Abigail ran, she ran with all her might, for all the strength her weak legs were worth, ran faster than she’d ever run before. She knew she wasn’t the fastest; she knew she wasn’t the strongest, but why was it her that had to do it. Why had Noah forced her into it? Why was she expendable?

She rounded a corner and stopped, breathing heavily as she greedily gulped down the cold air. She felt something heavy in her hand. Glancing down, she saw the glimmer of a runic blade, handle hidden in the palm of her hand. A sight that left her horrified, immediately dropping the foul thing.

Thoughts on what she might have done with it crossed her mind briefly, feeling bile rising at the mere thought. The knife slumped down into the deep snow soundlessly, like when one screamed for help. Then she heard the loud voice of Noah somewhere behind her and quickly dashed away, her breath not fully gathered but would have to be enough. A second later, she heard a loud curse as Noah came upon the fallen knife, being awfully close. Exactly how close Abigail didn’t know, she didn’t dare look back.

How’d this happen? She thought to herself, wondering why’d she run away. How had she ever come to find herself in such a horrible position? She asked herself. A dumb question, for she already knew the answer quite well.

She was a failure.

No matter what Noah had asked of her, she’d done not but failed. And Noah didn’t ask for much. Could she go and get water? She’d trip and fall. Could she go to the local baker and bring back some bread? She’d buy the wrong bread. Could she cut the roses? She just accidentally cut them all.

All things she tried to do all ended up in failure. Something Noah took to heart quickly, giving her fewer and fewer tasks. Never pointing out her failures, never being mean, never giving her another chance. The other kids even started noticing. As with each passing day, fewer asked to play. With each passing game, fewer picked her. With each passing conversation, more stayed away from her. She understood why; she hated the why; she despised the why.

For she was a failure.

Each step she took echoing out behind her, crunches of snow like crushing stale bread in ones hand. If it had been any other day, she’d enjoyed the sound. But not today. She glanced behind her, having rounded yet another corner, not seeing Noah. Hopefully not a trick of her eyes, eyes being muddy and misty, pushing a dangerous liquid painfully against the back of her eyes. But she would not cry. She hadn’t cried for a long time. She’d learn that lesson like every other lesson, the hard way.

She faced forward again, quickly pouncing around yet another corner. This one not empty, this one having a soft wall in the way, a wall made of a person. The bump eliciting a yelp from her, falling backwards onto her bum, her already beating heart feeling like an angered dragon. Hurriedly, she orientated herself, quickly making herself ready to jump up and continue running. Then her eyes met his, and she locked shut, stopped by his hazel brown eyes. Eyes she remembered well because its owner was quite the peculiar man, the weird man, the quiet man.

The two staring at one another, trapped in their own world, lost in their own sea of thoughts, thoughts the girl couldn’t wrap her head around. The only thing sticking out was a feeling. A feeling of unknown and unplaceable safety. For as she realized it to only be him, her breath slowed, eased and calmed. The moment like the drop in a tranquil lake.

Then her breath grew harsher again as her reality came crashing behind her with the sounds of heavy crunching footsteps. She had a mere split second to decide on what to do, not enough time to think. Time spent jumping forward and hugging the quiet man, head turned down in the vain hope that Noah would not recognize her.

Of course, that was not but a vain hope, a glimmer of a strand of a tiny miniscule red thread, woven in such a way that one would not be able to see it. Still, Abigail reached for it, touched it, held it and hoped with all her might that she’d be safe, that she wouldn’t have to do it, that she wouldn’t be punished. That the weird feeling about the quiet man hadn’t just been for show.

Her body locked shut at the sound of Noah, stiff like the cat who she had managed to sneak up on that one quiet morning. One of her few proud moments.

“Ah, it’s only you. I was scared that a stranger had tried to kidnap our little Abigail. Seeing you calmed my aching heart immediately.”

He said, Abigail tensing even further, her eyes shutting even closer, as if trying to dispel this stupid reality. The crunch of footsteps forced her mind back to reality. Noah was coming closer, and he continued speaking, speaking with that same voice she knew quiet well. That voice he used when guards came to check on the church.

“You see, Abigail was a little naughty earlier and ran off. Spooked me some mighty, especially considering the rumours regarding the monster in the woods, snatching people at night. What would I do if that monster got our little Abigail?-”

Abigail hugged the quiet man a little closer, unconsciously, unthinkingly. Each step from Noah sounding like the echoing steps at church. Each step vibrating no more than a man sneaking, but feeling like the shakes of an earthquake. She knew what it meant, knew what it would entail, knew her time was running out. But she could do nothing but take a tighter grip around the quiet man, the weird man. And hope. Holding onto the thread of red, hoping against all hope that her feeling was not for nothing.

