talia crouched down, her voice muffled as she searched. "…Mama, do you think the black crow will come back tonight?"
Amabel froze. For a moment, she stirred the pot in silence, her lips pressing thin.
Then she sighed, setting the spoon down. "Talia…" She turned, her face shadowed by the firelight. "You shouldn't be thinking of that thing. And you won't have to for much longer."
Talia peeked out from under the bench, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"I've been writing to your uncle in the city. You'll go there soon. There's a proper school, real teachers. No more fear of shadows scratching at the window."
The girl straightened, basket finally in hand. "But… what about you?"
Amabel's face softened, but there was resignation in her eyes. "We can't afford both. I'll manage. That's what mothers do. Now stop fussing and get me that duskroot before the sun climbs too high."
Talia hugged the basket to her chest, hesitating, then nodded. "Yes, Mama."
She hurried out the door, her bare feet pattering against the packed dirt street. Villagers bustled about, carrying baskets, pulling handcarts, or calling greetings to one another.
"Morning, Talia!" a boy waved, holding a fishing rod across his shoulders.
"Morning!" she called back, running past.
The village of Korrin sprawled wide, bigger than most frontier settlements. Nearly five thousand souls lived here, though the place had no walls only crude wooden fences marking its edge. Anyone nimble could leap over them with ease.
Talia reached the southern fence, vaulted it with practiced grace, and landed on soft grass. The forest loomed just beyond: tall, whispering trees with shafts of sunlight cutting through their branches.
Everyone knew there was a patch of duskroot near the edge. But everyone also knew the patch was picked nearly clean each day.
Still, Talia hurried to it. Sure enough, only a few stunted stalks remained. She gathered them quickly into her basket, wiping dirt off her fingers.
She turned to go back then froze.
A trail of flowers stretched across the forest floor. Roses. Crimson, glistening, each petal like velvet dipped in blood. They led away into the shadows, glowing faintly as though they breathed.
Talia's breath caught. They were beautiful impossibly so. But they unsettled her, as if each bloom were watching her.
She knelt, hesitated, then plucked one carefully. Its stem bled faintly onto her hand, staining her fingers.
"What a strange flower," she whispered.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
The voice behind her made her whirl around with a yelp. She stumbled back, clutching the basket.
A young man stood there with both hands raised, palms outward. His clothes were strange woven in a style she'd never seen, rough and out of place.
"Sorry!" he said quickly. "Didn't mean to scare you."
Talia narrowed her eyes. "You're not from the village."
Ethan scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. Guess I stick out, huh?"
"Obviously," she muttered.
He took a cautious step forward, then stopped when she tensed. "Look I don't want trouble. I'm just… trying to figure out how to be part of this place."
"Part of it?" Talia tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…" Ethan hesitated, fumbling for the right words. "…I'm lost. Really lost. But I did manage to… uh, hunt something. Big. I was hoping I could trade it. Maybe get some silver or food."
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What kind of animal?"
"Not sure what you call it here," Ethan admitted. "But it's near. You want to see?"
She bit her lip, thinking. "Fine. But you stay twenty feet away from me."
He nodded quickly. "Deal."
She motioned for him to lead. Ethan turned, guiding her deeper into the woods. The flowers seemed to vanish as they walked, as though they had never been there.
Finally, they reached a clearing.
Talia gasped, her basket slipping in her hands.
Before them lay a beast an enormous stag, its body sprawled across the grass. Its antlers were twisted like blackened trees, its fur patchy and mottled with strange ridges along its spine. Flies buzzed faintly around its wounds, though its body was unnervingly fresh.
Ethan gestured. "So… yeah. This guy."
Talia stepped closer, awe mixing with unease. "By the spirits… that's a Varrowhart. They say they're touched by old curses. No hunter in Korrin's ever brought one down."
Ethan shrugged, trying to play it cool though sweat pricked his neck. "Guess I got lucky."
She glanced at him, then back at the beast. "…This is worth a fortune. I need to tell my mother. Stay here."
"Got it."
Talia sprinted back through the trees, basket bouncing. She burst into the house breathless. "Mama! You need to come! A traveler he... he killed a Varrowhart!"
Amabel stiffened, spoon hovering over the pot. "…What did you just say?"
"A Varrowhart! Huge! He wants to trade it. You have to see!"
Amabel's brows furrowed. She set the spoon down, wiping her hands on her apron. "Show me."
---
They returned together, Amabel's eyes narrowing the moment she saw Ethan. She studied him like a hawk, her arms folded.
"You're no hunter," she said flatly.
Ethan forced a smile. "Yeah, well… still got the job done."
She circled the beast, running a hand over its antlers. "…two gold. That's what I'll pay. Not a coin more."
Ethan thought of bargaining, then swallowed. "Deal."
Amabel snapped her fingers. Two men appeared from the trees villagers with axes and knives. They moved wordlessly to the stag, beginning to carve its flesh into manageable pieces.
When the silver was handed over, Ethan tucked the coins away carefully. "One more thing. Is it… alright if I come into the village? I just want to look around. Maybe… fit in."
Amabel's eyes stayed hard. "…You can come but just don't do anything foolish."
Ethan raised his hands. "Understood."
---
By afternoon, the stag was stripped and hauled into baskets. Amabel returned home with Talia, setting her daughter's basket on the table.
She noticed a flower resting among the duskroot. A crimson rose.
Amabel picked it up, holding it to the light. Its petals shimmered wetly, too vivid to be natural. A chill ran up her spine.
"Talia," she said slowly, "where did you find this?"
"In the forest," the girl replied. "It was growing near the duskroot patch. Pretty, isn't it?"
