The sound of a twig snapping was enough to send Martin leaping to his feet and ready for a fight. His heart burned from the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his neck was pulsing from the intensity. But to his dismay there was no danger, no demons skulking in the morning fog, no monstrosity looming over his sleeping body, but what he saw was much worse, a small girl collecting river flowers. He had thought the long day before was just a bad dream, but he was mistaken.

“What are you doing up? How come you're not asleep?!” He wasn't used to the company let alone a little girl. The girl grimaced at him and went about her playing. He was grumpy from being disturbed by her. Martin quickly became very annoyed at her naive romping and grabbed her by the arms to sit her down.

“Listen, you can't be making such a ruckus. You're going to draw unwanted attention.” Martin grumbled as he attempted to drag her down.

She fought and kicked at him till he rose his hand to strike her and she flinched. She sat down not wanting to be hit.

“Well, at least you can learn.” He said with a smirk.

Martin sat with his legs crossed in the sand under the rooted overgrowth and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he began to calm down from his drowsy defense he noticed that the camp had been tampered with, things weren't as he left them. His sword was two yards from the camp and so was his traveling sack. Most terrifyingly his armor was missing. Martin scrambled looking for it, he was desperate and hadn't felt a panic like this in years.

“My armor, my things! What did you do with my things brat?!” Martin snapped at her rapidly, correctly assuming her to be the culprit.

Zofia could see that he was visibly distressed so she spoke up softly afraid of the consequences if she didn't.

“I'm sorry... I … I just wanted to try it on.” She said in a shameful sorry way that children do when they realize they made a mistake.

“What did you do with it? Where are my things!” Martins patience began to bend to its breaking point.

She pointed toward the brook. The breastplate was partly submerged in the creek blending in with the dark, water stained river stones.

“I just wanted to be you… and it got heavy and I fell over. Then I got it off but it slipped out of my hands and rolled into the water. I couldn't un-stuck it, I'm sorry.” She said meekly. Her head was hung low and she was indeed sorry for what she did, But it didn't matter, Martins patience had broken clean in two. The grown man pounced on the child with arms outstretched. He pinned her against the sandy bank and wrapped his hands around her tiny neck.

“You ever touch my things again I'll kill ya!” He screamed at her and slammed her into the sand violently.

“If you want to make it to your bitch aunt than mind your business or you won't live long enough to make it out of these woods! No one will care about some brat southerner dead in the forest anyway! Got it!?” Martin screamed in the poor girl’s face, he was absolutely monstrous.

She didn't fight or kick, she didn't scream or struggle, Zofia was absolutely terrified by the creature that was thrashing her into the sand. His eyes were bloodshot with rage, his face tense and twisted with malice. Martin was so close she could smell his rotten breath and feel the heat off his body on her. Zofia began to cry and tremble under the man's callused hands. Martin was lost in his temperament but became uncomfortable at seeing the helpless girl cry because of him, his fury wavered and promptly showed her mercy. He released her neck, stood up, and walked over to the cuirass without saying a word. He picked up the waterlogged breastplate and noticed it was rusted in a few areas it hadn't been before… he felt his anger begin to flare up again and turned toward the girl who was now cowering behind a large oak tree. He shook off his resentment that was quickly poisoning his mind. Martin sulked back to the spot where he slept. He sat down to polish and clean what he could of the old piece of worn armor. He placed the scarred metal on his lap and stared at it with grief in his gut. Tears began to well in his eyes as he saw the deformed faces of the past etched in every crevice. he began to frantically brush off the sand and dirt that caked it, the leather straps barely wicked the water off anymore and were cracking from old age, the rust ate at the bottom of the plate, the whole thing was a mess.

“Do you see this?!” he yelled at the girl holding it out to her.

“It means more to me than you do!!!” The man was raving.

He clutched the piece of armor like a child and sobbed into it. Zofia couldn't understand the significance of it, it was only a piece of ratty old armor that wouldn't sell for a copper. It was charred, cracking in spots, and it rattled like a snake. It's only redeeming quality was the pretty sun on the front that drew her attention in the first place. She waited behind the tree at a safe distance watching the man cry uglily. She waited and watched Martin carefully until she unintentionally fell asleep from all the dramatics.

