Context

This story fits into my world-building as an example of how people of the tribe at Saàkirlaasiik name one another. It illustrates that names are given by men to one another within their trade groups. Women ask their potential husbands to name them at their binding ceremony. This story illustrates both of those things.
The story is about two characters - 'Rows-in-loud-waters' and 'Hatchling'. They are on a battlefield against a tribe that broke apart from them long ago. Things get rough and a naming ceremony happens in the end. This takes place between the border of Saàkirlaasiik and Saàronit. It takes place in the second age after the Great Sundering.

Spoiler TL;DR

Summary: Rows-in-loud-waters is something of a squad leader to Hatchling. The two of them are in the alligator clan and are waiting for the 'Deceived' to come and fight them. When they finally do, the men fight with one of the Deceived for the majority of the story. This leads to some banter back and forth, but in the end, Hatchling dies. Hatchling tells Rows-in-loud-waters what he would have named his would-be wife if she had asked him to wed her. At the final end, Rows-in-loud-waters gives Hatchling a true proper name.

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What's In A Name

“Stand firm! Men of Nafóótkirriinhaa”, Leans-on-the-spirit, chief of their clan spoke over all present before him. Riding by on a horse, he raised a spear and pranced the line of warriors. “It saddens me that we will shed the blood of our cousins! But they come to steal, pillage, and destroy. Show no mercy, brothers. For, I assure you, the Deceived will not return it.” His dark hair streamed in the air behind him as his steed carried him far down the line of men and out of earshot from him. Men cheered as he galloped by and smacked the flat of their weapons against their chests.
Hide banners whipped as the wind bid them to their will and the trees bent with each gust. Each banner displayed the spirit patron of the clan lined up to do battle. Some tribes gathered hides from the animals that embodied the attributes of their families' skills and nature. Behind him, alligator scales bent against the howling air. They dyed the animal biting its tail with an eye in the middle. A single line split the banner in the middle horizontally, and the eye peered out from the line. It represented the watchful eye of the clan, looking from the lands around Eversun. Sniffing, he smelt the hint of trees mingled mostly with warpaint against his flesh. A drum rang out behind him, then another sounded in the distance echoing it, and further out another did the same. This echoed on for a few more raps. His heart pounded in his chest, but he steeled his face.
The dark brown hair smacked the back of his tanned neck and his dark eyes scanned the woods before him. Across the grassland, they stood like a wall in the distance, dense and ominous. He had fashioned leather armor from the scaled hide of his swamp-dwelling, neighbor beast. He added stone studs to it in places that stuck out. On either side, men stood around him and he glanced out of the corner of his eyes. Younger men stationed themselves on either side of him entirely still and they both wore similar garb.
Each man painted their body with different symbols to display their strength, ferocity, or, in his case, battles fought. He used the black dye they made to draw scales against his skin where it remained exposed to the elements. Each drawn shape represented the number of times that he challenged a Deceived in combat and won. To his right, Paako Saàchalkoorrich Tínafsorlor, whom he lovingly calls Hatchling, dyed his face with ferocious teeth in the hope of scaring his enemies.
Hatchling's eyes widened as a horn sounded in the distance. Lootookcholatnapàrooti placed his hand on the young man's shoulder and smiled. Not showing his teeth, the sparkle in his eyes faded as quickly as it came. Recalling his first battle, the now chief, captained his line then. He hoped he could offer as much hope as the chief did then.
"Hatchling, I understand. This is your first bout with the Deceived. The tales we've weaved of them are terrifying and vicious. I must tell you, those tales are half true, but the half is still terrible" Lootookcholatnapàrooti's eyes trained on the forest head of them across the clearing. Any motion in the trees hid from his view and he sensed it lingered beyond the tree line, in the underbrush.
“Rows-in-loud-waters”, which Lootookcholatnapárooti meant, said Hatchling, “I don’t like the nickname. I am strong and proven in the tests.” Rows-in-loud-waters almost heard the pout on the young warrior's face. Smirking, he gave the young soldier a soft elbow to the ribs. “You’ve fought them enough times. How well do you know their tactics?”
Choosing to ignore the dislike of the nickname and how proven he may or may not be, Rows-in-loud-waters answered, "More than fought them. I engaged the enemy when the sundering happened, those years ago, when the clans had made it across Saàronit and into the valleys of the east. When Kolotatliíchiit revealed himself as the spirit of lies and trickery known to us as Naríhììnanathìnafòò”, chortled Rows-in-loud-waters. His mind rowed back to the day on the ship of his mind through the sea of memories. Every day, the river of life eroded them from his mind and they became less and less tangible.
The young man remained silent but peered from the corner of his sockets with intent. The horn blew again and the wind howled against the dusk sky. Rows-in-loud-waters guarded the lands of the tribe for several years, being an ‘eye in the swamp’. The Deceived envied Eversun and believed it promised to them instead of the men around him now. They fell, though, tainted themselves with the lies of the evil their false god fed them. The land of ever-sun had been promised for believers of the beat-giver, not the nest-stealer.
The horn sounded again, this time a bit closer. Rows-in-loud-waters tensed his hand around the shoulder of the young man again, in an attempt to reassure him. He worried the giant they built in tales to keep children near the settlements, backfired in moments like these. Fear, if unchecked by faith and courage created by faith, ravaged a man and tore through his resolve like the monsters created in stories of the age past and gone. “I have heard the Deceived are industrialized people with forges and explosives.”
"They hold fewer explosives and kilns as they once operated in the realms of Setting-Sun and the Teal Forests. We all practiced forging or so I’m told. The sundering was a quick bout of brother against brother and clan against clan. At the base of the white-ridged mountain, where the Nòònchààrrílììsììnat dwelt, we fought for what seemed like hours. We fought until our muscles ached, until our bones hurt, and until our lungs screamed for relief. In the end, Kolotatliíchiit fell and their usurper king called the retreat", he retold the story, holding on to the ax in his hand, keeping it at the ready in his off-hand. "The spirit of Naríhììnanathìnafòò spread over those who lost their way and inhabited all of them. It spread like sickness and as they fled, it fled with them." He shook his head and removed his hand from the young man's shoulder. "Half the priests left with them, and four of the seven first tribes dictated by Wááchlachtat, the great beat-giver."
