Marcus sat at the table nearest the door that led from the Faerie's Folly out into the streets of Imerre. It had been almost an hour since the ghoul had burst in after a villager. No, not just a villager.

"His name was Heward," mumbled Marcus into his mug of spiced honey mead. "Always ordered fine tools for leather work." He took a long drink.

Marcus's eyes drifted over to his child, Vance was making themself busy helping others in the tavern with small tasks. He smiled, sure that he'd been raising the child well. It was something he'd feared would be beyond him. 

"Da was a right bastard," he muttered. 

He continued to watch Vance between swigs of mead. The child was talking to an elderly villager they'd helped find his cane then Vance turned their head toward the door that led out into the streets. They hopped off the chair they were sitting on and walked to the door and stood a few paces from it. 

Marcus stood up and felt something pop. "Hells, I am too old for fighting." He walked over to his child and bent down. "What are you lookin' at, kiddo?"

Vance looked up to their father. "The brownies say Clair is coming back soon."

Marcus nodded and walked off to return with a chair. He sat down and his joints made popping sounds. He tried to hold a stoic face, after all, Vance was watching and he would have the kid see their old man hurting. 

"Vance, hop up." Marcus pat his lap. 

Vance climbed up onto their father's knee. "Okay, Da."

He pulled Vance close with a large hand. "You do me a favor, kid. If some beastie like that shows up again, you make yourself scarce." Marcus hugged them closer. "Promise me."

Vance looked up at their father, the man seemed old for the first time in their life. "I promise, the little ones taught me how." 

Marcus smiled and scratched his beard. "Little ones? Are they the ones moving my tools around when I'm not working the forge?" 

"Can't tell you, Da. It's against the rules." Vance winked at their father.

"Rules, huh?" The old man laughed. "Guess I'll have to see about leaving somethin' out at night then." He smirked. "Maybe then my tools won't grow legs when I'm not around."

The door opened inward. A rush of cold air and snow blew into the Faerie's Folly. Vance hopped down as Marcus stood. 

She slumped against the doorframe, her shoulder pressed against it. "I'm sorry." Clair fell forward into Marcus's arms. 

———————————————————

He looked down at her as she laid on a soft bed. When Clair had returned and collapsed Marcus carried her up to one of the rooms on the second story of the Folly. His eyes went to a bowl of warm water on the nearby nightstand. He took the towel he'd laid on her forehead and wrung it out before hearing it back up in the bowl.

His eyes fixed on her lips, they were no longer blue, but hadn't returned to the rosy tone they'd had earlier that day. "Should have come back sooner." He placed the now warm towel on her forehead. "I shoulda gone after ya." 

Vance tugged on his pant leg. "Da, she's gonna be okay." 

He turned to his child. "Yeah, and what makes you say that?"

"The lady with the leafy dress told me," Vance beamed, "she says you need to rest too."

Marcus mussed Vance's hair. "Aye, I should." He stepped toward the door to the hall. "Can I trust you to keep an eye on her?"

Vance nodded. 

Marcus left the room and entered another. He'd been given it for the night since the blizzard didn't appear to be letting up any time soon. He sat on the edge of the bed and crawled under the covers. It creaked under his weight. His body ached and kept him from sleeping so he laid in bed hoping fatigue would take him.

Tick

He turned his head towards the sound, the shutters over a small window that overlooked Immere were open.

Tik, tik, tik

Something was tapping on the glass. He couldn't make out anything from the bed and in the dim light cast by the stone embedded in the ceiling wasn't really helping either.

Tik, tik.

Tik, tik.

Tik.

He stood up, his joints popping. "Well, I guess yer not gonna stop." 

Marcus walked over to the window and looked through it. On the other side was a delicate, pale hand. It tapped on the window and pointed to the latch. 

"Just a moment, I'll let you in." He fumbled with the latch. "Alright, come on in, Vesna."

The limb dissolved into a swarm of white moths that then poured into the room and slowly took shape. The Spring Maiden, Vesna, looked to the window and reached out a hand to a moth that had stayed on the sill. It crawled up her finger, then up her arm and onto her face where it merged into her skin. She smiled at Marcus and latched the window. Vesna was dressed in a thin gown seemingly made of the same semi-translucent material as the wings of the moths she had briefly turned into. 

"Marcus, the chill of winter ill suits me." She smiled only to reveal uniform, sharp teeth. "How is the woman my knights sent back?"

He looked briefly to the door. "Stable, were she not a capable healer herself I'd be worried." His gaze wandered to the raging cold just outside the window. "Frost would kill her, even with her goddess' blessin'."

