Fresh wanders through the fair alone. It is late in the evening, just on the cusp of night. The sun has set, however the moon has yet to make itself clearly visible. Though, this might be due to the looming clouds which obscure the sky. The streets are full of people. The fairies, having calmed down a little, or perhaps having just tired themselves out after roughhousing all day, now no longer cause a ruckus. At least for the time being.

The others, Jubilee, Basil and Shamrock, had all decided to stay at home. All of them are either too tired or simply not interested in going to the festival tonight. It is a little disappointing for her, honestly. But she respects her friend’s wishes on the matter, despite feeling a little blue about having to go all on her own.

The streets are full and busy, almost as busy as on the first night of the fair. The many stalls, open-faced and lined with goods, are packed with large groups of adventurers and even just every-day-normal people, who peruse the wares and hold excited conversations about the many oddities, curious items and even the other people that are there to be found. Others sit around on tightly packed benches, stuffed into full-bodied groups of revelers who spend the night eating and drinking loudly and forming circles to play rambunctious drinking games.

The festival is filled with color and life. There is a palpable aura of the incredible energy from the people that only such a rare celebration can draw out of them. Though, here on the mountain, where there is the somewhat wilder adventurers’ guild, this is perhaps not as surprising as it would have been in the northern city.

Still, she’s glad to be here. This city, these people, they all seemed to be very kind and fond of celebrating and they were very honest about that. The people here aren’t so reserved like they were back in the north. They just felt easier to be around, because they were more open with their intentions. They wanted to eat and drink and to use her sheep to trigger highly destructive traps in the dungeon and they have no problem saying any of that. There isn’t a lie being lived here, there isn’t any polite facade being painted over the true expressions on their faces. She appreciates that a lot.

Even if she doesn’t appreciate their abuse of her darling sheep or the mean looks she gets once in a while. Though, maybe it’s better that they just look at her meanly right from the start, so that she doesn’t get any wrong ideas about them again, like she had done back in the north.

Fresh wanders through the festival by herself, looking for something to do, for something to buy, for something to eat. But somehow, all of these things seem to be… unenticing. The concept of playing a game by herself and having nobody to show her stupid, garbage prize to, the concept of buying some greasy fried goo on a stick and having nobody to laugh with about just how terrible it is, the concept of looking at strange, exotic items and having nobody to chat to about how odd or interesting they are, it all feels…

- pointless.

Sure, the food would still taste good and sure, the games would probably be fun enough and sure, the items would still be as useful or as valuable as they ought to be, even if she had to do all of those things alone. But somehow, it just doesn’t seem to be worth the effort. What good is an adventure if you have to take it by yourself? Wasn’t the whole point that you’d have others around you? Others to share your experiences and your joys and your sadnesses with?

Fresh looks around at the lively world around herself, towards a full table on the side that three, far more than just drunk, old men in robes have climbed onto. They clutch each other’s shoulders, dancing like idiots in their hazy stupor. She notices that she’s kind of jealous of them. But she doesn’t know why.

The girl, who stands alone in the middle of the street looks to the right, where two people who she assumes are a couple, console each other as they both vomit into the bushes. It’s disgusting and she feels kind of bad for them, but at the same time, she’s also oddly jealous, if not a little nauseated herself.

She sighs, walking down the street as she tries to pinpoint what exactly it is that’s bothering her. As she tries to figure out what exactly is making her feel… gooey.

“Hey! Hey!” says an excited, squeaky voice from next to her that Fresh recognizes as a fairy. Happy that someone is talking to her, she turns her head to look towards it.

But she just sees that it isn’t talking to her at all. The fairy, still excited and energetic, is darting around a caster with a wide brimmed hat, asking if it can sit down on top of it and be carried around the fair on their head.

Fresh sighs and keeps on walking, she wishes a fairy would ask her to carry it around the fair. Even on her head. Walking, disassociated with the festival taking place all around her, Fresh keeps going down the road until she eventually reaches the lookout point where they had watched the fairies arrive from. It is mostly empty now, save for one or two groups of people who hang around there, perhaps also having sought an escape from the party. But none of them are alone.

