Harlowe leaned back in her perch as she watched the others sleep. Normally she’d be playing her hurdy gurdy as she sat through the night. However, her music was now something she shared with her companions, companions that actually could sleep, unlike her. She looked down at the legs that Marcus had helped manufacture back in Imerre. They were the best quality the old smith’s forge could manage. She’d have preferred a set like her old ones, and intended on making them when she was somewhere with the right tools. It was odd getting used to regular human legs again. She pulled them against her torso, its elongated form letting her hunch over them. Her clawed left hand drummed on the metal of her legs while she looked at the wrist joint of her right arm. Her lambent red eyes watched the internals move and click as she wiggled its fingers. She stayed away from the main camp, just a short distance to set her ever present worry at ease. Harlowe’s head dipped for a moment. A strange, yet not entirely unfamiliar sensation. 

“Am I… No, I don’t do that anymore…” mumbled Harlowe before her head dipped again. 

She opened her eyes. In front of her was a swathe of destruction, rainbow flames licking at the air atop glowing metal slag. Her breath ragged. The threat is still near. Her right arm clicked and ejected a sizzling metal canister. Her vision turned and faced the silver haired woman, encased in ice. 

Harlowe shook her head. “That isn’t happening.” 

Harlowe looked down at her right hand again, the image of her old arm overlaying it. Her jaw clenched, teeth pushing into her gums. Pain can help focus a mind. She blinked and looked at her hand. It looked like flesh. In her mind’s eye the memory flooded back, and with it the arm went pale. Beneath the thin translucent skin stood out dark veins. 

“No, no… stop,” she pleaded to the night air as her head dipped once more.

______

The sun set over an old graveyard, its dwindling rays caught by a hill which was home to both a grand mausoleum and also a gravekeeper’s shack. The dwelling leaned up against the side of the mausoleum and looked almost as if it was a growth that had attached itself to the stone tomb. Beneath the house’s porch was a single, dark-haired woman dressed in work clothing holding a hurdy gurdy in her lap, slowly turning its crank. She tapped a foot as the hand not turning the crank danced along the keys. The melody was one of the sole sounds throughout the graveyard as it was nearly every twilight, that was until the woman heard a noise from the rapidly darkening graves. Her hands stopped and she slowly set the instrument down. 

“Something isn’t right,” she whispered to herself. 

She stood up and opened the door to her home, being careful not to make too much sound. The home was sparsely lit, but she knew what she was after and where it was. Carefully, she stepped over the floorboards she knew would creak and slid open a drawer near her small bed; inside was a flintlock and its ammunition wrapped in a faded silk kerchief. She picked it up and carefully poured then packed the powder with a small bit of fabric before adding a polished ball of metal. 

“Probably a graverobber.” She affixed the powder horn and ramrod to her belt. “After all, we just had some recent burials.” She stepped out of her home and grabbed the shovel leaning against the wall near the door. 

The woman set off into the shadowed graveyard, her eyes used to the dark from years of work as a keeper. She’d seen many graverobbers in her time, usually someone looking for a way to easily get some valuables. Little did they know that the church takes most of those before the bodies are interred, at least for those not being placed in the mausoleum. She followed the sound of digging and stopped when she saw dirt being thrown aside from behind a large tombstone.

“Hey, you! Stop that and get out of here.” There was no response, they kept digging. She circled around so she could see the graverobber. “I’m gravekeeper Harlowe, just stop digging and you… can…” she trailed off as she saw what was digging up the grave.

In front of her was something she’d only ever read about or heard of when she visited town for drinks. It was a horrible, gaunt, grey thing with skin that hung loosely from its too-long limbs. The creature stood digitigrade and hunched, but were it to stand up straight it would be nearly as tall as two men. Harlowe stepped back as the creature turned to face her with its gleaming red eyes and mouth full of jagged teeth which caught the fading light. Her fight or flight instincts fought as she stood paralyzed before the monstrosity. It raised a hand from the loamy earth and splayed its fingers wide, the claw seemed so large that it could wrap around her head before tearing it off. 

It swung its claw.

Harlow stepped back as she raised her flintlock.

She fired, the gun roaring as the black powder ignited. The flash blinded the creature as it went off, causing its claw to veer off course. Still, it found purchase in the flesh of her forearm as it tore a long jagged wound down its length. Harlowe screamed in agony and nearly dropped the flintlock before turning to run. She wasn’t sure if she’d hit the creature and she didn’t intend on finding out as she sprinted up the hill, just managing to place the flintlock into a loop on her belt as her right hand went numb.