Vesna stepped closer to him, her emerald eyes glittering in the dim light. She was nearly the same height as him, maybe a small bit taller. He reached out to hug her and she wrapped a slender arm around him then pressed herself against him. 

"Vesna, it's not the solstice yet," he said as his hands wandered.

She leaned in and sunk her teeth into his lower lip briefly. "I don't particularly care about the circumstance right now." One of her hands touched a wet spot, one of the places the ghoul had wounded him. "Should we skip the bloodletting this time?"

"Well, I've no mead on hand." He laughed and to his surprise his body didn't hurt. "Unless you want to go downstairs for some."

She laughed, leaning her head into his shoulder. "Blossoms 'neath the snow, Marcus." Her teeth dragged against his neck. "You remind me why we let mortals stay in our demesne."

"Oh, do I? Mind explainin' what you mean to this old man?" His hand caressed her hip.

"Humour, your audacity," she hissed, sliding her hands under his shirt, "and knowing when you're outmatched." Vesna guided him back towards the bed. 

"Am I really outmatched here? This isn’t the Nebelwald,” he smirked.

The Spring Maiden pressed him onto the bed, leaned her head next to his ear and said, “yes.”

While the two made love in the cold room, a haunting tune played throughout the village, barely audible above the sound of the winds and snow.

———————————————————

Earlier, deep in the Nebelwald the blizzard began to abate. A stranger to the woods stalked with surety between the trees, the darkness of night meant nothing to their eyes. They wore a heavy, dark brown woolen cloak and stood taller than most men by at least a head. The tracks they left in the deep snow were shaped strangely, as though they had clawed feet. 

The stranger reached a small clearing where two figures laid. Their steps crushed small shrubs and plants hidden beneath the snow as they approached. Before them was what remained of a fight, crimson blood and black ichor stained the snow. The scent made their mouth water. Metal creaked and strained as they clenched their right hand. Sating the abyssal hunger could, would wait. Their gaze fell on the two figures lying in the snow. One was a human, the other a massive white wolf

They went up to the human first and extended their clawed left hand. "No pulse," they said in a coarse, but decidedly feminine voice.  

The stranger turned from the slowly freezing corpse to the wolf. On their side was a series of deep gashes where blood stained their pristine fur. The animal's breathing was labored, their chest puffing up then deflating in rattling exhaled breaths. 

They pulled a small bottle of red liquid from beneath their cloak and knelt next to the head of the wolf. "Poor creature." The animal looked up at them with golden eyes, as if pleading. "I'm going to help you, don't worry."

The stranger uncorked the bottle using their left hand and gently held the wolf's head as they poured the liquid down their throat. The stranger pet the animal as the elixir did its work. Slowly, the wolf's breathing became more even, blood ceased oozing from the terrible wounds on their side. The animal tried to stand, but the cold had made their joints stiff so they managed to get halfway up before falling back down into the snow.

"Poor creature." The stranger used their artificial right hand to gently pet the wolf's head. "You're going to be okay, the potion should have you upright again soon."

The wolf stared at them and whined.

"I know it hurts." The stranger rubbed the animal's side. "Why don't we get your mind off the pain? They pulled a small leather pack out and flipped it open. "Normally keep this for emergencies," they pulled out a piece of dried fish and offered it to the wolf. "Here, take it. I'm sorry if it doesn't taste good, I don't really taste anything anymore."

The wolf began to chew the fish, slavering a little.

"Good, just focus on eating." The stranger stared with lambent red eyes. "I'm glad you like it." 

They watched as the wolf finished the fish and looked up at them. The beast stood up, licked the black iron mask that covered the lower half of their face and closed around their neck. The stranger pet their head and stood up to their full, imposing height.

"Hey, little wolf." The animal looked up at her. "Stay safe out there, these kind of creatures are too much for you." Beneath their mask a smile stretched over jagged fangs. "Let old Harlowe take care of it."

The wolf stared at her, cocked their head and chuffed before running off into the forest, disappearing in the darkness and snow.

Harlowe turned to the freezing corpse. "Should probably get you to the nearby village." She grabbed the dead man by what remained of his shirt and began to drag him towards the village. "Maybe the townsfolk won't bring out the pitchforks," she cracked her neck loudly. "Who am I kidding, they'll probably bust out the torches too." She sighed heavily. "I hope my pack is still where I left it."

Harlowe continued to travel for some time. She noted the watching eyes of several minor fae, packs of pixies huddled together on boughs of trees or in hollowed out knots within their trunks. Their usual tittering was absent, perhaps it was due to the nature of her curse that they no longer found any mirth in her. Or perhaps it was the chill. Yeah, probably the chill, she hoped. As she trudged through the thick snow she brought up her left hand so she could look at it. The hand was large and appeared stretched, like the pale skin with dark veins that was pulled over it. Each finger was tipped with a wicked claw made of bone that pressed out of the digit, through the skin. 

