The first week passed by in a haze of climbing, gathering fruit, carrying said fruit to the shipping bin, and returning to repeat the whole process dozens of times on the next tree. Oh, and pain. Lots and lots of pain. Enough pain that, on her sixth day she didn't leave her bed at all save to use the bathroom and throw together a sandwich or salad.

But of course, the pain didn't stop there. The kitchen was on the opposite side of the house. She didn't know how she did it—trekking all the way across for food and back—but she did. Thank Erde the bathroom was attached to her room, or else she'd have just let her personal hygiene go.

A typical old farmhouse, the placed had more space than Charlie could ever hope to use—two floors with four bedrooms, three full bathrooms, and a massive garage with a full-length upper room. Charlie loved the sheer amount of space the home offered and wondered how she hadn't gone crazy in her shitty, small sixth floor walk-up in South Lindow, but just what in the world was she going to do with almost three thousand square feet of space?

Even if things didn't go well with the orchard's business under her care, she could easily see herself living there well into the future simply as the next Guardian. According to documents she found tucked away in boxes, the power bill was surprisingly low and living so close to large natural sources of water kept the water bill of the house at almost nothing. There wasn't any plumbing that far from the town itself, so there was a septic tank to take care of.

Fortunately, all the furniture seemed recent and well-loved, and she had a bed to sleep in, a stove to cook on, and a fridge to keep her food. The television, however, was the same old clunker she remembered and despite it having more than twenty years on her, it still worked. Charlie quickly settled into the routine of scanning the four channels it picked up—weather, a cooking show, local news and tips, and some odd show featuring what looked like a masked fortune teller—as she sipped her morning coffee.

Today, the news reported on a tragic anniversary in the far northern realms of Eternal Dacia. Today marked fourteen years since a freak storm set off a blaze that wiped out the Dacian royal family, save for the prince and his younger sister. It went on to explain the city was entering a week-long state of mourning as a show of respect.

Jeez, that's terrible, Charlie thought. She felt she could somewhat relate, having only her stepmom left.

Turning the TV off, she felt sort of terrible to lump in her loss of internet access. Maybe it was just her nerves playing on her… Especially lately when she didn't seem to know just what to do. The internet always had all the answers, and more than once she found herself typing in her phone's search engine, only to remember mid-sentence that there was no 4G in Miner's Cove. There was a Wi-Fi connection surprisingly, but neither her phone nor laptop could even connect with how far away her house was. No 4G, no pizza delivery, no caramel crunch Frappuccino… South Lindow may have been a shithole, but damn if she didn't miss the convenience it offered.

Well, whatever. Nothing had really changed in the nine years since her leaving, and nothing seemed to be different with Marianne's passing, either. Aside from the absence of a certain immortal. Tal and Lori both vouched to her for the trees always bearing fruit like clockwork even without constant tending.

The only strange thing they noticed in the three-month span without a tender was the sheer lack of rotted fruit on the grounds. Not once the day before did she see even a hint of rotten apple on the ground. That made her worry—were wild animals a problem? If they were, worrying wasn't going to change anything. Or perhaps it was the sprites keeping their living areas clean? She had no clue… She'd just have to ask around. It would be fine.

Determined to stay optimistic, Charlie decided to spend the day away from the orchard and its vanishing fruit, instead focusing on giving the house a good, deep clean. Sure, Tal and Lori had done that for her the day before she arrived, but she wanted to do it again all on her own. Something about having someone else clean your own home felt so…temporary. Like she was just staying in an oversized hotel or something. Maybe not the real case, but that's how she felt about it. And if there was anything her grandma did teach her, it was how to clean.

Charlie put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. It was only eleven-thirty and she was already wiped out. She reassured herself it did, indeed, need to be done and dunked the mop back into the bucket, scrubbing at a persistent mystery stain on the kitchen floor. Whatever it was it was dark and spread across the tiny spaces between the hardwood, spreading across the invisible kitchen/living room barrier to the edge of the Perusian rug.

Knowing Marianne, spills were a massive no-no in the house, so whatever it was it must've happened around the time she passed. Wine, perhaps? The ruddy stain on the rug would have matched up, and Charlie remembered her grandma did enjoy a nice glass every now and then.

