I- I... I rose from my crouch, tucking the cutters under one arm as I grabbed the bag of clippings. Taking a few steps back, I gave the hedges a long once over. The sun was setting at my back, casting the hedges, and the manner behind them, in a golden glow. I nodded in satisfaction. Perfect. "You finished yet? I thought I was going to finish tomorrow's chores before you were through with that hedge."

I smiled at Margo. The short woman wore a rough dress, with grass stains on the knees that would never come out. Her dark hair was bursting out of a bun, wild strands covering the broad smile on her face. "I trimmed it in record time, Margo. Master Bram assigns me with this task instead of you for a reason, after all." Margo narrowed her eyes at me and reached down to a bucket at her feet. "You see this paintbrush?" She shook said instrument, presumably in case I somehow failed to see it. "You see this freshly painted wall?" She gestured to the Manor wall, which was indeed freshly painted. "Do you want to match said wall?"

I took a step back. Margo had followed through with her paint-based threats before, and I didn't doubt for a moment that she would do so again. Her eyes gleamed, and she laughed. "I'm not going to ruin your coat, Niall. I know how much a gift from master Bram means to you." She shifted her stance, her foot brushing against a package wrapped in heavy rope. She glanced down at it with a frown. "I was meaning to get this into town today, but it's getting dark. Oh well," she shrugged. "I'll get it done tomorrow. Do you think it'll rain? I hope- oh, someone's here."

I followed Margo's eyes and saw a man walking up the drive, his build nothing more than a silhouette with the setting sun behind his back. Said silhouette was bulky, with a large pack and a rifle sticking over one shoulder. For a moment, with the man's features nothing more than shadow, I felt a sense of dread settled over me. A feeling that quickly dispersed as he drew closer and the shadows shifted, bringing his face into view. The man looked much like the other trappers and hunters I had seen, rough features, a large beard, and honed eyes that took in his surroundings with careful consideration. He was intimidating, but his friendly smile quickly set me at ease.

Before the man spoke, I knew how the conversation would play out. The Bram Manor was several miles out from the rest of the town and was often the first building hunters and trappers saw when heading back toward civilization. This man wouldn't be the first to want a room for the night, and he certainly wouldn't be the last.

Master Bram had a straightforward policy toward strangers. There's enough wrong and dark in the world, a bed and a warm meal may not be much, but it certainly makes someone's day a little brighter. The conversation went exactly as I expected. The man was a hunter looking for a place to stay the night before heading the last couple of miles into the town proper. "The guest housing is over there, and dinner will be out in around an hour." The hunter, who said his name was Jamison, headed off in the direction I had pointed. The guest housing wasn't connected to the main Manor. Trust your neighbors but lock your doors.

~<>~

The loud crack of a gunshot tore through the silence of the night. I scrambled out of bed and into the hall before the sleep had finished clearing for my eyes. The usual quiet of the night felt oppressive after that crack.

A second crash, quieter than the gunshot, broke the silence.

My bare feet slapped against the dark wood as I ran for everything I was worth. I was almost to the noise when I realized it was coming from Margo's room. Panic grew alongside the dread. I ran harder. Pushing myself faster than I thought possible. I rushed into Margo's room and barely managed to process that she was on the ground before a rifle butt took me in the face.

The next thing I knew, I was staring at the ceiling through tear-stained eyes. I tried to think, but an intense, pounding pain in my forehead made it almost impossible. Finally, after a minute that felt like an hour, my head cleared slightly. The pain was still intense, but the cloud that had formed over my thoughts lifted somewhat. Enough for me to look around.

The first thing I saw was Margo's lifeless eyes. I did not comprehend it at first. My mind could not connect the glassy, emotionless orbs in front of me with Margo.

They were... Wrong. They were not filled with mischievous humor. No smile twinkled in their reflection. I couldn't see the joke just waiting to be told. They had no– no life.

I turned my head, forcing my eyes away from Margo's. They settled on Jamison. His back was to me as he loudly searched through Margo's closet. He grumbled as he did, complaining about the lack of valuables.

My gaze drifted back to Margo, then settled on a package at the foot of her bed. That package, she was going to take it into town tomorrow. She was not taking it anywhere now.

As I glared at Jamison's back, my vision started to turn red. Some of that red stuck to my hand. No, no. That was blood. Margo's blood.

That package. The package that Margo had decided to bind with almost comically thick rope.

The clatter Jamison was making masked what sound I made while unwrapping the package. And his focus on his task let me climb to my feet and take a few clumsy steps forward.

Maybe his hearing was still recovering from the gunshot. Perhaps he thought he had knocked me out and wasn't paying attention. Whatever the reason for it, Jamison didn't realize I was up until the rope wrapped around his throat. He fought me. Tried to twist away, but I was glued to his back, and the rope was wrapped securely around my hands as I pulled hard against his neck.

I did not release the pressure. Not when he started elbowing me in the ribs, not when he slammed me into the wall, not when I rode him to the ground, and Jamison lay there, unmoving. Even as I stared at Margo's corpse, my vision blurred with tears, I still kept up the pressure.