Hatchling murmured a short prayer, both, Rows-in-loud-waters thought, in reverence for the name of their god but also the fear his heart currently harbored. "And they come now astride giant wolves, Rows-in-loud-waters and hunt in the dusk to find weaknesses in our resolve and steal into the land of promise. There they hope to kill our king, our clan chiefs, and place themselves at the seat of it all. How many times have they tried?" Fear waivered in the voice of the young man, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. They both did. The last they needed, Rows-in-loud-waters thought, wolf-mounted cavalry running them down while they stared into one another's eyes.
"Since the sundering", Rows-in-loud-waters asked and pondered in silence. The horns dinned again and got a bit closer. "In a host of the size the scouts report? Here I face them a second time, but they have always sent scouts almost yearly and they try skirmishes against us almost every five years. So in the twenty years since the sundering, there have been four skirmishes and two battles. Neither side seemed eager to meet the other in open war." To keep the young man from falling deeper into despair, Rows-in-loud-waters kept to himself the assumed reason. The potential allied dark powers of the Deceived deterred the king and the clan leaders from open war. They feared, maybe rightfully so, that the enemy sought other children of Naríhììnanathìnafòò like the Chììktonààn with their horrid owl-shaped faces and wrinkled talon-like hands.
Though none have seen a Chììknààn in a generation, tales of their malice lingered around the fires of public areas. Elders spun tales of heroes fighting the demi-god-like beings. Their eyes could see a spirit walker, and their strength could wrestle to the ground men twice their size. The claws, razor-sharp on each wrinkled and pimpled hand, extended its arm into the spirit world itself and could yank a spirit walker out from between the realms.
He ventured to guess the enemy refused open war with them because of the fear of the great beat-giver intervening against them, as he had done at the sundering. Spirits of the eagle, the buffalo, and the snake descended from the skies and took shape around them. The eagle came to the aid of the great teacher and fought with him against the enemy. The sight still filled Rows-in-loud-waters with awe and fear. These great spirits with such power existed in their realm - the Wààchlachtatpààtiit. Who knew what else existed beyond the reaches of the seas and northern mountains? The horn blew again, but this time it had not moved. He grabbed the other hatchet on his belt with his right hand.
"They're stalling", Hatchling breathed out, almost in a whisper as if he dared not alert the enemy to his position...
"They are and it is not like them to do so. But remember the spirit of our clan. We watch like the eye in our banner. We wait. We strike. Let the panther clan hunt through the woods and draw them out. We are to wait here." Rows-in-loud-waters convinced himself but pondered what the spirit-walkers of the panther clan waited for, or worse if the Chììktonààn horde lingered within the enemy host and snatched them from between the material and immaterial. "We wait." He echoed again and stood at the ready. The scales on his armor glinted in the setting sun to their left as it sank over the rolling hills at the place where the mountains met the lowlands and fled into the prairies.
A sea of pinks, reds, and oranges washed over the sky to the left of them as they faced north. The sun sat at the bottom of it all, at the horizon in the planes before the Saàronit. He failed to see it but, past the seas of grass - it sank. The sun sought its evening home beyond the lands of teal forests and red cliffs. In the land of gold and beautiful ridged coastlines. It almost yanked him away from the battle before him. It almost drew him away from the moment.
"So they're not as bad as you've told me my whole life?"
"They're bad, but they're human. They bleed and die like you do. The tales your elders have taught you as a child have not been altogether false or altogether true. They *do* practice human sacrifice of those they capture", Rows-in-loud-waters stated. He hid the fact they often sacrificed young children of their clans in the event they captured no one. "But they are not able to speak with wolves or command spiders. These are lies for story-telling effectiveness."
The young man grinned, "Ah then I will bring back my weight in scalps and wolf heads to the feasts of the return party." The young man raised his hatchet in response. "Each being an honor to my family and a possible trophy to convince Fóó Pafààlktiit Tínafsorlor to ask me to give her a name. Been courting her for two years now, and she still hasn't asked me. Perhaps this shows her my ability to provide and protect." Rows-in-loud-waters nodded. Sometimes spoils of war could convince a woman to request a naming. He wondered if women had it better in their tradition of naming. A woman received her name from her husband at the naming ceremony, but a man got his name from his peers. One bad name could stick forever.
His eyes scanned over to Chàànatatnafsorhapààt, named for hiding during a skirmish with the Deceived a handful of years ago. At least his name, he thought, sat in the middle of the road. Not too over the top to be too ridiculous but not to note some character flaw. Once given a name, your name stuck with you for the rest of your life. Shaking his head, he heard screams in the woods before them. "Get ready", he squatted in his ready position. Silence oozed over the field as the sun made a half-eye like of their banner against a pink sky.
"Fóó pafààlktiit tínafsorlor, I will bring you back spoils! I will show you I am a man to father your children", the young man mimicked the position Rows-in-loud-waters took. The two of them stood side by side. "Wááchlachtat, please be with us. Guide our strikes. Smite our foes", the young man glanced up at the sky. Rows-in-loud-waters followed his gaze with his own eyes and witnessed a single eagle flying overhead. “A good omen”, he noted. "He is with us", the young man shouted and pointed up to the sky. "He. Is. With. Us." The fervor spread through the line as men glanced up to spot the eagle before it disappeared.
"Don't get too ahead of yourself, Hatchling. Have faith, but the battle is not yet over. Wááchlachtat is not ours to master. We are his. His will is not ours. He will do as he wishes with this day." Then they came. Oversized wolves burst from the treeline and the men in the front of the formation readied their spears. "When the charge breaks, move with me. Understood, Hatchling", Rows-in-loud-waters asked. The young man nodded a response and the two of them faced their full attention to the front. Drums around them wailed with each passing moment and the panther clan did their duty - pinching the Deceived and drawing them out.
Rows-in-loud-waters smelled them before they got close enough to attack. They reeked of sulfur, oxidized iron, and sweat. Of all the deceits sown by the evil spirit, the greatest blazed fire and iron. Though he lived too few years to have experienced the splendors in the teal forests. The forest they laid bare, the mountains and valleys they flattened to build large metal works. All of this culminated in the great lie the beat-giver gave them conquest as a purpose. Their people knew the truth as inherited from the great beat-giver. Upon creation, he gifted man with more than a heartbeat, but also a goal, a purpose, and a stewardship over the world. The Deceived abandoned it and clad themselves in metal armor atop their steeds.
