Hair is a strange thing.

That is what was running through my head as I appraised my reflection in the small, cracked hand mirror I had secretly stashed in my room.

My mother’s hair was the color of rich earth, my father’s was dark, nearly black, streaked with a few strands of grey and white.

I had neither.

It was so unfair, I often said to my mother aloud, that I should have this misbehaving wild hair, the color of dead grass that would never just lay smooth no matter how many times I brushed it. And brushed it I did, sometimes up to seven times a day. Still, it refused to be tamed and would frizz up with the slightest taste of humidity in the air. And my eyes, of course. How terrible it was that I should have been cursed with such dull grey eyes while others, like Sashada, had gorgeous green ones.That wasn’t even mentioning my hands. I could hardly look at my hands whilst doing my chores, kneading bread dough, or sewing. Such short, stubby fingers that somehow always stayed dirty no matter how many times I washed them.

Then of course there was my nose. I was sure there must be something wrong with my nose, and though I couldn’t see what it was yet, I was certain that it would reveal itself to me in time.

I could hardly ignore the mark either. The terrible, dark mark shaped like a half moon, sitting snugly and immovable on my right shoulder blade. No one saw it, for the most part, but I knew it was there, and it bothered me. I didn’t care if it was ‘normal’ as my mother said.

It was ugly.

As soon as I began rambling on about my physical shortcomings, my mother would slam her hand down on the nearest flat surface and tell me that perhaps if I had so much time to think, I should start worrying about getting my chores done instead.

After several failed attempts made over several years to encourage her to join in my woeful self-reflections, I gave up and kept such musings to myself and my mirror as much as possible. Only, this time, I wasn’t thinking about my appearance to remark on my distressing lack of beauty.

I was thinking how each strand of hair ran deep into my scalp, and how painful it was brushing it out every morning. How much worse would it be, I wondered, when the Radkkan invaders arrived and decided to rip it all out, strand by strand?

I felt very upset and brushed it out over my ears with my fingers, lamenting how I should have appreciated it sooner. For surely, unsatisfactory hair was better than none.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke me out of my pitiful daze, and I moved quickly to shove the mirror out of view. It stuck, one corner peeking out of my drawer, refusing to be hidden away.

Panicking, I turned around to face the door, preparing myself for the impending lecture on the faults of vanity.

The moment my mother burst into the room, I knew that my beauty, or lack thereof, was not on her mind. Her face was white, her hair windswept, and she was visibly struggling to draw breath. I rushed forward to take her hands in my own. They were shaking.

“Mother, what has happened?” I asked, my voice was shrill in my ears with the dread I felt emanating from her body. She gripped my hands back, her fingers cold as the ocean in the middle of winter.

“They’re here,” she said in a whisper. “Judeth, they’re here.”

Searing terror flared through my body, turning me hot and cold all in the same moment. I looked around for a place to run too, a place to hide.

“What are we going to do? Oh, what are we going to do?” I cried. “They are here? Here in the town, or here at our house?”

“I don’t —” She stopped speaking. Instinctively, I froze.

We waited.

Footsteps. Heavy boots treading upon the ground. There was a loud bang as my door flew open and slammed into the wall. Standing in the doorway were three men.

The people of Radkka were easily distinguishable from the others of the continent. Though we all had our differences, we did mostly resemble each other. But we never resembled them, or they us.

I had never seen a Radkkan before, but they had been described to me many times. The charcoal-black hair, the vivid blue eyes which never seemed to blink. Only gods were said to have had blue eyes. For a mortal to embody such a color was unnatural.

No one knew why they had grown dissatisfied with what they had. No one could understand what drove them to invade the rest of the continent and send us into war. If I ever met one, I had thought, I would ask them why they wanted to create such chaos. Why they could not just let us be.

But now, facing three of them, the thought of speaking to them, let alone asking them questions, was a dead one.

They did not attack us. Instead, one stayed stoically in the doorway, legs spread, and arms crossed, while the other two moved about my room. I didn’t dare turn around, but I heard them rummaging through my things, and knew that they were searching for something. When they returned to stand again with the other, both me and my mother were still frozen on the spot, not daring even to blink.

“Hold out your arms.” One of the three nodded toward us. His voice was sharp and commanded absolute obedience. We did as we were told.

I hardly breathed as I was approached and resisted the temptation to turn my head away. I felt his hands touch my shoulders. His fingers were unpleasant and rough against me, and I let out an involuntary shiver of discomfort.