When she woke up the man was gone. The camp was packed up and the remnants of the fire were buried. Zofia was in a state of distressed confusion. She jumped around in circles flapping her arms in dismay. She pitifully resembled a worried hen. She didn't know the way out of the northern wilderness or what awaited her here. The girl heard the man's voice inside her head, she heard him taunting her, his threats feeling more palpable every second. Her hands began to tremble and her spirit began to wane as doubt started to emerge its awful face. The wind ripped past her, tearing the dead leaves off of their jagged branches, there was no sun in the sky, it was claustrophobically isolating. The woods came alive with haunting sounds, and critters began to rustle about. She knew this place threatened her very existence. In her terror, she fled in the direction the brook was flowing. She stung all over as if a billion ants were chewing at her skin as her face, legs, and arms were being slashed by small branches and thorny scrub brush. Her tiny body carried her quickly until she stumbled onto the dirt road, tripping face first into the sandy surface. The rush of fear she experienced made her sit up on all fours and vomit. Her veins were pumping acid, she was trembling but felt some relief from the road. Upon the thruway was nothing but crushed sand and tumbling leaves wisping around in twisted vortexes. She felt lost but fortunately, she knew which way she came, so, the abandoned child-headed the other way hoping to find the man who abandoned her.

Security was her only motivation, it wasn't safe on the road, especially not alone. She was frustrated at her situation and cursed violently and kicked a sizable rock, hurting her toe and causing her to have a painful limp. The day almost instantly became cooler as she headed toward, what she perceived, to be the right way. She had nothing but the clothes on her back, and that wasn’t saying much. She began to shiver from the sharp breeze cutting into her skin. As she turned around a tight bend in the road she saw Martin walking her way. She felt exposed knowing he saw her but instinctually ran to him. She hobbled as fast as she could, limping every other step till she practically fell into him. They looked at each other for an instant, they both seemed distressed and stubbornly resisted the urge to apologize but ultimately failed.

“I'm sorry!” They both blurted at each other in unintentional unison.

“Huh?!” The girl gushed in surprise. She never thought that the man would ever utter those words after the cruelty he had shown her earlier.

“I'm sorry. I should have never left you, it was wrong of me…” He spoke in the same soft fatherly tone that Zofia heard the day he gallantly saved her. Emotions began to well deep inside the girl and she leaped onto him crying and tightly hugged around his waist burying her face into his poncho. Martin was taken aback by this sudden attack of affection.

He was in a rage when he left the girl in the morning. He was overtaken by a whirlwind of sanguine and couldn't care about her well being. He stormed out of the forest wishing all manner of beast or bandits would find the girl and violate her. Martin stomped along for miles till he began to feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and neglect of responsibility. He knew she would be afraid and felt an absolute horror of what he had done, his throat began closing from paternal anxiety. Martin turned on his heel and headed back the way he came, he trotted with haste until his armor fatigued him too much and he had to walk. When he saw her coming around the bend he thought he could cry, her limbs were dripping blood and she was limping but her eyes had a fire in them, he had to give it to her again, she had moxie. He would have run to her but she was already in a strange hobbling sprint toward him. He knew he was her ward until he shifted the responsibility of her to her rightful guardian, her aunt in Morn Awolon, that was his oath. When she apologized he was shamefully dishonored, he truly felt ashamed of his actions and felt compelled to speak and explain himself in some way. He knew that his words sounded hollow and a tad cliche but the girl hugged him, this was the first touch of compassion he had felt since he was a young man. It was so outrageous to him to experience anything other than the cold bite of the wind or the sulfuric burn of the demonic. But he couldn't be any more content than how he felt with this small girl clutching onto his waist.

“I forgive you.” She muffled from the poncho.

“I forgive you too…” Martin muttered barely vocalizing. He ran his fingers into her greasy black hair and embraced her head with his arms as they shared a moment of absolvement. When the girl pulled away he noticed that she was bloody and needed attention. He dropped down to one knee and pulled a semi-clean rag and a bit of salt from the pork out of his pack. He spat on the rag to clean the dried blood and gingerly rubbed a bit of the salt in the larger abrasions. The girl flinched from the sudden stinging but knew that the man meant well so she didn't yelp. After the wound was treated properly and wrapped with small strips of linen the two carried out and began walking down the road. He was bumping into her playfully and she would shove him, it would seem the storm clouds have passed for now. Martins goal was to reach a small outpost village before nightfall but he couldn't tell the time from the overcast sky. He increased the pace of their marching so he could be sure he wouldn't be caught by the impending darkness. The girl began to hobble more and more, her pace was slowing them down so he got down on his knees and told her to get onto his shoulders. The girl meandered up on top of Martin causing him a slight bit of discomfort from the straps digging into his scarred shoulders. He hoisted her up and adjusted.

