Her eyes were still adjusting to being rematerialized before she could even see how far above the cottage bed she was.

  “Oop!” The cute villager cried out, crashing down onto the furniture with enough force to send the delicate wooden frame, one that she'd purchased more for appearance than durability, splintering into pieces beneath her weight. The mattress hit the floor with a harmless thump, and she found herself sprawled ungraciously among the wreckage.

  "Oh, for the love of Perimmm-" She started, then caught herself before she could continue.

  Nyssa wouldn't swear by dark powers. She sat up amid the broken bedframe and surveyed the damage, pressing on her stomach.

  "Well, that's just perfect…”

  Now she had to add a bedframe to her growing list of expenses.

  But first, she needed to get into character. Brushing the wood splinters off her yellow dress and then packing a light bag of clothes, Nyssa was ready to face the day. She quickly checked her appearance in the small mirror by her washstand, then took a deep breath.

  Time to be human. Time to be Nyssa.

  She stepped out of her cottage and into the afternoon sun, breathing in that crisp village air and exhaling out with a dreamy sigh.

  This was peace.

  No minions to oversee, nothing to do but enjoy herself in gentle village bliss.

  It was just such a disappointment that she had a laundry list of things to do today.

  The neighbor was there: that dreadfully nosy Mrs. Halsan, watering her little herb garden as slow as an elderly widow can. Nyssa put a skip in her step and prepared herself for the sweetling conversation to come.

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Halsan!" Nyssa called out with such enthusiastic cheer that the elderly woman nearly dropped her watering can in surprise.

  "Oh! Nyssa, dear, you startled me…” The old woman muttered, hand to her heart, putting her watering can down, “A late start today? The sun is high up!”

  Nyssa bowed her head, “Yep! I was up all night packing, thought a little trip to Harrathen to visit family might do me some good this week!”

  Mrs. Halsan's eyes widened, “Oh, you've got family in Harrathen, Nyssa? My sister's boy, Gerrard, is there. If you're heading thataways, would it be too much of a bother to give you something for him?”

  Amithaera wanted to wrap her hands around the old woman's neck, wring the life out of her decrepit body.

  Nyssa nodded and replied, “Never a bother when it's you, Mrs. Halsan!”

  “Oh, goodness, thank you, my dear!” The neighbor rattled on, putting her hand up and continuing with, “Just a second! Wait right here!”

  Watching the woman disappear into her cottage, Nyssa leaned against the fence post, curling her legs, one after the other, and groaning in anticipation. She should've brought the damned boots, not the flats. What was she thinking?

  Against every wish that the old lady had tripped and broken her neck in a haste, Mrs. Halsan reappeared with a tiny wooden box in her arms, trudging slowly to Nyssa and saying, “Here it is! This is for Gerrard.”

  “Cookies?” The young woman asked, taking the box from her neighbor. She could smell the aroma within, freshly baked.

  Mrs. Halsan nodded at the question, “Hanvaro's recipe, and Gerrard's favorite. I had them made by yesterday evening.”

  Nyssa smiled, but in her mind she was asking herself just how was Mrs. Halsan ever going to get these to her nephew.

  “I was going to give them to Kaylan, our runner, but he's running a little late today, too! Lot of that going around, huh?” The old lady chuckled, and Nyssa sarcastically imitated her at the small slight.

  Kaylan, to one of caravans, that caravan to another runner, then to Gerrard. The logistics were so simple, yet so complicated for cookies. Even if they were Hanvaro's special Cherry-Cocoa Delights…

  Amithaera cursed this old woman to the hottest pit of her Lord's realm for the temptation. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of indulging.

  “You know… Gerrard is with the guild in Harrathen, and a bachelor,” Mrs. Halsan added suddenly, and it finally clicked why she couldn't just let the runner handle this task. She was playing matchmaker.

  Nyssa's eyes widened, cheeks blushing expertly, bashful and smirking, “Oh! Mrs. Halsan… I'll deliver them, but I can't promise anything!”

  The old lady smiled back softly, nodding affirmatively and saying, “No pressure, my dear. I just hate to see such a pretty young woman like you without a man to make happy.”

  Were it not for the laws of this land, Amithaera would raise the bones of Mrs. Halsan's buried dogs in this very yard and have them devour the old woman right here in this garden.

  Make a man happy? Of what use was that to the Terror of the Darklands?

  She calmed her self-righteous heart. Halsan was simply being nice, even if she was offending Amithaera. At least this favor for the old woman would segue perfectly into the Necromancer’s own favor to ask.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Could you do something for me as well, Mrs. Halsan? I've got the flowers there and I-”

  Mrs. Halsan interrupted her, “Say no more, my dear. You leave that to me, and me alone. Hurry along now, I'm sure you have better things to do than chat with an old lady like me!”

  Amithaera nodded, internally. She certainly did.

  “Goodbye, Mrs. Halsan!”

  Taking her leave with her new box, Nyssa headed out from Maple Borough and into the village proper.

  People waved at her as she passed and the birds stopped chirping as they respectfully hailed the monster walking in their streets. She looked at the flowers hanging on the eaves of the apothecary's place of business, and none of them wilted.

  “You took my business, cost me a coin today, Nini,” the tiny voice came from beside her, and Nyssa looked down to find Kaylan walking in step.

  Little boy Kaylan, the runner for Maple Borough. She'd never used his services, but the older villagers often did.

  Regardless, instead of telling him to go away, Nyssa answered, “Mrs. Halsan said you were late. That means you cost yourself a coin today, Kaykay.”