I was still laying on top of him, the rope clutched tightly in my hands when master Bram found me in the morning.

~<>~

The chair creaked as I leaned my weight back, not caring if the wood gave. The sweltering heat made the shack feel like an oven. I wiped my sweat-soaked brow then pulled my bottle up for a swig, only for it to give me a few drops. I stood, the chair groaning again, then threw the bottle against the wall.

"Dammit!"

The bottle shattered, sending shards of broken glass all over my bed. Said bed was rumpled, the sheets stained and– and– ...when was the last time I had clean this place? I could not stand how messy it was, so why had I just... why did it matter how messy it was? Why did it matter at all?

But... Keeping the grounds clean, that was my job. Master Bram was counting on me, and I. I couldn't let him down.

"Hello?"

I looked up to see a man waving at me. He stood outside my shack, just a few steps off the main road to the Manor. His voice was deep, gruff, but friendly. It reminded me of Jamison. I looked down at my nightstand. At the heavy rope that laid there, tied into a noose. A noose that I considered using almost every day since that night.

"Hello? I've heard there's always a bed and a meal here for travelers. Unfortunately, I haven't talked to anyone for a week, so I apologize if my social skills are a tad lacking."

Maybe it was time to put that rope to use. But, first, I needed to keep the grounds clean. So, keeping my body between the nightstand and the door, I slid the noose behind my back. Then I turned and smiled at the trespasser.

"Of course, follow me. I'll show you the way."

~<>~

I crouched under a massive tree, its heavy branches groaning in the evening wind. The tree was a few miles away from the Manor but still on master Bram's property. I wasn't just idling under the tree, however. I was doing work. The noose practically tied itself, my hands moving in patterns that had long since become second nature.

Thump.

That did not mean I allowed my attention to wander. On the contrary, I was making something with a purpose, and that demanded my full attention. Even if I could get it done in my sleep.

Thump.

The knot finished. I rose to my feet and nodded in satisfaction. Perfect.

Thump thump thump.

I had a few other nooses readied, but it never hurt to plan ahead. Above me, the woman's heels finally quit drumming against the tree trunk.

The world seemed to be getting worse. The number of invaders, trespassers, and thieves trying to take advantage of master Bram's generosity felt endless at times. But, so was my resolve. I smiled as I walked away from the tree and the dozens of nooses that swayed from its branches.

~<>~

I hung from a tree, my tree, and pain flowed out from my neck. The rough rope biting into my flesh had been tied by my own hand. Though I certainly had not intended it to be used for me. The crowd screamed, their faces twisted into red masks of hate. There was only one reason they were not throwing rocks or worse at me. They respected the man standing at their front. The man whose familiar, faded blue eyes I was staring into. Master Bram was crying as he met my desperate gaze, but he did not look away. He did not flinch.

I found no anger in his stare, no hate or rage. Only sadness. Sadness and an emotion that hurt more than the rope, and filled my mind with more panic than my lack of air.

Disappointment.

Why? I had done everything to keep him and the Manor safe. I had been dedicated. I had been tireless. I had done nothing wrong. So why was he crying? Where had I failed? As my heels drummed against tree bark, as my vision started to waver and fade, I reached out with bound hands towards him. He did not reach back, but the tears fell more freely.

Do not cry, please. If you tell me what I did wrong, I can fix it. Please do not be disappointed in me. Master Bram's eyes stayed locked with mine, even as the darkness took me.

I gasped awake, pain and confusion hitting me like a runaway truck. Why was my throat burning with pain? And where was I? Master Bram had been crying, I hadn't meant for that, never that, I – I tumbled out of bed, the sheets tangled around my limbs, and hit the ground hard. Master Bram was dead, had died long, long ago. He died in his sleep, years after reporting me to the rest of the town. No, after reporting Niall. Not me! But I had been Niall, I had– I–

I tried to shove the memories down, tried to sort them away with the others, but they were too fresh. Two vivid. Despite my attempts to fight it, the image of a young girl's feet thumping against a tree pushed itself into my mind. Her weight against the rope as I pulled, the sound of her struggle.

It was a miracle that I managed, while still wrapped in bedding, to crawl to a trashcan before puking.

It wasn't quick. It went on and on, every time I thought I'd regained control, another face with a noose around their neck would force its way in, and I'd be puking again. The room filled with the sour stench of bile, adding another layer of awful to the moment.

The cycle repeated until I came up empty, regardless of how hard I heaved. Then, finally, the puking over, I collapsed. Then it got worse. As awful as it was, the vomiting was some kind of release.

Now, I just had the memories and the familiar hardwood floor taking up my attention. I tried to control my thoughts, to wrangle the memories, but pain and exhaustion made a lifetime of practice moot. But, fatigue, it turned out, was there to help me as much as hurt me, since unconsciousness started to seep in. Mercifully taking all my thoughts with it.

But just before it fully took me, a door opened, spilling warm light into the room. I felt myself being lifted from the floor a moment later and got the vague impression of blond hair in my eyes, then I was back to the black.