“Hey, how about I buy you a hot chocolate when we get to town?” Martin said in a chipper tone. He was still feeling guilty for his actions this morning and was looking for forgiveness.

“What's that?” Zofia asked speculatively.

“You've never had Hot Chocolate?!” Martin burst out, craning his neck to look up at her. He was floored by her response, even as a poor farmer boy, his family was able to afford hot chocolate during Yul.

“Well, it's Rich, dark, and thick…”

“Like a stew?” Interrupted Zofia.

“No, it's more like a drinkable custard.” Martin trying his hardest to explain the delicacy.

“Whats a custard?” Zofia was starting to feel left out.

“It's sweet and milky...umm” He was quickly running out of words.

Martin piqued Zofia's interest.

“Sweet?!” Zofia said in excitement

“Yes! It's very good. I promise to get you a large mug when we arrive in town.” Martin was pleased that she was finally buzzing over the treat.

They walked for an hour in relative silence, every now and then she would tap his head or he would pinch her leg but it was just muffled giggles and scoffs. Not before long they came upon a medium sized wooden fortification. It was a blockade that led into the town. There were only a small handful of guards patrolling the area, nonchalantly strolling their routes. The palisade that surrounded the town was lashed sloppily together with trees, no doubt harvested from the local area. The blockade needed maintenance to have any effect in defending an enemy attack, the ropes that held the tree wall together was fraying and the wall was dried and infested with wood beetles. A creaky bridge connected the multiple watchtowers to each other. The towers were enclosed with wood planks and topped with a slanted roof. The roof was shingled with dried wedges of bark and held together with cob; a concrete hard mixture of sand, water, hay, and clay. The roofing had begun to crack and give way, dripping water onto the watchman whenever it would rain. There were forest green flags flying high from the watchtower steeples, the emblem was of a hideous three-headed pigeon carrying an ax and dead fox. This coat of arms concerned Martin dearly, remembering that one of the rabble the previous day had escaped on horseback. He figured he could sneak through next to the traveling wagons that passed by occasionally, or perhaps he could just slink into the woods and avoid the outpost altogether. Martin felt ridiculous that he didn't remember that the Foxchasers resided in these parts.

Martin sighed, realizing he couldn’t avoid the town. They needed supplies and this was the closest town for days. Plus, he promised the girl a hot Chocolate and he intended to keep his promise. Butterflies began to eat at Martins' stomach the closer he got to the gate. When he was in a four stone shot of the barricade he set the girl down and donned his hood. The guards seemed complacent, fat, and were lazily sitting around the gate oblivious to any passers-by. The mercenaries were too involved in their dice game to inspect the traffic through the gate. Despite their blatant laziness, Martin felt it was better to hide his face. They slipped into the town unnoticed but Martin didn't remove his hood despite this. His breathing was heavy and he felt his feet sinking deep into the muddy road with every step. His eyes dashed about observing every wooden building till they eventually fell upon the inn in the middle of a row of shops circling the town square. The pair trudged through the thick viscous slop, the village smelt like month old milk that's been ruminating in the heat for too long. The hostile stench turned the hardened veterans stomach rancid, he couldn't imagine how the little one felt, or how they kept business in this pig sty in general. They reached the double swinging doors of the inn, they stood kiddy corner to the building before entering. The outside of the establishment was a lot more put together and refined than the rest of the town, it was well maintained and freshly painted, you could tell the owner cared about his business. Zofia's head cocked to the side and bobbed up and down before she exploded with excitement.

“Tomas!” The little girl yelled out. She skipped joyfully to one of the horses strapped to the hitching post outside of the inn. The horse whinnied cheerfully at the site of the girl and nuzzled his nose into her affectionately. Zofia grabbed ahold of his face and began to pet his muzzle with loving familiarity. Martin looked at the horse and the girl strangely, he didn't understand the connection, he felt like he was missing something.

“Oh, I never thought I'd see you or mommy again!” Zofia uttered. She was practically glowing.