  He didn't like that explanation. The little boy pouted and ran ahead of Nyssa, walking backwards as he said, “My mother's daily scolding ran too long. It's not my fault!”

  “She slaves every day over cleaning you and your brothers’ clothes. The least you could do is be appreciative of her,” Nyssa chastised the boy, continuing her walk. “You won't have her doing your laundry forever, you know. One day you'll be a man and you'll miss all that she did for you.”

  “I'm seven!”

  Nyssa groaned out and paused her pace, digging into her pack to find her coinpurse and fish out a silver coin, “Here. Tell your mother I said hello, okay?”

  Kaylan took the money, beaming happily, and began to ran off. No doubt he was going to spend it on a sweet, “I will! Bye, Nini!”

  “... Bye, Kaykay,” Nyssa murmured quietly, turning at the end of the street and continuing her walk.

  Inevitably, like a bee to a flower, like a damned moth to flame, she walked in front of Baker Hanvaro's bakery. Another grumble came from below, the beast in her stomach roaring for sustenance, corrupting her path and deviating it right into the busy establishment.

  Hanvaro didn't notice Nyssa, not when there were so many customers at the moment. This was the busiest time of the day, after all, when the sun was highest. Nothing accompanied some rest so well as a baked treat and a cup of tea.

  Amithaera simply wanted to enjoy the smell of the place.

  It was a patch of calm seas while hiding below deck from a storm. It was a semblance of normalcy, regardless of the guilt in her little muffin of a stomach.

  She was Nyssa, just a simple villager enjoying her day, sitting down at one of the tables and…

  “I see a larger bakery, tables where families gather…

  The scent of your cinnamon bread drawing them in from the cold.”

  Her eyes widened at the recollection of the poem, glancing at how a young girl pressed her food into her father's mouth, giggling at the man as he pretended to be a pastry-hungry beast. His wife gently smacked his hand, mouthing out that he needed to stop teaching her to play with her food.

  Amithaera turned her head towards Baker Hanvaro, a genuine smile on his face as he spoke to the next person in line. The two laughed at something the baker recounted, wrapping the order in thick parchment.

  “My stories I’ll tell and you’ll smile while I blather.

  You’ll pretend you’re not proud of how your wife was s-”

  Amithaera stood.

  NO.

  Nyssa stood from the table and nearly tripped on the chair as she hurried toward the exit, the surprise making the village girl launch her box across the air and crashing on the ground. Cookies exploded everywhere at the people in line, many of them looking at Nyssa as she breathed heavily against a table in shock.

  “Are you okay, dear?” One of the villagers asked aloud then, but it was Hanvaro that had walked over to check on the girl.

  “I'm fine! Sorry, sorry, I'm fine,” Nyssa muttered, watching the villagers begin to collect the ruined cookies from the floor for her, Hanvaro's worker hurrying along with a broom to sweep the crumbs outside for the birds. He took the box with him.

  “Mrs. Halsan's order, eh?” Hanvaro asked the girl, patting her back assuredly as she got to her feet.

  Nyssa nodded at the question, standing up straight, grateful for the distraction, “Yes… She entrusted them to me for her nephew.”

  Hanvaro clicked his tongue, answering, “Oh, she mentioned that. Still trying to get him a wife, is she? I don't think she knows you're not his type.”

  Letting out an exasperated chuckle, Nyssa tried to keep from looking at the concerned villagers in line. She faced Hanvaro instead and apologized, “I'm sorry about the interruptions. I just lost my balance and I-”

  “Please, Nyssa, don't worry about that. You do so much for me all the time.” The baker interrupted, and then added, “I think we've got another batch of the cherry-cocoas about to finish, so you just sit here and wait, and I'll get you Halsan's order again… plus a little extra for my favorite little helper.”

  She couldn't help but smile at that. It felt good to be told she was someone's favorite at anything.

  “I'm going to wait outside, if that's alright. I, um… I need some fresh air, I think,” Nyssa murmured out, and the baker escorted her to the door before getting back to work inside.

  Outside, the birds perched on clotheslines. Their beady little eyes were locked upon Nyssa. They saw her for what she truly was: just a monster…

  Nyssa walked across the street to the barbier, a hand sweeping the bits of dirt from the bench outside the establishment and taking a seat. Feet together, knees inches apart, all of those learned habits falling to the wayside when Nyssa dropped her head down into her hands and groaned in despair.

  She was dreading this possibility, that the damned poem might invade her thoughts after breaching her defenses last night.

  “Damn you, Veratreez, you vicious little monster…” She cursed between fingers, wishing to every dark power that the goblin had cremated the letter.

  And how dare that woman do this to her?

  A body rotting underneath dirt, another layer above her predecessors, should mean nothing to Amithaera. She had half a mind to return early, trek to the grave, raise this fool, and force the vessel to leap off the mightiest cliff face she could locate, just for the bother!

  But the thought of looking at the Warrior again, at the empty shell, at those eyes without a face or soul to punish, made Amithaera's blood run cold.

  It was an impossibility, but would she judge her for reading that letter? Would the departed soul somehow return to the body and begin the battle anew?

  Of course not. Just rotting meat now…

  She could simply undo the spell should the Warrior come back an-

  “Nyssa.”

  “Hm?” Nyssa raised her head from her hands, looking up at Baker Hanvaro holding the box for her.

  The man presented the order, and after she took it from his hands, he also gently placed a tiny offering of the same delights beside her.

  “Watch your step today, okay?” Baker Hanvaro warned politely, patting the woman on the shoulder before leaving.

  She should've told him not to give her any cookies. They'd be going to waste. She was on a diet.