Marcheline briefly wonders about the lack of guilt, this distance, and wonders about dissociation. No, that can’t be. It wasn’t anything like premeditated murder on her part. But if he’s what she thinks he is, should it be this easy to take a life? She’ll think about it later.

Next, she turns to Eve.

Marcheline knows that Eve can keep secrets, but the girl will also do almost anything to sate her curiosity. She will run to their friends and discuss wild theories until everyone and the surrounding towns would have an opinion. The best damage control is to bring her in first. Another whisper, “I found a cursed object. Need to interrogate the girl away from anyone. Help me keep a lookout?”

The blonde’s eyes go wide, and she couldn’t quite stop her head from whipping around towards the child. She turns back to Marcheline, “What about you?” Will you be safe is what she means, Marcheline understands.

“I have a bloodline that specifically counters curses.” Not exactly a lie, since Marcheline doesn’t truly know what’s going on either.

Eve looks at Marcheline’s face, and she doesn’t know what the blonde is looking for in her expression, but she acquiesces.

In short order, they’ve led the child towards the nearby forest. Eve takes her job seriously by stalking around the perimeter like a hound. Marcheline chooses a tree, noting its large raised roots that would do well as a bench. There’s a boulder next to that root.

“Sit down, please.” she tells the child, gesturing to the boulder. She takes the mossy root. The phantom sound of creaking wood echoes in her brain, but it’s not here. The sound is but a memory. She does her best to give the girl a reassuring smile.

The child stiffly sits down, facing her. First, “What’s your name?”

“Scarlett… v-von Bueller.” she fiddles with her dress as she stumbles on her own name.

Marcheline tries to find a comfortable spot for herself, “A last name. How rare.” she says offhandedly as the girl’s face goes red, though not in anger as she might have expected. Embarrassment?

Marcheline observes her face. She doesn’t know the girl well enough to be familiar with her normal expressions, but Scarlett clearly looks sad. And nervous.

“How old are you?”

The girl’s shoulders very slowly come down from her ears, relaxing bit by bit.

“Thirteen, almost fourteen.”

Marcheline is taken aback. This child is only a year younger than her and Eve? She takes a closer look and sees her thin arms, the jut of bone on her shoulders, the rise of her ribs. Malnutrition, she determines.

But the way she talks, it’s almost infantile. Or maybe her standards are just too high. With the situation of her village seven years ago, they didn’t have time to be children.

“Well, Scarlett, I’m sorry to say that your father is dead.” Scarlett bites her lower lip and nods, the knuckles on her lap going white. “Soon, we’ll have to bury him. For his memory, is there anything you’d like to… get off your chest?”

She sniffles, “I-I don’t know where to start…”

There’s a period of silence as Marcheline lets the girl gather her memories of him. As much as possible, hopefully. In the meantime, she looks at the other’s face intently, looking for any resemblance to the man. She takes a fairly reasonable gamble.

“Why don’t we start with how you met?” she asks lightly.

Scarlett’s head snaps up, surprise apparent on her face, on her features that don't look like Old Sam’s even a tiny bit.

“It’s alright, I know what you’re going through. There are a lot of orphans in the camp, I can hardly blame you for finding a family on your way here.” she reassures the girl.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.” Marcheline continues while softening her gaze. She makes an attempt at a friendly smile, “Didn’t Old Sam say that I’ll take care of you?” Scarlett’s eyes go wide. With this perceived opportunity, that she might latch on to someone else, Scarlett speaks in a rush.

“I met Papa six- almost seven months ago. He-” her voice wobbles, “picked me up when my whole family died from sickness.”

A possible plague, fantastic. Marcheline’s smile spasms.

She hasn’t even considered the consequences of her village meeting so many people at once, as they’ve been isolated for so many years. She hopes nobody gets sick before they reach level one, then she can just add them to a party and hope [Purify] would be enough. She makes a mental note to suggest making more soap.

“All of them, dead? Are you the last of the…” Marcheline needs to get this out of the way, “von Buellers?”

“No, Papa gave me that last name.” Of course, ‘von’, “It’s not official yet.” Marcheline tries not to roll her eyes.

“Hey, will you really take me in? Like Papa said you would? He was right! I knew it.” The village will just add another resident, it’s not that hard. Marcheline nods.