Then it hit Martin like a club to the face. He noticed the strange earrings on the gelding and the elaborate brindle pattern decorating its body. This this was her mother's horse. The girl gaily loved the horse and giggled with glee. Martin couldn't enjoy the joyous festivity all he could do was snarl at the entrance to the inn with righteous indignation. There was a steady tension rising in his chest, he felt tight pings of shivers in his shoulders and back, the anticipation was irradiating throughout his body, he knew through hell or high water there was going to be a fight.

“Zofia, come here please.” He softly called The girl with a gentle wave of his hand. Before she even took a step he smoothly squatted down to meet her eyes. The girl came with little protest, something was ominous in the way he was speaking to her, his unknown polite mannerisms made her hyper-aware of the situation. She got really close to him and he leaned in even closer. They were face to face and she could see Martin was tense, his eyes were dilated and bloodshot, his jaw was tightly shut. His peculiarity finally showed through as a type of wrath that she hadn't seen earlier, even as he was throttling her.

“Where's my Mommy Martin…” Slight tears began to pool in her eyes and her bottom lip quivered a little. She, unfortunately, had just begun to realize the gravity of what was to come but couldn't grasp, at least not yet, what it all meant.

“The man who took her is, I believe, in there.” He whispered to her lifting his hand in between them and pointed toward the entrance of the inn. The little girl gasped as she stared down the finger. She began to wipe away her tears.

“What are we going to do…” With a slight sniffle, she breathed into her stomach and tried to calm herself. He had to give it to her, he was starting to really appreciate her moxie, it was rare to find such good fighting spirit from someone so young. He sat squatting and soaked in the unfair circumstances of his life and how he had cowered from it. But this girl had her life broken, her near unwavering disposition filled his heart with wretched self-loathing. For the past day and a half her life had been falling into shambles, he couldn't save her mother, he; Her only ward had been cruel to her on multiple occasions, and he had almost abandoned her over trivial matters he knew she didn't understand. He felt so sorry for the terribleness that fell on her life and vowed he would avenge her. He could never let her life reach the forsaken quality that he was in, never.

“You are going to wait out here with Thomas, and I'm going in there to find your mother, and then I'm going to buy you that hot chocolate.” Martin smiled and wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. Her body was pressed against the familiar poncho that smelt like a mangy dog, his beard was scratchy against her face and he stunk like a sewer rat, but she hugged him anyway. Zofie was at a loss for words but she knew that he was genuine and his words felt honest and full of virtue. He stood up and walked her to the hitching post. He could hear glasses clanging and some hooting about inside the establishment. There was no way he could audibly detect how many men were inside, but it didn't matter this time, he had a second chance and was going to take it by blood. There was no way to see past the large double swinging doors, He would be going into the fight blind. Normally this would make him nervous, but there was a debt to be paid. He took a knee in front of the girl.

“Listen, if I don't come back out, take these...” He handed her his traveling sack and a small pouch of coins. “...It's important you survive Zofia. If I don't come out by the time the noises end then get on Thomas and run. Just run as far as his legs will take you, ok?” There was an immediate paternal seriousness in his eyes.

She nodded her head.

“Promise me!?!” He scolded.

“I promise,” she said nervously.

Martin stood up and took off his shield and laid it on the ground, he presumed it was tight inside the Inn and couldn't have it weigh him down or even take up the unneeded space. He squared up to the doors and slowly walked forward. He began to hear a twangy lute playing inside, he smelt the beer and Vodka, he felt an incendiary orb deep in his chest begin to burn his humanity to a cinder. Martins rage was palpable to Zofia, his fists were tightly clenched as he drew his sword, his breathing was heavy and rhythmically moved his shoulders up and down.

“Martin…” Zofia muttered. The combatant threw his head around like a bull.

She stared into his twisted face, his teeth were baring like a wild hound, the light in his eye had faded and only a hollow pit of acidic green remand. The man had warped into something truly demonic and capable of hellish debauchery.

“...Don't die…” was all she was able to muster. He managed an ugly smile and whipped his head toward the tavern. Her lips began to quiver again and she stood there frozen next to the horse. With a huff, Martin girded his loins and plowed through the double doors sending them flapping violently. It was quiet inside the tavern, all the girl could hear was her heartbeat and loud discussion from inside, than a shout, until a tremendous smash startled the girl. She jumped and grabbed ahold of the horse's leg, her palms began to sweat and she wanted to cry, she feared for Martin the same way she feared for her mother. There was Shouting that came from inside the Inn making Zofia feel powerless and small.