Charging furred beasts broke against the spears of the stag clan who had adorned their heads with antlers and little white speckled furs along their backs. Wolves howled and snapped their jaws at them as they died against the spears. The drool from their large agape mouths dripped onto the stag clansmen and drenched their armor. The area around Rows-in-loud-waters filled with the reek of wet dogs, which, smelled more pleasant than their riders.
One Deceived soldier, overlapping plated armor, hopped from his beast as it hit the spears, and landed behind the line, rolling as he did so. Tumbling to his feet, he drew two swords made of crude metal and eyed around the Rows-in-loud-waters and Hatchling. He licked his filed-down teeth and stepped forward to the two of them. The smell shifted back to the scent of sulfur and rust. Evil, its stench, hung to the Deceived.
Rows-in-loud-waters turned to face him and tugged Hatchling to do the same. The two of them flicked their hatchets in their hands and semi-circled the Deceived man This outsider appeared like they did: dark tanned skin, darker hair, dark eyes, and markings along his skin denote his tribe. This one hailed from the wolf tribe, which drew its heraldry from the initial Coyote tribe of Kolotatliíchiit. "Traitors", the wolf warrior shouted and raised his sword to charge forward. Rows-in-loud-waters noted the warrior before them bore the scarred claws of the man-butcher on his face. Three scarred lines trailed down his face and missed his eyes by a half-inch.
Other men broke through the formation of spearmen at the front of the line. One by one, more Deceived lingered into the lines of their tribe and the tempest of blades and shields whirled to life. Swords clanked against hatchets, spears against armor, and maces against faces. He heard the crunch of bone under the pressure of horse hooves. The air filled with the smell of metallic liquid, not like rust but a bit more like copper.
Hatchling and Rows-in-loud-waters moved in and, like the jaws of the mighty alligator spirit, pinched the Deceived warrior between themselves. Hatchling threw a slashing move with one of his hatchets, preparing a parry with the other arm. As he did so, Rows-in-loud-waters lunged forward and hacked hard downward to put a severe dent in the helmet of the enemy. The outsider struggled between them. He blocked one blow from Rows-in-loud-waters, then turned around to parry a blow from Hatchling. Sparks flew off the crude metal weapon as their chiseled stone axes hit it. The two of them stepped back from the Deceived outsider before he could counterattack.
Charging in again Hatchling dented his armor, leaving scuffs and scratches, while the enemy pushed Rows-in-loud-waters back away. "Traitors? You fight for the enemy, cousin!" Regardless of how far out the family they believed all clans related through the first men created by the beat-giver. "Turn your heart to Wááchlachtat and see! See the error of your ways and your kindred, they betrayed our ways and clung to Kolotatliíchiit even when revealed himself as the enemy!"
"Kolotatliíchiit was a hero, a paragon of our people! He hunted and slew the Chììktonààn. He mastered the realm given to us and showed us how to bend it to our will", with each phrase the enemy slammed his sword against Hatchling. Raising both his axes to catch the oncoming slash, Hatchling grunted as each hit staggered him backward.
"Perhaps it is not ours to shape?" Hatchling posed the question now and pride welled up in Rows-in-loud-waters’s heart. The young one came to grasp the purpose, the great mission for all of the men on Laaliíoota, one of them anyway. They lived in harmony with nature, not against it, not bending mountains to their will. To protect the young soldier, he jabbed forward with the ax in his main hand and moved back. It acted as a deterrent to pressing the young soldier further.
Around them, the din of battle drowned out the sounds of any other thoughts or fears. The Deceived soldier before them held their full attention. Another enemy sped toward them but caught a spear in the back of the neck. It pierced through him and pinned him to the ground. Gurgling nearby, he struggled and flailed his arms against the ground. A pool of crimson soaked the grass.
"Why", he pushed back Hatchling with his foot. "Would the beat-giver", he slashed and cut a gash in Rows-in-loud-water’s arm. "Give us", he kicked again trying to keep Hatchling back. "a realm to exist in. He wants us to conquer it."
Glancing at the blood running from his arm, Rows-in-loud-waters shook his head. "Then you are lost, cousin. The beat-giver never commanded us to conquer anything. He asked us to live in love with one another, to defend the wilds and beauty he created, and to worship him." Rows-in-loud-waters spun his hatchets around his hands and stepped back. Love of nature, love of others, and love of Wááchlachtat existed as the key commands of their god. The spirits echoed this in their defined sub-goals for each clan.
"Cousin", Rows-in-loud-waters said, "I will ask you once more to lay down your arms and come to try and reform... And we will see to it you are integrated with your people. That you see the truth and the life." In all ways, if possible, he felt required to extend out to the lost and try and pull them back to the way. His eyes met the Deceived man’s eyes and they shared a moment. Contemplation washed over the features of the enemy for but a moment as he narrowed his eyes to Rows-in-loud-waters.
"Never. Your way is a lie. Designed to deceive us." He kicked Hatchling back away again when the gap between them closed, then turned and charged. Rows-in-loud-waters and the enemy met at full force. The two of them traded blows. A slash on the cheek of the Deceived, bleed and he could see the ivory teeth within his joules. He hissed with pain and stepped back again. Droplets of blood oozed from the wound of the enemy’s mouth and down his chin. He reached up and wiped the blood away and licked into the wound with his tongue.
Hatchling charged at him from behind and jumped up into the air to attempt to plunge his axes upon the Deceived's shoulders with two raking blows. Rows-in-loud-waters rose his axes to try and deter the young warrior from his actions against the Deceived. With sudden premonition and supernatural celerity, the Deceived turned around and jammed his sword upwards in a single motion. Hatchling stopped in his tracks, his body caved save for the spasms. The pain must have racked him as he shuddered when the enemy pulled the blade out and fell to the ground.