Then she felt him grabbing her within big hands, pulling her back and away. She glanced up, seeing his neck stretched towards Noah, keeping his body in front of her, protecting her. A posture resembling a mother holding their baby. The red thread expanded as she watched the weird man, the strange man. Abagail feeling her hold fasten, the thread now visible to the naked eye. She took a firmer grip around him, both the invisible thread and his real body. His arms tightened as well, feeling like a warm blanket on a winter’s day.

“Aa-Aah I see. Poor little Abigail, I didn’t mean to be so rough. My dear gentleman, she’s just a little spooked, don’t mind her. Sometimes one has to be rough to teach, but alas I was a tad bit rough wasn’t I? I’m so sorry my dear little Abigail. Let’s go back to church and I’ll cook up a nice and warm cup of coco.”

Noah spoke, words holding no more truth than the kids blaming Abigail for their mistakes. For Noah hadn’t been rough, Noah hadn’t taught, and Noah wasn’t sorry. Noah had simply told Abigail to do one single task. A simple task that Noah promised even Abigail would be capable of. A task once completed would make it so she would no longer have to do the only thing she was “good at”. Something that took Abigail by surprise, happy surprise, surprise that led to an eagerness. An eagerness quickly faltering as soon as she realized the scope of her task. What her task actually meant.

“Now this is a predicament. I see she’s already told you. Well, at least you two can follow me back to the church and I’ll be able to properly explain my actions. And after that, I hope both of you can forgive me. Doesn’t that sound like a decent idea?”

Noah said, voice even softer than before. A voice Abigail knew wasn’t actually soft. For that voice usually accompanied a punishment, a punishment on either body or soul. Both not very pleasant. Her body reacted at the voice, reacted the only way it knew how. Shaking uncontrollably as if the cold had actually gotten to her, as if shivering from a particularly freezing day. Eyes closing even tighter, dangerously painful. Pushing hard against the back of her eyes as they hadn’t fully calmed themselves from the earlier rush. A liquid wanting escape.

But something gentle started caressing the back of her head. Petting her, telling her not through words, but action, that she’d be alright. And that hand felt as if it spoke more truth than any word Noah had ever spoken. So, she trusted that hand with her entire being. Her body stopped shaking. Her eyes stopped quaking. And she gently let go of her tight grip around him, a grip she just now noticed she was holding. The red thread she’d held onto had grown even larger. Now a rope that she clung too.

Eventually, she let go of her grip around him, looking up and searching his face, searching his hazel eyes. Seeing him staring back, a face full of worry, of confusion. One she hadn’t seen directed at herself, ever. Then the face softened, replaced by a weird toothy smile that looked more like he was forcing a fart. A face that made her own face soften, made her smile, warmed her cold body and filled her with bravery she thought forgotten. The red thread now a rope, taut against a rock, showing her the light at the end of the tunnel.

She turned around slowly, looking up and at Noah. Seeing a face full of smiles, smiles no brighter than the moon covered by clouds. A smile that froze her in place, only shaken awake as the quiet man stood up. And stand she did too, moving herself so that the quiet man was in between her and Noah. She then grabbed his hand, doing so with little thought, just wanting something to hold, something to take comfort in. And as the quiet man held her hand back, hands calloused yet soft, firm yet gentle. She felt the red rope tie a knot around her waist. And she felt herself pushing her body closer to the quiet man, practically hanging onto his body.

Then they walked, walked back towards the church. She didn’t like that idea; she didn’t like it at all. But she didn’t dare voice her opinion, didn’t dare anger Noah anymore than she already had. But somehow, someway. She didn’t feel scared, didn’t feel cold, didn’t feel alone. She peeked up at the quiet man, seeing his eyes narrow as they stared forward, face like an old prophet thinking on the meaning of life.

Looking back forward, she focused on her own thoughts, on her own feelings. Finding them weirdly calm. Her calm blowing away like a leaf in the wind as she glanced around the quiet man, around and back to look at Noah. Seeing him looking down at her, his face lacking that fake smile. Knowing he didn’t have to be fake around her. Instead, showing a face that made her heart skip a beat and her face heat up, moisture collecting down her spine.