The hands traveled from my shoulders to my back, my legs, down to my feet and then up again. When I felt the unwanted touch brush forcefully against my breasts, I let out a yelp and pulled away, only to have my head whip to the side as the back of his hand struck sharply against my cheek.

“Don’t move.”

This time when the hands touched me, I held still. I bit my tongue and ignored the pain that spread from my cheek like fire to the rest of my body.

Finally, the hands were gone.

I looked at my mother and knew that she had experienced the same hands as I. Her eyes were cast to the floor and her fists were clenched at her sides, shaking in her helplessness.

“Nothing.”

I looked back at the men as the one who had touched me spoke.

“And the mother?”

“Nothing.”

All three of them stood facing us, and the one in the doorway took a stiff step forward to speak. “You shall live as you have,” he said. Like the other two, his eyes were blue, and his hair was black, but unlike the others, whose faces were smooth and pale, his was grey and folded like the bark of a tree. A freshly healed scar ran from his upper lip, down his neck, and disappeared down the inside of his collar.

“All livestock and goods shall be handed over by tomorrow morning to the soldiers that shall come to your home. You shall not attempt to keep any for yourself. You must all be inside your home before dark. Anyone found outside after the curfew will be killed on sight. No gatherings of more than three people outside of close relations. Any man, woman or child found breaking these rules shall be arrested and put on trial for their lives before the Senate Seven. This is the will of the Lord of Radkka, and you shall obey.”

The moment the last word was out of his mouth, they turned in trained unison and marched away, the echoes of their boots against the ground lingered long after the door had been slammed shut.

My mother and I were all at once alone.

I dropped to my knees, shock numbing my body. Every inch of me was shaking. I didn’t even flinch when my door was flung open again.

“Judeth—” I looked up at the sound of my name and felt relief wash over me like warm water.

“James,” I whispered.

He hurried forward and nelt beside me. I jerked away when I felt his hand on my back.

“She is in shock.” My mother’s voice was quiet and toneless. For a moment she just stood there, face ashen, hands twisted together before she gathered herself again. “I’m going to boil some water,” she informed us, and then strode purposefully out of the room.

James, who had removed his hand, stared at me with concern in his eyes.

“I was on my way to warn you,” he muttered darkly. “But then I saw them leaving your house. I didn’t know what had—” His voice caught, and he looked down. “Did they hurt you?” he asked.

I could only manage a shrug. The shock that had been numbing the pain from my cheek was wearing off, and I could feel the dull, throbbing ache begin to rise.

“They did, didn’t they?” Though his tone was calm, I had known him long enough to be able to detect the undertone of anger that I might have otherwise missed. “Don’t worry.” This time when he put his arms around me, I didn’t pull away from his touch. “They won’t touch you again,” he promised. His embrace was so warm and comforting that I believed him.

Our lives changed so quickly we hardly had time to comprehend it.

My father returned that eventful evening looking, for the first time in his life, terrified. When he saw that my mother and I were alive and uninjured, he sat down heavily at the kitchen table and hid his face in his hands.

We stood there, watching him, until finally he lifted his head and asked Mother for a drink. She went straight to the water bucket and ladled some into a cup. He downed it in one gulp, and then when his voice was steady, told us to tell him what had happened. My mother recounted everything. When she came to the part where we were touched all over, I grew uncomfortable and refused to meet his eyes, ashamed.

After she had finished, he told us everything he had heard.

Our Lord, the man meant to protect us had kneeled before the Radkkan Yukgan the moment he pulled out his sword, and willingly gave up his throne. Then he’d been made to crawl down the streets on his hands and knees before his people until he collapsed from exhaustion. After which, he was beaten to death, publicly, and his wife and daughters were stripped of their clothes. He wouldn’t say what happened to them, but I knew from the look on his face that it was terrible.

Every home had been searched, as well as the people who lived in them, though he wouldn’t explain to me why. My mother knew, I could tell by the glance she and Father shared.

The same rules we had been given were appointed to everyone. All livestock and goods were to be handed in. No one was permitted to be outside after dark. No gatherings out of the family of any number over three. Any breaking of these rules would result in immediate trial before the Radkkan Senate Seven, and then likely death. No exceptions.

“Sye is dead,” he told us. “Took a pitch-fork to one of them. At least he didn’t manage to kill him, ‘else his family would have been executed too.”