"No!" Rows-in-loud-waters shouted and charged, but even as he charged forward Hatchling continued to fight. Standing from his prone position, he struck the Deceived in the back of the leg with his hatchet and it bit into him. Crimson liquid sprayed out onto the ground, but he pressed against his abdomen with his left arm. Slashing with the other arm in rapid succession. They wasted too much time, thought Rows-in-loud-waters and he needed to press the combat now. The enemy must fall before Hatchling expired.
Rows-in-loud-waters smacked him with the flat side of his weapon so he turned back around. The blood of his fellow clan mate dripped from the crude metallic blade. The air smelled of rusted metal. Fuming inside, Rows-in-loud-waters swung his weapon again and cleaved through the enemy's collarbone. The Deceived’s neck slacked and the weapon fell to his side. Ringing against his armored thigh, the sword clacked there, tapping as the enemy struggled to hold on.
Heaving for breath, Hatchling continued slashing with his axes and making deep cuts against the enemy until he stopped moving. Blood, a mixture of his own and the Deceived’s covered his face and shoulders. His body rested over the Deceived’s body and he lay there motionless. The battle swirled around them, cousin against cousin. Night fell around them and the three sister moons lit the darkness. The pale, vulnerable light glinted off crude metal and seeped into obsidian weapons.
Rows-in-loud-waters dropped to his knees beside the two bodies as Hatchling gasped for breath. The battle waged on, but numbers weighed on their side. The Deceived brought a thousand men to this battle, where they fielded three times. His ally wrapped both arms around his stomach to try and slow the bleeding.
"Rows-in-loud-waters, tell Fóó Pafààlktiit Tínafsorlor I wish I could have made it back to her. This", he lifted the scalped hair of the enemy soldier on the ground beside him, "is for her." He placed the skin and braided hair into Rows-in-loud-waters’s hand. "Tell her", he coughed, "I would have named her... The most poetic names." The scalp’s blood leaked from the cracks in his hands and down his wrist.
Wrapping his fingers around the other man's hand, Rows-in-loud-waters nodded his head. "What would have named her, Hatchling?" He squeezed as the young man faded a bit more, though he looked far older now than he had ever looked at him before. The mission at the moment remained to keep the young man from dying in fear and panic. Blood gushed from the open wound under his rib cage.
"I would have named her for the way the crickets sing in the summer as the sun sets under the moss-draped trees - Saàriifòònaforchiínaforchiit. I could have named her for the light reflected in her eyes as the fire burns under a full moon and frogs croak out beats for our souls to dance to. I would have named her", he gurgled blood between the words, "queen of my heart - Kiwáátattalkti. Most importantly, Rows-in-loud-waters, I would have named her my wife..."
"I know, friend. I know. I will tell her", blood leaked from the scalp in his hand and down his wrists as he pulled Hatchling's head into his lap. "Rest now, friend." Rows-in-loud-waters leaned in close to his friend and embraced him. He wrapped his arms around the wound with him and tried to provide him warmth as all the blood left his body. The savage blade of the enemy, ripped as it came out. Shuddering, Hatchling closed his eyes, knowing the end came soon.
"Tell her", he whispered again.
"I will", Rows-in-loud-waters responded.
The battle wrestled to an end with the final Deceived being chased away from the battle lines and into the woods where the Panther clan decided to let them go further by themselves. Rows-in-loud-waters watched from his place on the ground and hand on the side of Hatchling's cheek. A set of footsteps jingled through the battlefield behind him, but he kept his face downcast. A clattering of bones against quartz rung with each step. Blotting out the light from the moon, a shadow towered over him.
"Rows-in-loud-waters, losing a soldier in your line is unforgettable and crushing of the spirit, but he is not gone forever. You will see him again when we return to the beat-giver and live with him in the land of peace. Do distress yourself." The chief of the alligator clan knelt and placed a hand on Rows-in-loud-waters’s shoulder. He remained silent for some time, and Rows-in-loud-waters continued to look at the young man who served beside him.
"He fought valiantly, but even in the halls of the beat-giver he will be unnamed."
"Because he has not earned a name? Do you believe he has not earned a name, Rows-in-loud-waters? I hardly think that is fair." The chief shook his head and clicked his tongue against his teeth disapprovingly. Rows-in-loud-waters placed both hands of his friend on his chest and then placed his arms at his sides to shake out the anxiety and pent-up energy there.
"But, Leans-on-the-spirit, no one named him in life. He would not know it when we meet him in the halls of the beat-givers home. How would he answer". At this question, the chief sat and nestled into the ground near Rows-in-loud-waters. Squeezing his shoulder with his hand, and looked into the warrior's eyes.
Removing his hand from the shoulder of Rows-in-loud-waters he lifted the hand of Hatchling to his lap and took in a deep breath. "Do you imagine the names we give one another are for them to know who they are? Do you think our understanding of self is so small we have to have our brothers explain our behavior to ourselves?"
"So the names we give one another are for those around us."
"They're not for the beat-giver to know us", the chief chortled in response. "He already knows who we are before any name is given." The chief looked into Rows-in-loud-waters’s eyes and Rows-in-loud-waters sensed a tenderness and joy in the life of the man which grew in him like a ripened fruit. Here, the fruit offered out to him in guidance and words. “He knew us before the foundation of Laaliíoota and before the breath of the first man”
“Then I have a name for him.”
The chief motioned his hand. “Go on, Rows-in-loud-waters. He fought his trial against the Decieved. He may not have survived, but as far as I am concerned. He passed the test.”
Rows-in-loud-waters pondered for a moment and then closed the eyes of Hatchling on his lap. The wreckage of the battle around them reeked of shit and blood. "Goodbye, Nilchiiltatnawànàt." He inhaled and let out a long sigh. It ripped through him. He sobbed and tears dropped. "Goodbye..." The name echoed in his mind, and the meaning of the syllables slammed together. *Goodbye*, he thought, *Goodbye Died-in-honors-of-all.*
The chief bent over him, wrapping his arms around him and holding his shoulders. "We will see him again. I promise." Standing, he turned his back to Rows-in-loud-waters and looked over the battlefield. "Many of the men who died here will be seen again. Some will be seen in the final moments of the Last End. When we line up before the beat-giver he unfurls the hide of our hearts and examines the colors we dyed there. Should he find there are more colors of lust, hatred, envy, or pride than of love for one another and Him... We will have to answer for that."