She'd finally scrubbed the discoloration enough to not see it unless she stared hard at the spot when her phone vibrated. She crossed to the table with a frown, expecting to see a missed call or email. Instead, it was a text from Griff asking her to swing by his father's shop later.

Charlie plopped onto the couch. She did need more cleaning supplies for the last two rooms and the bathroom… But she was wanting to go here in a few minutes—not a few hours—so she could wrap this whole circus up and still have some daylight to spare. Telling Griff as much earned her a frowny face.

Griff: aww u suck :(

Charlie: Well excuuuse me

Charlie: I wanna get this place clean

Griff: didnt dad and lori clean before u got here?

Charlie: Uh normal people clean more than once a week? LOL

Griff: uh! I guess >:(

Griff: well whatevs

Griff: come by the theater when u get a sec?

Griff: im stuck until 9 >.<

She released an audible noise of disgust at the thought of having to enter an Astrals-damned Jaeger-owned institution ever again. Still, she supposed she could put her extreme hatred for the corporate blood machine aside for Griff's sake. Poor guy probably died of boredom there given how small the town was.

Charlie: Ugh not there…

Charlie: I guess I can stop by…

Charlie: What time?

Griff: hey hey—rude!

Griff: whenever ur free?

Charlie: Around 3 okay?

Griff: sounds good to me! :)

She brushed some loose strands of hair back from her face and shot a look around. The first floor was pretty much sorted. All that remained was the hall closet. She was not looking forward to that closet. More often than not, they were the gigantic version of a purse—chaos incarnate. People could stuff enough crap in those to last through the apocalypse, and it wasn't even shit they needed. Then some unsuspecting person goes to find a spare blanket or chair, and all of a sudden there's clothing from twenty years ago, old holiday chocolates that could break teeth, and dust buffaloes bigger than the bed they cram themselves under.

Charlie snorted. "Oh, Erde, don't let it be too bad…"

Giving an exaggerated groan, she obediently pushed herself up and trudged up to the door.

‡ † ‡

When Charlie yanked the door open, she'd been prepared for the worst. Thankfully, it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd thought. To be honest, there really wasn't much inside. Aside from some boxes on the top shelf, the closet was neat and organized. Clothing hung up, sheets folded, and spare shoes put down along the back wall. Despite the lack of cleaning that truly needed to be done, she still set herself to work getting everything she didn't want or need, and put it all into a pile. Old clothes or shoes that didn't fit, boxes of paperwork older than she was, and other odds and ends she couldn't put a use to in her mind. All of it went into a pile.

When she finally reached the back wall, she spotted one more box, tucked out of the way—almost hidden—and half covered by an old towel. It was pretty heavy considering its rather small size. Wanting a break, she took the box with her into the living room and set it on the coffee table. Drink in hand, she pulled the flaps up and looked inside.

"Ooh…"

She pulled out a wooden trinket box, running her fingers across the shining lacquer. It had obviously been of some importance to still shine so brightly after being tucked away for Erde knew how long. She set it down for the time being and reached back inside, pulling out a small, torn blue envelope. A frayed silk ribbon dangled limply from the crushed wax seal on the back. The letter contained within was written in a gorgeous script Charlie would never have believed anyone could still do without the aid of programming.

Skimming her eyes over the beautiful words, the wonder in her chest fell quickly into confusion…and then fear.

To have too much hope throws us directly into the arms of despair.

And an overpowering love may consume us all in the end.

I will be as a stone among the rivers of time,

but one that ever knows your deepest, darkest secrets.

Yet when a person has someone they care this much about,

giving their life is sometimes the least they can do.

The pain ceases to hurt if it's all there is left,

yet you seem to thrive on causing such pain and despair.

Perhaps this is what separates us.

I will one day have retribution,

and the Elburn line will shiver unending in the

cold waters of a glimpse beyond death,

a hell where you so rightly belong.

Charlie was so caught up in the threatening eloquence of the letter that she almost didn't notice the folded piece of paper still in the envelope. Unfolding it, she felt her throat begin to close the moment she began to read more of the same flowing script. Dark smudges of dried blood sat in the tell-tale loops and whirls of fingerprints along the paper's edge.