There was a gasp, and my mother covered her mouth with her hands.

Death was not a rare occurrence in Saje. People were carried off every year by sickness, fishing misadventures, crazed horses, and many other sad, but common accidents. And yet the thought of someone being killed in cold blood by another man was startling to me.

I had heard stories of manslaughter many times, and sometimes even enjoyed them. But reading the death of a vile Lord was not the same as hearing of the murder of a neighbour.

“It’s a show of strength,” my father continued. “They don’t want us doubting what they're capable of. They won’t even allow us to hold a ceremonial burial.”

Mother had tears dripping slowly down her cheeks, and she sobbed, quietly into her skirt.

I didn’t understand the depth of her sorrow. It wasn’t that I disliked Horther Sye the potato farmer myself, but rather, upsetting as his death might have been, I hadn’t thought he meant anything special to my mother, at least not enough to cry about.

“Horther has a wife, and five children. Without him they’ll be left destitute,” James reminded me.

“Oh.”

Suddenly, Horther wasn’t just farmer Sye. Suddenly he was a husband and a father. I imagined his wife and children sitting at home, completely alone as they mourned his death, facing a life of endless toil just to put food on the table.

“I will go see them tomorrow,” my mother declared.

“You will not.” Father’s voice was harsh. So harsh my mother stared at him, speechless.

“What did you say?”

Never in my life had I ever heard my father raise his voice when speaking to her.

“Neither you, nor Judeth will leave this house until I say so.”

“And why is that?” She glowered at him.

“Because those men are brutes!” His voice thundered through the room. There was silence as Mother looked down at her feet, eyes shimmering. “Please,” he added, his voice softening.

“But what about all our errands? And bringing Fox’s milk to Market?” I broke in.

“I’ll do them. And we’ll be giving Fox up.”

“I’ll help,” James offered.

“James . . .” Father chewed on what he was going to say, and swallowed it, shaking his head. “Go home boy, the night’s approaching fast. We don’t need another death today.”

“But—”

“Go home to your family James.” My mother lifted her head and smiled at him. “Thank you for caring, but I know Hanai is worried about you.”

James looked between me and my parents, torn. Finally, he stood up, squeezed my shoulder, and said, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Be careful,” I told him.

His eyes were hard and unhappy as he walked away. I knew what he was thinking. We should have left before this had a chance to happen. With everything so different now, would we ever escape? But I voiced none of this. I only watched him until he was no longer in view, and then asked in a hushed voice, “Will he make it home?”

My mother, who had straightened up and started mending one of Father’s tunics, smiled at me. “I’m sure he shall. James is a smart boy. He won’t dally.” Still, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread in my stomach, and by the time the sun had completely disappeared from the sky, I could only pray that he had made it home before then.

Sometime during the night, I woke from a troubled sleep. The landscape outside was a still and impenetrable blanket of darkness, and there was a chill in the air that whispered quietly of the arrival of frost.

I lay in bed for a while, trying to sort out my dreams from the events of the previous day. Soon my thoughts became too distressful and so, to stop pondering what our fate was to be in the coming days, I got up.

My old patch quilt, though clutched tightly around my shoulders, did little to keep me warm. Still, it offered some comfort, if only because it was so familiar. I shuffled barefooted across the floor to the kitchen, my toes freezing against the cold ground, thinking hopefully of a cup of warm milk, my last, since our dear cow, Fox, would be taken from us tomorrow.

I was surprised to find that I was not alone. Sitting near the fire, staring into the embers, was my father. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

Instead of a greeting, he nodded at the stool that stood close by his own, and I sat there like my mother so often did.

His eyes were red from lack of sleep or something else I didn’t know of, and didn’t like to think on. “Shame that sleep will so often evade the working mind, especially when all that mind wants is to get some rest,” he murmured.

It came to my attention that he had an ax leaning against his leg.

“There are no stars out tonight,” he spoke again, though I sensed it wasn’t for the sake of starting a conversation, but because the silence between us was wanting and something needed to be said.

“What will happen to us?” I asked. Though I knew perfectly well that he couldn’t answer, I still gave into that childish belief that my parents knew the answer to everything.

“Sunah knows.”

We were silent together. It felt like hours, but when I looked outside, it was still just as dark as it had been when I first awoke.

“You want to hear a story?”

I couldn’t help the hope that made itself evident on my face. My father hadn’t told me a story since I was small.