She didn’t look back for the rest of the journey, doing her best not to choke on her beating heart. The rest of the journey passing both quickly and slowly. Time spent nervous and calm, a blend she couldn’t place as her mind wasn’t cooperating at the moment. But they eventually made it to the church’s doors. The quiet man opening them as they walked in.

Inside was little to nothing of note, a few people praying to Carita, the god of charity. A god Abigail despised, a god that was a part of the “new gods”, a god that was nothing but charitable, no matter the price. A price that was paid by those like Abigail and the other kids in the church of charity. Though the others didn’t see it as a price that needed to be paid, but a sacrifice needed to be made. A sacrifice they could do considering the fact that they weren’t failures. Even now, they were out doing “Carita’s work”.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private. My private room will suffice, I hope?”

Noah said with a smile, walking in front of them with a gesture no more threatening than a rabbit eating a carrot. A façade she knew, but couldn’t say why. Thoughts pushed aside by the pressure of a hand against her own. Looking to see why, she saw the quiet man pouting as if teasing her, making her pout back. Feeling her tense body lighten, soften as they moved towards the door leading to Noah’s room.

As they came upon it, Noah gestured them inside and Abigail felt herself gulp down a particularly thick strand of saliva. The corridor would lead to Noah’s “office,” a place she would visit often. But the corridor itself didn’t make Abigail nervous. The office didn’t make her nervous. No, it was the door leading up to Noah’s office that did, leading down to her most hated place. A door with a rune she knew wasn’t meant for something pleasant as a locked door. No, if Abigail knew her runes as well as Noah assumed, she knew it to be the rune of “silence”, the perthro rune.

When the quiet man came close to the door, he merely cast a glance at it before moving beyond. Abigail not even daring to look at it. But the two were stopped as Noah spoke up. Abigail’s heart freezing solid by his words, knowing what it meant, knowing what was in store for them, knowing why he’d been so fake.

“Not over there. I was thinking here.”

Noah said as he pointed at the door. A door that would often haunt her dreams at night, not pleasant dreams. Her breathing heightened, her heart beating faster, her eyes enlarging as it grew harder and harder to breathe. The quiet man moving to go in, stopped by her stiff body, eyes staring deep into his back, deep into his eyes as he turned to face her. His expression quickly turned surprised, shocked, then just as panicked as hers. She saw as he turned towards Noah, felt as he pushed her behind himself, heard as Noah started speaking. But she couldn’t hear what, couldn’t feel what, couldn’t see anything. For it didn’t matter.

She only came back to reality as light suddenly hit her retinas. Light that she quickly realized was the inside of Noah’s office, the last place she wanted to be in. She glanced around, searching for her lifeline, for her red rope. Seeing him crashing into the room with Noah on top of him. The clatter of furniture and objects clashing around like a chaotic symphony. Abigail pressed herself into one of the rooms corners, as far away as she could possibly get from the two loud men.

Abigail stared at the two, seeing them separated. Noah pushed himself upwards with a shake of his head. The quiet man pushing his head upwards with his eyes partially closed, teeth clenched as if in deep pain. Abigails eyes traced down his body, down until they stopped by his hands, pushing hard against his stomach. A stomach that glimmered unnaturally, unnaturally, for it had a knife in it.

She stared at the knife, a knife she knew quite well, a knife she knew she had dropped. A reality she had a hard time fathoming, of accepting. A reality she couldn’t get behind. For if that knife was the knife she thought it was, that would mean she’d be the reason for this. She’d be the reason that her red rope was cut.

Then Noah dove for the quiet man, the quiet man just managing to push his arms upwards to stop him. The two in a struggle even Abigail knew who’d be the winner off. A winner that managed to push their hands onto the knife already imbedded in their opponents stomach. Then pushing their energy into the knife, knife glowing with the sparkle of white lightening, forcing their target into a spasm that must hurt like a million bee’s stinging at once.

Then there was silence, except for loud breathing. The quiet man locked in his own body, spasming like a particularly sick person. Noah breathing heavily, slowly looking up at Abigail, eyes like that of a monster.

Abigail looked, but her mind didn’t. Her body screamed, but her mind didn’t. Her body fought, but her mind didn’t. Why would she? It was her fault. It was her fault that the quiet man would die. It was her fault he’d even tried to save her. It was her fault that he would not see tomorrow. She might have decided to drop the knife and run, with the hope that she had saved one life. But instead, she had replaced that priest life for another.

Something painful hit her at the top of her head, casting her mind in blissful darkness. A darkness that let her stop feeling like a failure.