Cheryl Faye Renata,

I pray the Astrals will take pity on my ancient soul and have these words reach you one day.

I pray, too, that that day will come before the beginning of the end.

Trust your heart.

Know your friends.

And always understand that I love you.

May you find it in your soul to forgive me if we should ever meet again.

S.R.

The first letter had been dated two years back, its ink beginning to fade into the paper. But this one—this one was only three months old. She set it down, fumbling for her drink. The dryness of her mouth was only made worse by the fact she had no idea what this all meant, or who Cheryl or this S.R. were. But what she did know—what her gut told her in blinding neon words—was that this had to have something to do with her grandmother's death. What exactly she didn't know, but she now had something to go on, something to point her in the right direction.

The trembling in her hands proved too much and the glass slipped from her grasp. In her haste to clean up the quickly spreading water, she nudged the box a little too hard, sending it to the floor. Whatever contents remained inside spilled out upon impact. She heard a shattering of glass, rocks or other small baubles rolling in all directions, and finally a tinkling of sorts her brain immediately connected to tiny bells.

Just as she'd grabbed a towel, Charlie turned and found herself staring at the chest of a man. She stumbled backwards against the counter, blindly grabbing for the butcher's block as the man stalked towards her with deadly purpose. Trembling worse than before she rammed the knife into the man's chest…or she would have had he been real. Muttering silent confusions, she stared up to his masked face, watching it shimmer and distort briefly, flickering a pale green. She realized she could see through him to a light coming from something that had fallen out of the box.

This man was merely a projection.

Real or not, Charlie shook under the utter hatred blazing in his eyes. The ghost-like man leaned in, hissing vile words to her.

"You have betrayed your sworn oath and your own ancient blood. You side with the darkness against us. This world is facing destruction and you wish to contribute to the hellfire. You steal children that aren't your own as offerings to save your own skin. You should be ashamed. Their promises are nothing but pretty lies, for the shadows prey on us as we prey on beasts."

"W-what are you…"

Ghostly arms of green burst from Charlie's own body. She let a small shriek and wheeled around to the other side of the kitchen in time to see a ghostly image of her grandmother strike out at the man. Charlie covered her mouth to stop her screaming as the man grabbed Marianne's hand and roughly forced it down.

The man growled, "Cease this misguided foolishness and tell me where my child is!"

You can watch—

Just like the—

Never find your daug—

The projection distorted again and now displayed the man stumbling back against the wall, shimmering blood dripping down his chin as he stared through Charlie to the floor behind her. Not wanting to take her eyes off him but wanting to see what had happened, she slowly turned her head to see Marianne on the floor, her back slumped against the counter. Blood pooled out around her on the floor, spreading into the cracks between the hardwood slats and creeping across the floor to the edge of the Perusian rug.

The projection distorted again to show the man writing something on the table. Another distortion, and the body was gone, the blood was gone, and the man was gone. The tiny chiming of bells came again, and the glowing green light flickered violently before shutting off.

It had all happened so fast she still couldn't believe what she saw. The reality of the fact she'd just seen her grandmother's murder—and possibly even her killer—startled her so bad she lost it. Any semblance of composure she had broke and she sank to the floor in hysterics, unable to breathe around how hard she was sobbing. She touched a trembling hand to the stain on the hardwood floor.

"Why…?"

Charlie flinched at the sound of her own voice and looked down, closing her eyes so the second wave of tears couldn't break through. She took a deep breath, forcing herself back to her feet. With heavy, even steps she crossed back to the coffee table and retrieved the fallen box.

The source of the projection was a small, round lantern about five inches wide and seven tall, with a crackled glass globe and a sort of crystal as the source of the odd green light. Surely it was something magical and maybe even useful, but in that moment it was something Charlie never wanted to see again.

Through more tears she picked it up, wrapped back in the cloth it had fallen from, and packed it back into the box with the rest of the spilled contents. She'd never speak of it. This was just some freaky nightmare she couldn't shake. She couldn't deal with it. She didn't know how. And she damn sure couldn't risk pushing away the only comfort she'd managed to scrounge back together by having people think she'd lost her damn mind.