“It was a long time ago,” he began before I responded. I had no complaints, so I shuffled the stool closer to the fire and waited.

“Back in the time when the gods lived in the heavens, there was a goddess. Sunah.”

I had heard the legend of our continent before. Many times. Everyone did. But I still found myself drawn in by the soft lull of his voice, accompanied by the friendly pop and hiss of the fire, like I was a child again and had nothing more pressing on my mind than what would be for dinner. When I never doubted, I was safe, or had to worry for the future.

“She was the goddess of life. One day, she fell in love with Harow, the god of thunder. They met in secret every night for a year, until Sunah found she was with child and Harow’s father, Icthys, God of lightning, happened to hear of it. He was angry and banished Sunah to the Seven Hells where she would have lived in agony for all eternity, if it hadn’t been for Harow, who stowed her away on a special ship that would send her to earth. On the ship, she befriended a rat named Kora, and they passed the journey peacefully together, until Icthys found out and sent a lightning storm to destroy them. The boat was torn to pieces, and Icthys believed Sunah to be lost in the sea. Satisfied, he turned his eyes from the earth and fell into a deep sleep.”

That part of the story had always bothered me. Why did Icthys dislike Sunah? Why was he so determined to see her unhappy simply for loving his son? I was grateful, infinitely grateful, that my own parents were nothing like Harow’s father, and accepted my love for James. Celebrated it, even.

“However, Sunah did not drown in the ocean. She and Kora were saved by a seal. Sunah bound the wood scraps of the boat to make a raft and rested upon it. Then she asked the seal, Aibit, what she could do to repay the favor. ‘On earth, my powers are vastly decreased. It is unlikely that I shall be able to do much to repay you,’ she said. Aibit answered, ‘Goddess, I saw two living beings in distress, and I helped them. I ask for nothing in return.’ Sunah was touched by this show of kindness, which in the heavens was growing to be a rare occurrence. ‘If that be so,’ she said, ‘I shall soon deliver a child. I ask for your protection and company if you might willingly give it.’ ‘Goddess,’ said Aibit, ‘I would be honored to be of any assistance I can.’ And so Sunah found another companion.”

I imagined the beautiful goddess laying sprawled across the makeshift raft, a rat perched on her shoulder and a seal swimming next to her, surrounded by an endless horizon of water. Alone and abandoned by her family, cast away from her home. Hopeless.

The thought caused my throat to ache and my eyes to sting. I looked away from the fire and scrubbed at them with the corner of my quilt. I was not alone. I was not lost. I was not hopeless.

I never would be.

“Kora kept Sunah company while Aibit hunted and brought back fish for the other two to eat. By the time Sunah gave birth, she had grown used to this new life she had been thrust into, and felt the stirrings of safety and comfort. But in the heavens, Icthys woke from a terrible dream. Sunah had survived, and her child had grown up to be fearfully powerful. Once she reached maturity, she returned to the heavens to take revenge upon they who had wronged her mother. Refusing to entertain the slightest possibility that the dream would prove to be real, Icthys decided that he would cast his eyes to the ocean once more. Just in time, his son caught wind of this plan and sent a giant hound down to warn Sunah. After delivering the message, the beast hurried away for fear of being seen, leaving behind a single footprint.

“Aibit swallowed Kora and the babe, while Sunah dove under the waves and hid beneath the raft. When Icthys turned his eyes to the earth, all he saw was a scrap of wood and a lone seal swimming through the ocean. Sure that this time Sunah was truly gone, he fell once again into a deep sleep, and peace returned to the empty waters of the earth, but not for long. Icthys woke again from a similar nightmare. This time having dreamt of a single image. Sunah’s daughter sat upon his throne, her mother behind her, and her father watching them both with a smile as he, the god of lightning, kneeled at their feet, kissing the ground. Paranoid that somehow Sunah remained alive but was evading his sight, he set a trap. He sent down a small squirrel who was starved and exhausted.

“Sunah found it floating half-dead in the water and nursed it back to health. When the squirrel returned to him, full and thriving, Icthys grew furious. He knew that somehow Sunah had tricked him and so, full of rage, he broke the sky and whispered Sunah’s name to a lightning bolt which struck her in the chest. As the Goddess of life, Sunah could never truly die, however the strength of the lightning paralyzed her. Using the last of her power, she turned her daughter to stone after giving the child a name, Jiohthi, which in the Grey Tongue means love and power. Then Sunah fell into a deep, eternal sleep. When she slept, her energy was released, and all along her body, plants and trees grew.

