Chizzy returned to the village shaken. Her face pale, fingers numb.
She passed by the bakery where an old woman muttered and shut her shutters.
Then she saw him.
A boy maybe nineteen leaning against the well in the center of town. He had a crooked smile, hair like ink, and eyes that held too much pain for someone his age.
"You look like someone who's seen behind the veil," he said casually.
"I've seen enough," she whispered.
He tilted his head. "Then you know why they avoid you."
"Who are you?"
"Ezra," he said. "My family was the last to try and stop him. Didn't go so well. I've been waiting for someone like you."
"Why me?" she asked.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Because you're his favorite."