Rows-in-loud-waters rose behind him and looked over the battlefield, he knew even the Deceived, flawed, and wrong, stood before the judgment of the beat-giver, regardless of their beliefs. Mangled men lay with broken arms and legs twisted in unnatural directions. The great wolves splayed out with matted fur and broken jaws. He scanned the carnage and another tear came along the curve of his cheek. "Will they attack again?" The sound of men directing clean-up echoed throughout the mass grave before him.
"The enemy will continue to push, ever-escalating the power at his disposal until he is finally defeated in the final moment of the Last End." The chief of the alligator clan offered his words and it warmed Rows-in-loud-waters' heart.
"I don't understand why we must wait for the living spirit of the forest to take on human flesh to defeat Naríhììnanathìnafòò'', a hint of anger rose in Rows-in-loud-waters’s voice as he placed his hatchets back against the belt that held his pants in place. "Why can we not hunt the enemy." He kicked the head of one of the enemy soldiers near him, forgetting his place and not respecting the dead that now belonged to the spirits.
"Even if you hunted every vessel of evil. Even if you slaughtered all the clans of Chììktonààn. You would remain with yourself and the evil in your blood and heart." The chief’s mouth twitched a bit, as he knelt and placed the enemy’s head back where it lay before the kick.
Rows-in-loud-waters took a step back, staggered by the thought he harbored some part of Naríhììnanathìnafòò in himself. "What do you mean? I have never accepted the tenets of evil. I do not forsake my vow to stewardship. I do not forsake my family. I do not forsake my god." He listed out the beliefs every man of the tribe agreed in their ideology. But the chief shook his head in response.
"You are thinking too largely, my friend." The chief pointed softly to the muscles over the heart of Rows-in-loud-waters and pointed out to the battlefield for them both to see. "It is not these large acts, though terrible, that will weigh our hearts with the ink of debt. It is the small ones. Like putting your wants above your wife's needs. Or talking back to your parents. The taint of Naríhììnanathìnafòò is in all of us from the earliest days of his coming to us. Big and small all these evils stain our hearts the same. The smaller ones are easier to commit."
"I... I don't know what to say", Rows-in-loud-waters stammered and stared down at his own feet.
The chief shrugged his shoulders. "Seldom does anyone. It is hard to imagine the taint or the extent of contamination that exists in the world. What we can do is attempt to bring our cousins back into the fold, so to speak, and lead them to a life of stewardship over the realm Wááchlachtat has given to us." The chief’s eyes closed and he mumbled under his breath. Turning again, he left the battlefield and the warrior behind him.
The banners flapped against the wind as they packed up. Men from each clan gathered the dead they had and placed them either over the backs of horses or over their shoulders. The three sisters, moons each larger than the last, trailed across the sky in various phases. Rows-in-loud-waters chose to carry Nilchiiltatnawànàat instead of casting him to the side on the back of a horse. The man's limp arm fell down Rows-in-loud-waters’s back and blood dripped. It trickled the sections of bare skin on Rows-in-loud-waters’s back.
They marched on into the night, headed back south toward their families in Eversun and the drums played a slow, solemn tone with each step they made through the woods. His eyes scanned from person to person. All their eyes cast down to the ground as if looking to make sure they would not trip and fall, but he knew they felt the pain of losing a young one or an unnamed one, or even a brother or a friend.
As they marched, the air started to smell more like home and less like sulfur and metal. The hint of pines, the stench of swamplands, and the sound of water lapping against the sides of shallow ponds in the soft wind. An inhale drug air into his lungs and past his nose where he sniffed the familiar smell of rotted leaves. As they left, he heard a voice from his left. When he turned to face and looked at the voice, no one stood in the darkness of the trees. A voice in his ear, or his heart, told him all calmed for now.

Women, do the reasons you list to justify divorces also apply to abandoning your father? Why if Yes, why if No?
Father:
The man is literally from another generation, you could not possibly have anything in common being at such different stages in your lives. He is old, frail, not vital enough anymore to keep you entertained, not labor-capable enough to support you financially. Hell, maybe he even slapped you once or twice when you were two and tried to scratch his eyes out on your quest (that he physically held you from) to find out what happens when you lick a power plug. Even worse, the old fart is clingy and demands more attention with every passing year.
Husband:
A man who probably got together with you at your quite vulnerable age, when you had nothing and were no-one career-wise, he absorbed your student debt, paid your mortgage and medical bills, helped you with college homework, supported you on maternal leave, stayed by your side when against his advice you decided to go clubbing and narrowly escaped getting violated. Yes, maybe he even slapped you once when you stole keys to his safe in order to invest his precious metal savings into MLM (or did something comparably stupid). Yes, maybe after supporting you for decade or more, he is more exhausted and less entertaining than he used to be at your honeymoon phase. Maybe he's a little more grumpy, rough on the edges, definitely not as young, and much more stressed out.
Trash out of the way:
Men do not abandon women when women get cancer; re-read that study attentively or look up the follow-ups. "Men cheat more" either never was true, or flipped. Abuse and violence are nowhere near enough to justify divorce disparity. Women initiating the majority of divorces is not "just paperwork".

I've always been bound to death.
On my eighth birthday, a shadow strode into my house and shot me and my family dead. I remember it vividly, every detail, every angle, etched and stained and carved into my memory.
I sat very still with my knees to my chest, my gaze glued to my siblings.
Lily and PJ looked like they were sleeping, and I could almost believe it.
I didn't look at the shadow.
From the comfort of my knees, I waited for my brother to lift his head.
But his body was so limp, so still, every part of him faltering. My sister’s head was nestled in his shoulder, thick beads of red running down her face.
They're just sleeping.
I could tell myself they were— as long as I didn't look at the splatter of scarlet staining the back of the couch and pooling at their feet.
BANG.
Mom’s body dropped onto the ground.
I lunged forwards, slamming my hands over my ears.
BANG.
PJ’s head slumped forwards, a teasing smile still frozen on his lips.
BANG.
Lily gently tipped into PJ, like she was going to sleep.
Before she closed her eyes, Mom told me to run.
I can't remember how long I stayed under the shattered remnants of Mom’s favorite table. The shadow was waiting for me to move, to make a noise.
I watched booted feet crunch through glass, getting closer and closer, and slowly, fight or flight began to take over.