The violent sounds from inside reminded her that not more than a day ago when Her mother and herself were stopped by the Foxchasers. She was playing with her doll in the back of the cart when they were pulled over. She overheard talking, then shouting, then a crash and her mother began to scream, Thomas let out a terrifying screech that made her skin go cold. Zofia scrambled to hide in one of the barrels of barley. She heard a scuffle and struggling, her mother cried out loud and then she was forced into the cart. She heard her mother's cries near the barrel. Zofia began to tremble and covered her mouth and closed her eyes. The cart was rocking violently and all she could hear was labored breathing and foreign curses she didn't understand. There were sounds of slapping and profane groans that sounded unearthly in this situation. She could only imagine her mother being beaten or stabbed, yet, she still yelped and pleaded for mercy.

Inside the inn, there was a terrifying scream and gurgle. The nauseating sensation of fingertips crawling on her back made Zofia jolt in a panic so she forcefully closed her eyes and clasped her hands over her ears to escape the invasive tingling. The screams were muffled but were as potent as ever and continued to get closer, and closer, and closer still. Her eyes were shut tightly until there was a burst through the doors and they shot wide open. Martin came out dragging a man by his Green tabard. Martin looked tattered yet victorious, his face was tight with rage but fatigue had certainly started setting in. His right eye was swollen shut and was a glorious shade of black and blue that oozed a stream of blood. His poncho was disheveled. Martin had a small dagger sticking out of his left arm, it didn’t seem to faze him, seeing as he was dragging the man with the same arm. The man he was dragging looked worse for wear, his eyes were sunken from strikes to the face and he also had a few teeth missing, but she didn't know if that's just how he looked. Martin threw the battered man down in front of Zofia and grabbed the thugs hair with his left hand, gripping and pulling it around like a rag doll. The old warrior reached over with his free hand and with a small brace and a grunt he removed six inches of blade from his left arm. He held the man's head up.

“Where's her Mother!?” Martin forcefully commanded.

“Fuck You prick!!! You can bet we’ll hang you, the Fox...” The Thug was frantically trumpeting with blood dripping from his mouth. Martin swung his knee around toward the man’s face and connected with a thundering crack. After a moment Martin repeated the question and shifted his body weight giving a subtle hint of him priming his knee for a second blow.

“Wha… who’mum ya pr...ck…” The man had a hard time speaking, something seemed wrong with the way his jaw was moving now.

“Her’s!!!” Martin screamed at him positioning his head so he could see Zofia. But as soon as he said it he realized they never saw her and felt a bit foolish but feigned ignorance anyway.

“Her muddher….? Oh, ye mus been in the car..d wid us? ” The man let out a sickly chuckle as his mouth was pouring out a generous amount of blood. “Well... afur…. We sduff ye’mum like a pig. I gon an ran wid’er, den I cud’er and lef’er for da Wolf's.” The man's answer Struck Zofia and Martin like a typhoon of desolation destroying her morale and raising his ire. The small girl stood there staring at her mother's murderer, he laughed with choking gurgles in her face, the sounds were ghoulish and terrifying to the young girl's ears. It slowly faded until all sound became mute to her.

“Here, take it ” Martin said to Zofia breaking the rapists gagging laughter. He held out the knife to her. She was stunned, standing there catatonic and unable to move. The tension around her throat was choking her and the pressure behind her eyes blinded her from reality. She just wanted to stand still and disappear.

“TAKE IT! Take back your life, even by a pound of flesh at a time!” Martin screamed. She did nothing but stand and blankly stare at the abuser. The Foxcatcher laughed at both of them manically. The drawl, the laughter, the very presence of this man-made Martin enraged and begin to shake with furious anger.

“Se is sdare’in like’er mum when we fucked’er…” The foxchaser spewed laughing uncontrollably, his jaw lose and out of control, he was hanging from Martins' hand like a nightmarish scarecrow.

Martin had enough, he knew it was too much of him to ask a little girl to kill, let alone at a time like this. He ripped and dragged the man by the hair until they were at the steps of the inn.

“Bite the step!” Martin howled. His righteousness seeped from his skin like a ghastly aurora. For the first time in a long time, Martin felt like he was the hand of God, delivering vengeance upon the wicked.