“The squirrel, seeing what it had caused, returned to the earth and starved itself to death by Sunah’s side. Kora and Aibit too stayed near their friend until they received a message. Harow, distraught, ordered them to remove the goddess’s heart and place it in the ocean. When they did so, it too turned to stone and beautiful greenery sprouted upon its surface, creating yet more earth. Then Harow informed the two that they would soon die. But they would live again, and in seventeen-hundred years would find their new purpose, the day the heart began to beat. From that day forward, they would not be who they were, neither would they remember their lives before. They would have only one task, and that would be to guard the resurrected godchild with their lives until there was no longer a need for them to do so.

“ Kora and Aibit agreed to this, and as was foretold, they died. Their bodies turned to stone and Sunah’s energy created life.”

I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He had never gone this far. Before, when he had told it to me, it ended with Sunah falling asleep in the ocean. There was a strange sense of unease inside me, knowing that there was more, but not what it was.

“What happened then?” I pressed.

“The lives of mortals began on the sweet ground and nurturing soil Sunah’s sleep gave them. Humans prospered, and many of the gods wished to honor Sunah’s gift to the world. Peinyeil sent them rain, so they could drink freshwater. Dojien gave them wisdom so they could build homes, and cities. Savougn gave them lust, so they learned to tend to one another, and Jobhied made them able to have children. Soldana made them the moon, and Hebpia the sun, so there would be time for rest and for work. Ssanarin gave them rivers. Onobias made their grass and fields ripe each year for seeds. Hammious made sure their crops thrived. Staad gave them beasts and kept them healthy. Loyre gave them music and let them experience joy.

“But the other gods grew displeased by this, and sought to make a mockery of Sunah’s life. Mctherious caused some mortals to develop diseases of the mind. Madness, and insanity. Daskin made them cunning and full of trickery. Sapkatcha made them greedy and discontent. Wistbatia made them slothful and petulant. Bhastia made them envy each other. Sitan gave them wrath, and Dhundich used that wrath to give them war. Saprahd ruined their good natures with pride. Nevett destroyed their crops with Icy cold winters. Balkdonnan killed many with Plague, and Makkuna cursed them with death.

“For a time there was great discord on the earth. Humans slayed each other. Went to war. Died. Hated. But then Mechtan and Uula, two lesser gods, joined hands and gave them balance and time; that all good and bad things would end. And that they with good in their souls would appreciate the fewer years they had and live them as best they could. Now, for seventeen hundred years there was peace.”

“Seventeen-hundred years?”

“You must remember, Judeth, that gods and mortals experienced time differently. For the people, it was seventeen-hundred years. For the gods, seventeen sleeps. Seventeen short sleeps. There was unrest in the heavens. Icthys and Harrow, full of hatred for one another, battled for the throne of GodKing, and soon there was a war between their people. A terrible war. The gods were split in half, those supporting the god of thunder, and those supporting the god of lightning. As they fought, the heavens themselves shook, and broke. Balance was destroyed. It became so hot the moon couldn’t rise, and then so cold the sun remained sunk, for fifteen days and nights each. By the time the world returned to normal, the war was over, and the sky was in devastation. The gods, broken and beaten until there was naught but their souls left, departed their holy land and traveled down to earth where they inhabited the bodies of mortals, living over and over again but never remembering who they were, until it was too late.”

I thought about this.

“If this is true, there could be gods walking among us?” I asked.

“Perhaps.” His answer was short and in no way satisfying. Still, I knew when to drop a subject, and turned the conversation in another direction.

“Why did Icthys fear the thought of being defeated by a woman?” This question always came to mind whenever I heard the story.

“Because a woman with power is a dangerous thing to men.”

“How so?”

Father grabbed the fire poker which leaned against the stone of the chimney side and prodded the dimming coals.

“You should head back to bed. It’ll be dawn soon.”

I looked out the window and saw that to my surprise, the thick black had changed to a deep, ocean blue.

“I suppose I should,” I agreed, standing up. My limbs were stiff from sitting on the hard wooden stool in the cold for so long and it took a moment for me to fully shake feeling into them.

“Will you answer my question tomorrow?” I asked, paused to walk back down the hallway.