Making it halfway across the living room, my palms slick with my mother’s blood, I thought I was going to live.
Cruel fingers wound their way through my hair and shoved me to my knees. I remember the phantom legs of a spider creeping down the back of my neck when the shadow with no face dragged the barrel of his gun down my spine.
“Turn around.”
The shadow had a voice.
When I didn't move, the protruding metal stabbed into my neck.
“Turn around, kid!”
I did, very slowly.
Behind him, my siblings still weren't moving.
They were asleep.
Lily was still smiling, strawberry blonde ringlets stained red.
I couldn't see PJ’S face anymore.
BANG.
I didn't feel the gunshot.
I didn't feel anything.
Looking down, I glimpsed slowly spreading red blossoming like a flower.
It felt like being cut from strings.
I hit the ground, just like my mother, my body felt heavy and wrong.
Paralysed.
I remember being unable to scream, unable to cry, the salty taste of metal filling my mouth. It was like being winded. Rolling onto my side, all I could see was flickering candlelight.
The air was thick, so hard to breathe.
I rolled onto my back trying to suck in air.
The shadow took a step back, opened the front door, and bled into the night.
I don't remember the pain, and I don't remember dying. I couldn't breathe, couldn't conjure words in my mouth.
I felt warm and sticky, lying in my own blood.
I think I tried to move.
But I was so tired.
I’m not sure what death feels like, because it's like going to sleep.
I remember my last shuddering breaths, a lulling darkness beginning to swallow me up. I don't know why I wasn't afraid.
Oblivion almost felt like I was sinking into lukewarm depths on a Summer’s day.
Oblivion wasn't pain, and there was a peaceful inevitability to it.
It was endless nothing, a nothing I found myself gravitating towards. But before I could envelope myself in that darkness, it was spitting me back out.
The next thing I knew, I was in a white room, a slow beeping sound tearing me from slumber. I had a vague memory of slow spreading roses blossoming across my shirt, like summer flowers blooming.
Everything was white.
The walls, the ceiling, and my clothes.
Sensation hit me in slow waves.
Exhaustion.
I felt it tightening its grip around my brain, dragging me back onto a mountain of pillows when I tried to jump up. My Aunt May was sitting next to me on a plastic chair, her warm fingers entangled in mine. Aunt May and Mom were practically twins, with the same thick red hair and pale skin.
Mom wore her hair in a casual ponytail, while May preferred a strict bun.
I had to bite back the urge to yank my hand away.
Aunt May was asleep, used tissues filling her lap.
There was a nurse pottering around, checking my vitals and prodding my arms. My eyes felt heavy. I had to blink several times to keep myself awake.
“Charlie?”
The nurse’s voice was like wind-chimes.
I pretended not to notice her forced lipstick smile, the way she stood with her arms folded, staring at me like I was one of my cousin’s experiments. “You were in an accident, sweetie,” the nurse spoke up. I could see her trembling hands. “Just, um, try and rest, okay?”
I wanted to ask where my family was, but I already knew the answer.
I think she knew that too.
“You died, Charlie.” The nurse’s voice was eerily cold. “You were dead for thirteen minutes.”
She took slow steps towards me, her eyes growing frenzied, like she couldn't understand me, like I was a puzzle she could not solve– and it was driving her crazy. I could see it in her twitching hands, her wobbling lips that were trying and failing to appear stoic.
“In fact, I just pulled you out of the morgue, honey. I opened up your body bag that I had just zipped up, and told your aunt that you were a miracle I just… can’t understand.” The nurse sounded like she was trying to choke down a laugh, or maybe a sob.
“Charlotte, you were pronounced dead at 3:02am from a gunshot wound to the chest.” Taking a slow, sobering breath, the nurse tried to smile. “The bullet went through the right ventricle of your heart and severely damaged your left lung, rendering you unable to breathe. Your heart stopped, and after four attempts to resuscitate, we called it.”
Something slimy wound its way up my throat when she began to pace the room. “I… did all the paperwork. It took me two minutes. Your death certificate was signed, and your body was taken to the morgue to be prepped for transportation. Then I had my lunch. Tuna salad with a protein milkshake. I’m not a fan of the chocolate flavor.”
She shook her head. “Anyway, when I came back to you, you were awake inside your body bag.” Her voice was starting to break. “You were…um, alive, and asked me for apple soda.”
The nurse moved closer, and yet kept her distance.
I could feel myself moving back, panic writhing through me.
“So.” The nurse spoke calmly. “How the fuck are you still alive, Charlie?”
I think I passed out after that.
When I woke up again, my head a lot less heavier, the nurse was gone.
Slowly, my foggy brain began to find itself and connect dots.
My mouth was dry, full of cotton.
There was a sudden tightness, a sharp and cruel sting in my wrists.
Something sharp was protruding into my flesh, and no matter how many times I violently wrenched my arm, it was stuck. It didn't feel right to be able to breathe so easily.
I knew the second I woke that my Mom was dead.
Lily and PJ were dead, and it was like losing them all over again.
As clarity came over me, I found my voice, a strangled cry escaping my lips.
“Get it out.” I whispered in a shrill cry.
Tugging at the IV in my wrist, I tried to yank the needle from my skin.
“Get it out!” I shrieked, my gaze glued to the tiny spots of blood staining the insertion point.
I could see it again.
So much blood.
Mom was curled up on the floor, lying in slow spreading red that wouldn't stop, seeping across her beaded rug.
She was all over me, slick on my skin and caked in my fingernails.
I couldn't wash her off of me.
“You're okay, Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice came from my right, stabling me to reality.
The world started to move again, started to make sense again, when she cupped my cheeks and told me to breathe. When I opened my mouth to ask where my family were, she lightly shook her head and I swallowed my words. Aunt May handed me a glass of water, and I drained it in one gulp.
She told me I was a miracle.
Aunt May didn't say much, and when she did, she broke into sobs.
Her eyes were raw from crying, clinging onto me, her shuddery voice reassuring me that I was going to be okay.
She told me I would be living with her from now on, before wrapping me into a hug and leaving to get coffee.
Once my aunt was gone, another nurse came to prod my IV.