Harlowe managed to reach the door to the imposing stone building first and reasoned she must have hit the creature. She placed her shovel against the wall and fumbled to perform the gestures to unlock the wards placed on the mausoleum. 

“Oscailte,” she said as she attempted to make the correct symbols using her left hand, the right having been too damaged to make the signs. The arcane lock briefly appeared before dissolving into shimmering light. “Shit.” She started to make the signs again.

The creature, better known as a ghoul, loped up the hillside while ichor dripped from the bullet wound in its torso. It was driven primarily by hunger, but this prey had attacked it and earned its ire. 

It was nearly upon her as she finally managed to open the arcane lock. The heavy stone door began to slide open as it reached her. Harlowe whirled around as she grabbed the shovel and stuck it out towards the ghoul in one fluid motion. It was mid leap, its mouth open far too wide when the spade tip of the shovel caught it in its ribs and dug inwards. The force of the ghoul’s weight and Harlowe only being able to use her left arm sent her tumbling to the ground and into the mausoleum which caused the magicked torches to light themselves revealing the ghoul’s horrific countenance. It shrieked, bile and ichor spilling out of its maw. 

“Dún!” shouted Harlowe, causing the stone door to close like a vice on the ghoul.

She scrabbled away from the creature as it clawed at her. The ghoul was stuck, pinned by the mausoleum door. It howled and shrieked.

“Just, just you wait,” she pulled out the flintlock and braced it between her right arm and torso. “Have to load this.” 

The ghoul clawed at the floor, leaving deep gashes in the stone as she uncorked the powder horn with her teeth. Harlowe poured the black powder in and dropped the horn, there was no time. The door continued to crush the ghoul at the waist. She stumbled backwards against a wall and tore a swatch of cloth from her shirt and wrapped it around a shiny metal ball. The ghoul continued to pull itself towards her and in the torchlight she could see that it was tearing itself in half trying to get to her. She braced the butt of the flintlock against the brickwork and pushed the ball and cloth into the barrel then withdrew the ramrod from her belt. The ghoul’s flesh tore and snapped as it moved ever closer. Harlowe slammed the ramrod down and went to grab the flintlock, letting the ramrod clatter to the floor.

She leveled the flintlock at the ghoul’s head. “Got you.” 

She pulled the trigger. The ghoul’s spine snapped and it launched itself towards her as the bullet connected with its face, collapsing its forehead and pulping its brain. Both of them crashed to the floor in a heap as the ghoul, now dead, laid atop her bleeding. Its ichor smelled awful and seemed to burn wherever it touched an open wound. 

“Damn it.” Harlowe struggled to get out from under the ghoul’s corpse. “Fucking,” she grunted as she pressed against the foul thing’s torso, “fine mess this is.” She managed to slide out from under the creature. 

Harlowe stood up and stepped over the ghoul to the door. “Oscailte,” she said and carefully made the sigils to open it. 

As she stepped out the torches inside winked out and the door began to close. She looked down at the ghoul’s lower half, it was just as awful as the top half and periodically twitched. Harlowe went into her home and lit a lantern that hung from the ceiling with her right hand. It had been numb and almost useless since it was injured.

She brought it up to her face and into the light. “What in the hells?” 

The skin was crawling, fibers of tissue knitting themselves together. She felt her stomach drop as the color washed out of her arm. She was infected, cursed. And she was turning. 

Thoughts tumbled through her mind. “I need to... to,” she trailed off.

Harlowe turned to her workbench. It was sturdily built with a vice, several clamps, a small hanging lantern and a rack of tools hanging above it. She lit the lantern and the hard wood of the bench was illuminated, its surface marred by stains and toolmarks.

Her right hand spasmed and she put it under the light. "Got to hurry," dark veins squirmed under her skin. "Really have to hurry."

She unbuckled her belt and wrapped it around her upper arm to measure it then pulled a knife down from the rack. Carefully, she made a new hole so that the belt would serve as a tourniquet. She rolled up her sleeve and tightened the belt around her right upper arm, feeling the sensation of the blood flow being cut off. 

Harlowe bent down and placed her arm in the vice. "I can't believe I'm using what I learned back at the college on myself." Her right hand dug its partially formed claws into the table as she tightened the vice on her arm. "I have to." She sucked in a deep breath, steeling herself 

She angled herself so most of the force would be on her arm held in the vice and pulled back then in a burst of force; pushed. There was resistance and she hadn't put enough effort into it so it merely hurt like hell.