He smiled at me. I loved it when he smiled. His eyes, golden brown like honey, would crinkle and the light that emanated from them made him look years younger, as though it took away some of the terrible things he had seen.

“Perhaps. Now go. Your bed is waiting for you.”

I woke the next morning to the sound of voices. At first, I hardly paid attention and gazed groggily up at the ceiling. Winter sunlight streamed into my room from the window, carrying no warmth.

Without even remembering why, I felt miserable.

“—deth should be sure to stay indoors.”

The mentioning of my name drew my attention to what was being shared in the other room and the sound of weeping had me out of bed and anxiously creeping down the hall. When I reached the kitchen, I stayed carefully out of sight around the corner, my back pressed against the cold stone wall and my ears open and sharp.

“Cheldna, your tears shall do nothing for him.”

“Oh, for the gods’ sakes, spare me a moment to grieve!”

My mother’s voice was thick with sorrow.

“To think that this should happen. To think that this should happen, and we can do nothing about it.”

“Not yet, but we will. Soon enough. The numbers are growing. Already we have—”

It must have been fate. Or possibly it was the combination of dust and cold. EIther way, I had the urge to sneeze, and I did. My father cut himself off, and I knew that my presence had been made known to them.

“Good morning.” I walked around the corner blinking sleepily and adding in a yawn for effect.

“How long have you been up?” my mother asked. I could see the tear tracks on her cheeks, but before I asked what had distressed her, she wiped them away, stood up and pulled me into a hug. “James was here this morning,” she said, and I felt separate blows of relief and disappointment.

“Why didn’t he stay?” I asked.

“He only came to deliver news. We didn’t want to wake you. He promised to visit again today, later when he’s finished helping his father.”

“What news?” I asked.

She hesitated, but my father sighed.

“There’s no point trying to hide anything from her. It’s better to have her know everything beforehand rather than seeing it for herself.”

Mother’s arms tightened around me, before she told me in a quiet voice, “The eldest Sye son was killed last night. Outside.”

“Why was he outside?” I asked. “Didn’t he know what he would be risking?”

“Revenge,” Father answered. “He wanted to take revenge on those who had killed his father.”

“He thought he could succeed?”

He shook his head. “The young and furious believe they’re invincible.”

“How did he—How did they do it?” I asked. “How did they kill him?”

I couldn’t say why I was curious. Really, I shouldn’t have wondered, not when it would give life to the possibility of what could happen to me, and the people I loved. But I asked the question anyway. I felt it was my right. I was nearly sixteen, no longer a child. I wanted no sparing from the grim reality of our life when everyone I knew was acquainted with it.

“Beaten to death,” Father answered the question without raising an eyebrow. “James said he found him out on the street covered in cuts and bruises. Cold to the touch.”

“James found him?”

This startled me nearly as much as the news of the death itself had. And though I knew there was a reason, I couldn’t immediately place it, so I ignored the feeling.

“Yes, he did.”

“It must have shocked him, poor child.” My mother let me out of her embrace and turned toward the kitchen cupboard.

“Well, I suppose there’s no point worrying about the things that shall come. What would you like for breakfast Judeth? I think we should have a feast!” She said it brightly. Too brightly. We all knew it was an act. She as well, but kept the false sunshine in her voice anyway, and I couldn’t blame her, for I understood why, though again, I didn’t know exactly how. I just knew that I did and so the reason didn’t matter.

The feast comprised of mashed turnips and beets, tough brown bread made from the tough brown grain we bought every week at the market, a watery stew made of carrots, potatoes and some very chewy squares of meat, and one very small, very precious apple cake.

By the time the entire thing was on the table it was well past noon, and though the distressful news from the morning had quelled my appetite considerably, by then I was quite ready to sit down and stuff myself until I couldn’t move.

Then James arrived, and I decided that a modest, ladylike helping would be better after all.

We all sat at the table making light conversation. If a stranger peered into the room through the window and watched us, they would see nothing amiss.

They would be wrong.

At that table were four people. All four cared deeply for each other, all four were trying desperately to forget for a few moments that which was their reality; but three knew something that the fourth did not, something terrible. Something that could, at any time, cost them their lives. I didn’t know what secret they were hiding, nor did I let that fact bother me as we sat together, laughing, and talking of cheerful things. If I had known, could I have prevented the tragedy that would soon follow?

No.

In a war of thousands of people, one girl couldn’t truly make a difference.