I tried to sleep, but the uncomfortable tightness of the needle sticking into my skin and the sterile white lights in my eyes made it impossible. I waited for grief to catch up with me, drowning me in a hollow oblivion I wouldn't be able to claw myself out of. But I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel angry.
I wanted to know why my family were dead.
I wanted to know why I was breathing, and their skin was ice cold.
Rotting.
The sudden image of maggots crawling up my brother’s nose sent me lurching into a sitting position, my stomach heaving. Reaching for my glass of water, it was empty. The sensation of throwing up felt familiar, almost comforting.
Mom was always with me when I was sick, holding my hair back and lulling my hysteria with reassuring murmurs.
I was frowning at the trash can by the door, my cotton candy brain trying to figure out if I would be able to make it in time, when a small voice drifted from the doorway, startling me.
“I don't want you to come live with us.”
My cousin was peeking through the door, hiding behind a shock of dark brown curls. Jude was the only brunette in our family. The rest of us were redheads.
I wasn't sure why he was dressed up like a ghost, draped in a white cloak that was way too big for him. Jude was a weird kid. His mother, and my auntie, had inherited the family house, so in his mind, that made him superior.
Jude made it clear he didn't like his cousins, refusing to let us play with him and banning us from family gatherings.
When the adults were drinking cocktails and losing their awareness, Jude ordered us around. The times we did play with him, our cousin showed us his spider collection, or the raccoon brain he kept in a jar. PJ was convinced our younger cousin was a serial killer. Several months earlier, he'd happily showed us the roadkill he'd been growing bacteria on under his bed.
Jude’s ‘experiments’ were worrying.
He stuffed mushrooms down my brother’s ears while he was sleeping, to, and I quote, “Recreate The Last Of Us.”
When Lily had a nosebleed during Thanksgiving dinner, Jude collected all her bloody tissues and refused to tell us where he'd put them, and what he had done with them. Fast-forward two months, and I found them under a nest of spiders. Jude was trying to adapt the spiders to be able to feed on human blood. I was surprised my cousin hadn't immediately demanded to see my siblings’ dead bodies for autopsy.
Jude stepped into the room, shuffling his feet.
“I'm sorry about Lily, PJ, and Aunt Ivy.” He mumbled, glaring at the floor tiles.
My cousin made no move to offer real sympathy, instead speaking to the floor.
“But I don't want you to come live with us.” Jude lifted his head, looking me dead in the eye. “I don't like you, Charlie. I want you to stay away.”
Before I could reply, he stepped back like I was diseased.
“You should be dead.” Jude grumbled.
He scowled at me, getting my age purposely wrong as usual before running off.
“Happy 68th birthday.”
I was six months older than him.
In Jude’s eyes, I was ready for retirement.
Still, though, my cousin was right.
I was stone cold dead, and then I was somehow alive.
Which was wrong.
Growing up, I realized Death was not so subtly attempting to fix his mistake.
It started small. I'd choke on things I wasn't supposed to choke on.
Chips.
Candy.
Ice cream.
Aunt May had to perform the heimlich manoeuvre when I choked on a piece of chicken. I thought I was just really unlucky, but then I locked myself in a freezer that didn't have a lock, and almost drowned in the local swimming pool, catching my foot in stray netting.
At the summer fair, Jude convinced me to try apple bobbing, only for my head to conveniently get stuck underwater.
It started to make sense.
I was supposed to die with my family that night, and death was out to get me.
Death started to get clever, changing his tactic. Instead of using everyday things to try to kill me, he sent reinforcements.
I turned twelve years old, and my aunt threw me a huge party, inviting all my classmates. Aunt May was rich, rich.
Mom never explained it, but our grandparents left everything to May.
The house was like a palace, a labyrinth of floors I was yet to explore, and two swimming pools.
I was in the kitchen cutting myself a slice of cake, when, out of nowhere, a dead boy came rushing at me with one of my aunt’s favorite kitchen knives.
A dead boy who I immediately recognised.
Wren Oliver.
Several years prior, he'd gone missing from his parents' yard. The town launched a full investigation, only to find his body in a ditch a week later.
So, Death had sent a footsoldier.
Hiding under a hooded sweatshirt, Wren appeared older, like he had grown up with me. But there was a startling vacancy in his expression that drew the breath from my lungs, freezing me in place. Wren’s death was announced as an accident, though his wounds suggested the opposite, dried blood smearing his right temple and a cavernous hole in his chest, his clothes painted, stained, in bright red, glued in sticky mounds clinging to him.
The boy’s eyes were wild, feral, like an animal.
His hair was longer, a mess of reddish curls matted to his forehead.
Lip split into a demented giggle.
I remember taking a slow step back, my gaze glued to the knife.
Wren’s fingers were wrapped around the handle like he knew exactly how to use it, how to plunge it into my heart and kill me for good. He moved like a predator, zero self awareness or recognition, only driven to kill me.
The dead boy prided himself in slow, intimidating steps, shoving me against the wall and dragging the blade of the knife down the curve of my throat.
His eyes confused me, writhing with hatred that was artificial, programmed into him as Death’s official soldier.
He didn't speak, only smiled, revelling in my fear. I could tell it thrilled him, my trembling hands, my sharp, heavy breaths I couldn't control. Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited to finally die.
I waited for the pain, and to lose my breath once again.
But death was playing with me.
When I opened my eyes, the dead boy was gone, and I was on my knees, screaming.
“Wren Oliver is trying to kill me!" I managed to hiss.
My aunt knelt in front of me, her expression crumpling.
*Sweetie,” She spoke softly, squeezing my hands. Aunt May was trying to appear calm for my sake, but I could tell she was scared, her frantic eyes searching mine. “Wren Oliver is dead.”
The kids surrounding me started to giggle, whispering among themselves.
In the corner of my eye, my cousin was leaning against the door, mid eye roll.
When my aunt was ushering kids back to the pool, Jude came to crouch in front of me. Ever since I started living with him, he'd made sure to keep his distance.
This time, though, Jude leaned uncomfortably close, a sparkle in his eyes I had never seen before. Inclining his head, he rocked back and forth on his heels, prodding me in the forehead.
“If you see the dead boy again, can you tell me?” His lips curved into a smile.
“I did see him.” I gritted out. “I’m not lying.”