"Once more." She grit her teeth and pulled back.

Then forward.

And…

A sickening snap filled the air.

Harlowe swallowed, not just to deal with the remaining excess saliva, but at the realization that she had to leave. The hunger gnawed inside her. It was clear she had only slowed the transformation; she ran her tongue against the sharp tips of her teeth as if to remind herself of the reality of her situation.ir followed by Harlowe's screams as her nerves informed her that she had, in fact, just broken her arm. She caught herself on the bench and looked to her arm rapidly bruising and bent at an unnatural angle. Her stomach tried to empty itself, but she choked it down. She had to finish the job.

Harlowe's breathing was uneven as she pulled out the chair under the bench and sat down. "Next up." She grabbed the knife with her left hand and brought it to the break. 

Harlowe set the knife down for a moment and grabbed the loose portion of the belt, placing it in her mouth. There was a chance she'd shatter her teeth clenching them as she worked. She placed the knife against her flesh once more and began to cut. Blood sprayed as she pierced the skin, but then settled into a light flow as there was only so much in the limb thanks to the tourniquet cutting off the supply. Her teeth clenched down on the leather as she sawed through skin and muscle. The straight edge of the knife slid over the remaining tendons. 

Through teary eyes and pained gasps she looked up to the tool rack. "Forgot. About the tendons. Need. A saw," the saw was out of her reach, she laughed bitterly around the leather between her teeth. "Those'll work," she said as she grabbed a pair of pliers.

She dug the nose of the pliers into her arm and twisted the tips around a tendon then snapped it. This process was repeated several times with small breaks between each to let the burning agony subside. Once done, she dropped the pliers onto the bench and panted, trying to catch her breath. 

"Just a little more." She grabbed the knife.

With a few more minutes of cutting she pulled her stump away from her arm. It was done, she undid the tourniquet and stumbled over to her dresser. Harlowe grabbed a shirt which she wrapped around her wound and tied off. The adrenaline began to wear off. She staggered, vision bleary. 

Then, she fell.

________

Harlowe fell onto her side, the warp in her shoulder mount burning as she hit the hard ground. Perhaps sitting up on a craggy outcrop wasn’t the best place to rest, but she hadn’t needed or succumbed to sleep in a few years. That wasn't something she could ponder as the nerve connections sparked inside her shoulder; her shout of pain muffled by the black iron mask she wore round her neck and mouth. Panting, she rolled onto her back. 

Bea, the closest member of the group to where Harlowe fell, woke with a start. Her first thoughts were those she would have on any extended hunt, to grab her knife from its sheath on her belt. She slowly turned and with the embers of the campfire behind her looked to where she'd heard the sound. On the ground was Harlowe. Bea rushed over, fast as her still waking body could. 

Harlowe turned her head to face the young blonde woman. "I'm fine. No need to wake the others."

"Well I heard somethi–"

"You heard me fall. I'm fine," interrupted Harlowe. 

Bea's brow knits together. "Is anything broken? Are you bleeding?"

"Nothing is broken and I'm not bleeding," Harlowe lied, the slow leak of her thick blood from her gums all she could taste. 

Her shoulder sparked again, the flash of it catching Bea's attention. 

"Somethings wrong in your arm," said Bea as she moved closer.

Harlowe sat up quickly and held her right hand out, palm open toward Bea. "I'm fine. I can fix it later." 

"We've time, should I get your tools?" Bea asked.

Before Harlowe could respond there was another spark and her elbow joint spasmed, sending the metal forearm right into her chest with a painful thud. Harloee managed a pained, "yes."

Bea stood. "I'll be right back."

Harlowe nodded, embarrassed by the lack of control she had over the limb. Harlowe stared at the offending appendage while Bea hauled back the sack of tools the half-ghoul kept in her supplies. 

"Good, now you're going to have to be the one that does the actual fixing." Harlowe raised her left hand. "The claws aren't exactly good for delicate work."

Bea opens the sack and looks at the tools. "I could get Clair, I know she's helped you with this before."

"Its simple, really. That and I don't want to bother her." Harlowe looked down, away from Bea. "She does enough for me already."

"If you're sure," said Bea, her teeth biting the inside of her lip. 

Harlowe stared at her with her faintly smoldering eyes. "Yes. I am sure. Now, use the flathead to pop the caps off the screws on my shoulder."

Bea moves over to that side and does as she's told; first removing the caps from the screws then the plate said screws held down. 