Heading to one of the empty spots, Fresh leans her arms against the railing and takes in a deep breath of the cool air of the night that has now arrived. She closes her eyes for a moment, just feeling the damp breeze on her face. She doesn't really know what she expects to see when she opens them again to look out over the dark forest below the mountain, but when she opens her eyes, she sees… nothing.

It’s just a forest that seems to go on forever and ever. There are no lights above her head, nor below it. There are no brilliant features to distinguish either the forest or the sky from the darkness of the night. It’s just all endless black-water all around the mountain, for as far as the eye can see. It is simply emptiness, nothingness, a dark ocean that spans from where she stands towards the horizon and then far beyond that.

She stands alone atop a pinprick that sticks out of the void, surrounded by the sounds of happiness and celebration, sounds that she simply isn’t a part of. She simply doesn’t belong to any of it. It’s like standing in a forest by yourself and listening to the joyous birdsong coming from the creatures that are so small and free while you are trapped beneath the oppressive shadows of the forest’s crown.

Separating itself from the chaos of the fair is a woman’s voice. “Hey, isn’t that - ?” she starts to ask, her words being drowned out as she lowers her tone to one that can’t be overheard. Fresh blinks, looking over her shoulder at the group of casters. She recognizes them from the store, they seem to be there a lot. But they also seem to be part of the group of customers who is only ever drawn there because of Shamrock.

Fresh isn’t sure what it is that they’re saying, but she sees one of them point towards her without lifting their hand above their waist and the others start laughing. Only one of them shoots her a glare before they start walking away, heading down into the fair, the others don’t bother looking at her at all, as they continue laughing about something, seemingly at her expense. Though, she isn’t sure what it is that she did.

However, she knows this sensation. This sense of being outcast, of being rejected not just by others, but by the world as a whole. Not for lack of trying, she just doesn’t belong. Like an extra piece of a puzzle, she’s unnecessary to the whole that is present here. She can’t remember from where exactly this memory stems, this familiar feeling that is buried somewhere deep, deep inside of her core where it has always been. This set of gnarled roots that twist and wind around her organs, squeezing her insides so much so that it feels like her soul is being flattened by this intangible pressure. It’s… exhausting.

Fresh looks back out over the void beyond the mountain, realizing how tired she is all of a sudden. It must be later at night than she thought it was. Covering her mouth, she yawns, feeling the breeze wash through her hair as if it were running water. She should probably get back home and go to bed. Maybe the others were right, maybe the fair is stupid. Maybe she’s stupid for wanting to go and be a part of something she doesn’t belong to.

“I know the feeling,” says a voice from next to her, the voice of someone who she didn’t hear approach, let alone stop two feet away from her. Fresh flinches with a surprised jolt, stopping herself before she makes more of a fool out of herself, as she looks to her side and stares at the cloaked, hooded man who stares out over the darkness of the world. A single, simple jewel is embedded in the fabric on the front of his hood.

“Hey, I know you,” says Fresh, looking at him in surprise, at the man with the snake bite on his ankle who she had ‘met’ during their escape from the north. A moment later however, her expression shifts to one of deep suspicion and she takes another step back as she really realizes who he is. The man doesn’t budge, simply continuing to look wherever it is that he’s looking. “What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying the fair,” replies the man from the thieves’ guild, coyly. His voice is oddly smooth and carries with it something akin to a hiss. “It’s not good to be alone when you’re weak,” he states, the stone embedded in the fabric of his hood glimmering, as it catches a faint ray of moonlight that escapes from a heavy cloud. “They say that the devil will only come to tempt you when you’re at your lowest.”

“What do you want?” asks Fresh, ready to turn around and to make a quick exit. Something about the man feels wrong. His face never seems to become entirely visible, no matter how much she stares at it, even if he only has a fabric hood on. His posture never seems to fit right to the images of similar poses that she has in her mind, there is always something off about the way he stands and holds himself. A shoulder too low, an elbow turned the wrong way. No matter what pose the man assumes as he shifts upright, there is something… inhuman, about it.

A series of cheers erupts from the fair as a magic show begins, the sky illuminating with fire and lightning, stemming from the drunk crowd who set it alight.

“My name is Patala,” says the man from the thieves’ guild. “I have come to offer you a temptation.”