“Oh… no no no… ples...no” The Thug begged. But unfortunately for him, his gagging pleas fell on deaf ears.

Martin shoved the Foxcatchers face against the step chipping both the wooden steps and the few teeth the man had left. In the same movement, Martin wound his leg back and kicked it forward with absolution. His foot soared through the air as the man gurgled and spoutted un-audible words from the steps. Martins’ heel bashed the back of the thug's skull into the step kicking it in two, splitting it like a soggy melon. The man's jaw dislocated from his face in an awful snap that sounded like a twig exploding from a bolt of lightning. His eyes rolled into his skull and he slumped into the refuse of the village streets.

Martin stared at the mayhem and breathed a sigh of contentment for the vermin he slaughtered today. A great tension left his shoulders and he felt uncharacteristically lighter. There was no way around it, he was morally in the right. Slaying evil was his sole purpose, it didn't matter if it was demonic or not. In his holy madness, he had almost forgotten about the girl. He looked back toward her, she was staring at the corpse on the ground and then grimaced with satisfaction at it and spat.

“Are you ok?” Martin said after taking a slight breath.

She began to nod her head but stopped and looked at him.

“Yes.” Her tone was sad, he couldn't blame her. After a brief moment of reflection, martin stood up straight, arched his back and stretched.

“So, how about that Hot Chocolate?” He said with a single clap of expression. Martin bent down with a groan and began to tear at the thug's tunic till he had a long two-inch wide piece of fabric. He walked behind the girl and began to tie it around her eyes.

“What are you doing?” Zofia spoke up in confusion.

“I'm blindfolding you,” Martin said with a joking smirk, trying to make light of the situation.

“I KNOW that… but why?” She said with snark in her voice.

“I… I don't think it's fitting for you to see what's inside of there right now, that's all. You need to wear this until we leave, alright?” He was feeling protective over the girl, he couldn't have her fragile sense of order fractured by the chaos that was inflicted on the men inside of the inn. What she had seen out on the steps did not compare to the disorder he caused on the souls inside of the inn.

“...Ok...” She said deceiving him, being too curious for her own good, she wanted to know more about what Martin had done. She silently held martin in an exalting light after the death of the Man on the steps. Her heart was leaping from her chest rapturously through the entire scene, yet, she still felt powerless and unable to act. The killing felt justified since the scum didn't resemble a man to her, only a Sickly monster who raped her mother and obliterated her way of life. Martin tightened the blindfold and walked behind her with his hands firmly on her shoulders.

“Step.” Martin softly instructed. And she stepped.

Martin held out his arms and pushed the double doors open as they crossed the threshold. Zofia could feel them entering the Inn. The temperature inside was stifling and humid, the moistness from inside was unlike the cold autumn outside, the contrast staggering the unprepared girl. The smell didn't hit her in the face like most scents do, instead, it slithered up and violated her senses forcing her to quiver and shake in disgust. It tasted like burnt copper, it stung her nose, and she knew there was something curiously haunting about the room. She, unfortunately, found it novel and peculiar, driving her interest even further. The floor was slick and made a slurping sound with every step they took. Her foot rubbed through something congealed and chunky, the texture and sound of the mushy mass made her feel squeamish but she stopped and poked it with her foot, her wonderment becoming out of hand. Before she had a chance to investigate further Martin urged her on with a gentle push. She kicked something hard and broken, the object made a hollowed twang, like a broken instrument, but she paid it no mind. They Walked a couple more feet past questionable sensations and smells that drove the girl wild with curiosity. Martin abruptly picked her up and placed her on a stool. Zofia heard a slight shuffling over the counter than the chattering of glasses and Martin humming a lovely hymn. It was quiet inside the establishment, the only noise was the sound of Martin clambering with the glasses and her constant fidgeting with her clothes. She tapped and prodded the counter in front of her and couldn't contain it any longer, she knew it was wrong, that something in this room was evil… but she needed to see, to know. So, when she heard Martin at the other end of the counter she acted on her spell of rebelliousness. She ever-so-slightly turned her head and lifted her blindfold. What seized her gaze made her skin creep off of her body and the demons of hell howl with horrid rhapsodies. Her stomach wretched and slammed into her throat. She shook from unmanageable fright and stomach-churning repugnance. The light in her life became hazy, then it went out, and she was plunged into the macabre.