"Now that the main thing securing it to my body is off I need you to hold onto the bars here." Harlowe pointed her clawed hand at a pair of vertical handholds. "Then when I say to pull, tug it until you feel the resistance decrease and then stop."

Her hands grabbed hold where she was told. "Alright, whenever you're ready."

Harlowe pushes her claws into the hard earth, holding on. "Now, pull."

Bea yanks hard, the metal inside her shoulder mount screeching. "It's not moving, can't I get Clair or Rene? They could probably fix it with magic."

Harlowe's claw clenched, each one tearing through the soil. "No. Clair's magic burns me and any other magic may make fixing the warp moot." She tears her claws up out of the earth, hissing in pain. "Just. Let me think for a second."

"Okay, but you seem like you're in a lot of pain and–"

"Yes. I am. In a lot. Of pain," said Harlowe with a growl in her tone. "Just keep holding onto it."

Bea nodded and then braced. Harlowe knew the warp was pinching it from the edge closest to her back so she leaned forward then jerked to her left. The metal screamed and so did she. Bea winced as she held the now mostly disembodied prosthetic with only a few wires connecting it to Harlowe's torso. 

"Pull the plugs from the limb, damn it!" Shouted Harlowe. 

Bea's hands quickly yanked plugs from sockets, removing sensation from the limb each time. "I am trying."

Another woman speaks, her voice softer than Harlowe's but not as gentle as Bea's. "Let me help, please."

"But, Clair…" mumbled Harlowe.

"But nothing." Clair turned to Bea. "Thank you for what you've done so far."

Bea nods. "I wanted to get you earlier."

Clair took Bea's place, taking the limb and finishing the disconnection process. "Yet she wanted me to rest, right?"

"Yeah…" said Harlowe, not willing to look up

"You know you can wake me when I'm needed. I like to help," said Clair. 

Bea looked back toward camp. "Looks like Rene is up." Her eyes looked back at Harlowe and Clair. "I kind of feel like a voyeur, I'm going to go see about helping Rene get back to sleep."

Once Bea had gotten far enough away, Harlowe put her clawed hand on Clair's thigh. "Sorry for making you do this."

"No need to be sorry, but do tell me what happened," said Clair. 

Harlowe said nothing, but Clair kept working. During the two months in Imerre after the ghoul nest was destroyed, she stayed with Harlowe as much as she could. She'd been there to help construct her new prosthetics and in doing so wasn't just fumbling in gearwork and wiring, but actually knowing how to repair and maintain the complex machinery. She knew from the burns and the scent that the warp had pinched the wires connecting the arm to Harlowe's nerves. 

"It's going to be a bit more painful. I need to repair a length of wiring." Clair reached into the tool bag. 

Harlowe nodded, still unwilling to speak. 

"I get it. It's embarrassing," said Clair, peeling the lining of the damaged wiring away.

Harlowe shook her head. "No, it isn't that."

"Brace," said Clair, readying the wirecutters.

Harlowe nodded then readied herself. "Go for it."

Clair cut through the wire. Harlowe grunted, slamming her left hand against one of her metal thighs. Clair cut the melted section off the plug and revealed a length of it so she could begin the task. 

"I know, but you can handle it," said Clair.

Clair began to patch the wiring, twisting each individual wire with its mate on the plug. Harlowe winced with each fresh connection. Clair wrapped each one as they were mended. 

Harlowe sighed. "Once the arm is back on, I'll tell you what happened."

"Alright then here we go," said Clair.

Clair picked up the limb once more and Harlowe helped hold the weight with her left hand. She quickly connected the plugs once again, each getting a grunt from Harlowe. Then she moved the limb closer, lining up the main connection points. Harlowe pushed against the ground as Clair jammed the limb back in, metal shrieking.

Clair held Harlowe's prosthetic right hand in her own. "Okay, when the pain fades, tell me." 

Harlowe looked into Clair's eyes. "I fell"

"Yes, I know that, but what made you fall?" She asked. 

Harlowe exhaled raggedly, "I fell asleep."

"You… you can sleep again?" Clair leaned in.

"Yeah, I guess. Wish I didn't." Harlowe looked skyward. "My pain tolerance is lower too, I don't know why." She shook her head, long dark hair following the motion. "And what did Bea mean by feeling like a voyeur?"

"Technically speaking, I was just inside you," laughed Clair. 

Harlowe scoffed. "Very funny."

"Don't bullshit me, you're blushing– wait, you're blushing!" said Clair, mouth agape.

Harlowe blinked. "What."