The village was supposed to be quiet—
a place where everything grew old: the houses, the trees, even the faces.
A village not meant for the young, nor for maidens.
But for Eir?
Perhaps this was her final refuge, the place where she wanted to end it all…
or maybe a new beginning.
She had fled far from the blood spilled in the schoolyard,
from the last scream that still echoed in her ears.
She ran, and the village became her shelter—
working, barely eating, sending what little money she could to her mother.
When she opened the door, the autumn wind lashed against her skin,
pushing her black hair back.
And there, by the fence, her eyes caught a woman she had never seen before.
Lia stood as though she belonged to the scene—neither strange nor familiar.
Her body was graceful, her autumn blouse clinging to feminine curves,
defining more than it concealed.
Her shoulders were straight, giving her frame a quiet strength,
while her slender waist turned every movement into a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Her brown hair was tied back with lazy precision, leaving her face uncovered.
A thin scar crossed her cheek—too soft to mar her beauty,
yet enough to lend her a deeper mystery,
like a silent signature from a past she never confessed.
Her sidelong smile was half greeting, half warning.
And her eyes… her eyes caught Eir as if reading her page by page.
Eir closed the door slowly,
the image of Lia at the fence still vivid in her mind.
She rubbed her forehead with her thumb and whispered, almost inaudibly:
"Maybe… a new neighbor."
One watched with the eye of law…
The other lived between sin and sanctity.