Amabel didn't answer. She set the flower at the edge of the table, its beauty gnawing at her unease.
A knock came at the door. One of the men stepped in, carrying a basket heavy with meat. He placed it down with a grunt. "That's your share. I'm off."
"Thank you," Amabel said curtly.
The door shut.
She turned back toward the table just in time to see the flower roll slowly, as though nudged by unseen fingers. It tipped over the edge.
The flower falling into the basket of raw venison.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the blood-soaked meat began to writhe. From every cut and sinew, tiny black thorns sprouted, piercing outward with a sound like cracking bones. Roses burst forth, crimson and wet, unfurling from the flesh. The air filled with a heady perfume, sweet and suffocating.
Amabel staggered back, eyes wide. "Merciful saints…"
The basket was no longer meat. It was a garden, a writhing bouquet of blood-roses, blooming from the veins of the dead beast.
And the flower Talia had picked nestled at its center, glowing faintly, as if smiling.
Amabel's breath caught in her throat. The once-ordinary basket of venison pulsed like a living organ, roses pushing outward in grotesque beauty. Their petals were dark as fresh blood, thorns glistening like wet fangs. The perfume was too strong now, filling the room with a sickly sweetness that made her stomach turn.
Talia clutched the doorway, eyes wide with wonder rather than fear. "Mama… it's… beautiful."
"No," Amabel hissed, grabbing her daughter's wrist and yanking her back. "Don't touch it!"
Talia shrank against the wall, frightened now. "What… what is it, Mama?"
Amabel's voice dropped to a whisper. "An omen. A curse, maybe. Something that doesn't belong here."
Before she could say more, a harsh, metallic clang split the air.
The village bell.
Its deep toll rolled through the streets of Korrin, echoing from every rooftop. Windows shuttered, doors creaked open as people stepped outside. The market-goers abandoned their stalls, voices hushed, eyes darting.
Amabel let out a weary sigh. "Of course. On today of all days." She turned to her daughter, masking her fear with the same hardened calm she had practiced for years. "Talia. Take five silvers from the pouch."
Talia blinked. "But..."
"Do as I say."
The girl obeyed, scampering to the shelf where a small leather pouch rested. She untied it, her fingers trembling, and counted five coins. Their clink against her palm sounded far too loud.
Amabel pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. Her gaze lingered once more on the basket of roses, then snapped away. There was no time. "Come. We must stand with the others."
Mother and daughter stepped into the street. Already, villagers were lining the road, forming uneasy rows on either side. Men held their caps in hand, women pressed children close. No one spoke above a whisper.
Talia looked up at her mother nervously. "Is it the black crow?"
Amabel didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the southern road.
And then they came.
A band of men, swaggering into the village like wolves among sheep. They wore mismatched leathers and iron scraps, their tunics stained and torn. Some carried cudgels, others long knives or rust-pocked spears. Their boots were heavy, caked in mud and worse.
At their front strode a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from temple to jaw. His hair was greasy, tied back with a strip of red cloth. He swung a spiked club lazily against his shoulder, grinning at the rows of silent villagers.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice carrying like oil on water. "Look at you lot. Lined up neat as lambs for shearing."
A nervous murmur rippled down the street. No one dared step forward.
Amabel pressed Talia's shoulder, guiding her to bow her head slightly. "Keep your eyes low," she whispered.
The scarred man strolled further into the village, his companions fanning out behind him. Their eyes darted greedily to doorways, to windows, to baskets of goods hastily abandoned. One of them snatched an apple from a barrel and bit into it with a wet crunch, juice running down his chin.
The leader raised his hand. The group halted. He scanned the crowd, his grin widening. "Now then. You all know why we're here. It's the same as last month… and the month before. Roads are dangerous, monsters everywhere. You need protection. And protection," he tapped his club against his palm, "costs silver."
He let the word hang in the air.
One by one, villagers stepped forward. Coins clinked as they were tossed into a battered iron bucket one of the thugs carried. Some paid quickly, eager to be done. Others hesitated, their faces tight with bitterness, before finally parting with their meager earnings.
Amabel's jaw clenched. She pressed the five silvers into Talia's hand. "Go," she murmured.
The girl swallowed hard, then shuffled forward with the others her age. When her turn came, she dropped the coins into the bucket with trembling fingers.
The thug holding it leered down at her. "Pretty little thing. You growin' up fast, eh?"
Talia flinched and hurried back to her mother's side.
Amabel's hand tightened protectively on her shoulder. Her eyes burned with silent fury, but she said nothing. She couldn't.
The scarred leader watched the whole exchange, amused. Then his gaze swept over the villagers again, lingering on their tense faces. "That's better. Now..." he lifted his club, resting it against his shoulder, "where's the feast you promised us?"
A hush fell.
From somewhere near the back, a villager stammered, "We... we've meat from a stag. Enough to fill your bellies. Already cut and salted."
The man's grin widened into something wolfish. "Now that's the spirit."
Amabel's heart sank. The Varrowhart.
And in her home sat its share, no longer meat, but roses blooming from blood.
She prayed silently that no one would notice before she had a chance to deal with it.
But she felt Talia's small hand clutch her arm, and when she glanced down, she saw the same fear mirrored in her daughter's eyes.
The thugs laughed and shouted among themselves, already striding toward the storehouses. The villagers followed at a distance, dread written on every face.
Amabel exhaled slowly, trying to steady her racing heart. The bell had tolled, the wolves had come, and her home was no longer safe.
And somewhere, unseen in the forest, the trail of crimson roses surely waited, still watching.