The pixies pulled themselves deeper into their trees or took flight. “Something’s wrong.” She let go of the man she’d been dragging and brought a hand up to the clasp of her faceguard. “Scaoileadh” The clasp clicked and the whole assemblage fell to the snow with a crunch. “Alright you bastard, where are you?!” she shouted.

Harlowe threw her cloak off revealing her gaunt form. From the waist down her body was entirely made of artifice as was her right arm. There was no filigree or flourishes in their design like the kind seen in Winsch, just brutal efficacy. Her right arm was much the same as her legs, but was made to at least appear presentable to the public. She assumed a low stance and spread her claws wide, etched glass facsimiles issuing from the tips of her artificial fingers. Her mouth hung partially open, hot breath pouring out from between her rows of jagged teeth. Her eyes, framed by her wild black hair, burned as she whipped her head around looking for whatever had scared the pixies. A long arm reached out from the darkness and grabbed onto the corpse she had dropped into the snow. 

Harlowe spun around, her left claw closing around the creature's wrist like a vice. "Got you." She yanked the ghoul out into the open. It shrieked at her in surprise. "You think I'm one of you pathetic things?!" 

Before it could right itself she brought a heavy metal foot down on its torso. The ghoul shrieked and flailed under her weight as she pressed down. Mechanisms in the limb creaked from the strain. 

Harlowe bore down harder, the joints in her leg whining. "I'm going to crush you until you stop moving, little worm." The sharp toes of the foot pierced into the ghoul's belly. Trails of drool poured out between her fangs. "Once you're still, I'm going to eat you." 

Hunger gnawed at her insides. The scent of the ghoul's fetid blood pooling around where its belly had ruptured filled her nostrils. She opened her mouth wide, the hinge of her jaw sliding back like some deepsea monstrosity. The hunger pulled her down, bringing her maw closer to the flailing thing. Her elongated tongue flicked at the air. Then, as she was about to bite into the creature she felt something tear at her abdomen. The ghoul had caught her in the stomach. Her own innards, slick with dark blood, hung from her torso. 

She let out an inhuman cry and pulled back, stuffing the hanging organs back into her body. The ghoul twisted and began to run on all fours, loping through the snow like a hideous parody of an animal. Harlowe held her stomach in with her left hand and leveled her right arm at the fleeing monster. 

An aperture near the base of her palm opened up. "Sruthán!" 

A gout of flame erupted out after the fleeing ghoul. It seared the creature, but did not stop it. Harlowe was in no condition to chase after. A port on her right forearm opened and ejected a white hot canister that falls into the snow and sizzles as it sinks. She turned to the deadman's body. Even hanging out of her torso, her stomach ached for flesh. Her body lurched towards the corpse. She reached down into the snow.

———————————————————

Harlowe pressed the head of her shovel into a pile of loose dirt. The grave was shallow, but the ground had been frozen and her innards were only being held in by some bandages. Her condition certainly had its drawbacks, but being able to be not dead after being eviscerated was a definite plus. 

She stalked over to where she'd left the corpse. "Thank the gods you're mostly frozen." She picked the dead man up and threw him into the grave. "I probably wouldn't have anything to bury if you were more… moist."

In darkness, she began to cover the body. Between shovelfuls of cold earth she would look at the faint lights of Imerre. The village should have been mostly asleep by then, but the disturbance must have kept some people up. By the time she'd covered the body and tamped the earth down with her weight a few of those lights had gone out.

Harlowe buried the shovel's head at the top of the grave as a makeshift tombstone. "Not much else to do." 

She turned to head back to the small shelter she had made. It was made of leather stretched taut by metal limbs with a stool in the center. There was no bed, for the curse had taken sleep from her as well. She sat on the stool and reached for her pack. There were plenty of things in it; tools for maintenance, change of clothing and a few books. However, what she was looking for was in a hard case. She opened the latches of the case and revealed an instrument known as a wheel fiddle or hurdy gurdy. It had been altered slightly in that the keys were capped with metal so her claws wouldn't damage it. 

Harlowe took the instrument out and set it on her lap. "Sometimes it feels like you're the only thing keeping me sane." 

She began to turn the crank slowly, making sure it was still tuned. The drone strings hummed. Her claws danced on keys as she rocked the crank to make it sing. Harlowe played for hours; dirges, dances, ballads. When the sun began to filter through the clouds she placed it back into its case.

"I've enough time to let the body rest." She reached out to the previously open flaps of her tent and pulled them shut. Her body went stiff and she stared at the backs of her eyelids.