Jude shrugged. “I never said you didn't,” he lowered his voice into a whisper, “I wanna know when you see him again.”
“Why?”
His lips curved into a smirk.
“So, I can catch him.”
My cousin got closer, his breath tickling my cheek.
“I seeeeeeee dead people.”
After that incident, death left me alone for a while.
I was fifteen, walking through the forest with a friend, catching fireflies in bell jars. Aunt May was lucky to live so close to the forest, the entrance just outside her back door. When we were littles, PJ would drag Lily and I down the trail to escape Jude’s weird experiments.
I decided to invite Jem Littlewood on a summer walk.
Jem was cute, but in a dorky way. He was chronically clumsy, and dressed like he'd been spat out of a John Hughes movie. We hiked all the way to the end of the river and had a picnic, watching the sun set over the horizon. I was having conflicting feelings for this guy.
Jem was obsessed with fireflies.
Though he seemed more interested in photographing them than me.
The guy couldn't seem to sit still, jumping to his feet to marvel at tiny specks of light dancing in the air.
“I'm just going to take photos!” Jem beamed, holding up his camera.
I had to bite back the urge to say, “Don't you have enough photos?”
I nodded, and he turned and sprinted back down the trail.
Before his footsteps ground to a sudden halt.
At first, I thought he was snapping polaroids.
When I got closer, though, blinking in the eerie dark, I caught something.
Bending down, I picked up a bell jar still spilling fireflies.
Further down the trail, Jem was lying crumpled in the dirt, his camera smashed to pieces next to him, blood running in thick rivulets down his temple. There he was. Leaning against a tree, his arms folded, was the ghost boy. Wren Oliver was growing up with me. Now, a teenager, and yet his face was carved into something else entirely, more of a monster, slight points to his ears and too-sharp teeth, eyes ignited.
Wren didn't look like a ghost boy anymore.
Death had dressed him in shackles of ivy, a crown of glass and bone forced onto his head, entangled in his curls. Death was torturing him.
Wren’s body was its canvas, and every time I got away, he was punished, painting his failures across scarred skin.
I should have been running for my life, but I was mesmerised by each symbol cruelly carved into his neck.
The boy did a slow head incline, like he couldn't believe I was standing in front of him.
His slow spreading smile caught me off guard.
I remembered how to run, stumbling over my feet.
But I couldn't move.
The burning hatred that death had filled him with, was stronger, hollowing him out completely. I managed two shaky steps, before I felt him, an unearthly force winding its way around my spine. This time, he didn't hesitate.
I watched his mouth move, a single curve of his upper lip that wrenched my body from my control, slamming me against a tree. There was something around my throat, choking the breath from my lungs, a thick fog spreading over my eyes.
Following his mouth curving into silent letters, I could feel my feet slowly leaving the ground, my legs dangling.
I was floating.
Hovering off of the ground, suspended by his words.
Through half lidded eyes, I caught the glint of a blade between his fist, but I couldn't move, couldn't scream.
He was drowning me, bleeding into my blood, spider webbing and expanding in my brain without moving a muscle.
Instead, the ghost boy stood silently, running his thumb down the teeth of his knife while he ripped my lungs apart.
It was like suffocating, sinking into that peaceful oblivion I met at eight years old.
This time, though, the darkness was starving.
“Charlie?”
My eyes found daylight, a scream clawing out of my mouth.
“Charlie, it's past curfew!”
Wren flinched, his stoic expression crumpling.
The dead boy’s lips moved again, this time in a curse.
Fuck.
“Charlotte!”
Staggering back, Wren’s eyes widened and the suffocating hold on me severed.
His head snapped in the direction my aunt was coming from.
“Charlie, answer me right now.”
He hesitated, his bare feet pivoting in the dirt, like he was considering finishing me off. Wren studied me with lazy eyes, sucking on his bottom lip. When my aunt's footsteps got louder, branches snapping under her shoes, something contorted in the boy’s face.
Fear.
I guessed the boy wasn't expecting other humans to intrude.
Wren fell over himself, shuffling on his hands and knees, before diving to his feet. When he turned and ran, I was released, slipping to the ground, trying and failing to draw in breath. I barely felt the impact, only a dull thudding pain. I could hear the ghost boy’s footsteps, his uneven, shuddery breaths as he catapulted into a run.
Under a late setting sun, I watched his dancing shadow disappear into the trees.
Mission unsuccessful, I guessed.
When I was fully conscious, Aunt May was checking over Jem, helping him sit up.
“Where did he go?” I managed to get out, scanning the darkness for Wren.
“He's okay, just concussed.” May whispered, dialling 911.
My aunt applied a dressing to Jem’s wound, ignoring the boy’s hisses.
“Keep still.” she murmured, smoothing his bandaid. “What happened, Charlotte?”
“She pushed me over.” Jem groaned, shuffling away from me. When my aunt told him to stay calm, he straightened up, leaning against the tree. “The psycho bitch tried to fucking kill me!”
When my aunt's gaze flicked to me, I shook my head.
“It was Wren Oliver.” I gritted, teetering on hysteria. I could tell she didn't believe me, but I couldn't stop myself.
I prodded at my throat, clawing for the indentations where his phantom fingers snaked around my neck, squeezing the breath from my lungs.
But there was nothing.
I could feel my mind starting to unravel. I nodded to my disgruntled classmate trying to dodge my aunt’s prodding.
“Ow, ow, ow! That stings!
“He knocked Jem out.” I managed. “Then he tried to kill me.”
Jem surprised me with a scoff. “You're seriously blaming your psychotic break on a dead kid?”
Aunt May pursed her lips, motioning for Jem to be quiet. Judging from her face, however, she agreed with the boy.
May forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Okay. Can you, uh, describe the boy to me, Charlotte?”
“He was wearing a crown,” I said, “And he looked my age.”
Aunt May cocked her head, and I saw real worry, like she was trying not to freak out. Jem made a snorting noise.
“I'm sorry, he was wearing a crown?”
“Yes!” I insisted, getting progressively more frustrated.
I tried to jump up, only for my aunt to gently lower me back down. “I know it sounds crazy, but death has sent Wren Oliver to kill me, just like my family. He tried to kill me when I was twelve, too!”
Jem let out a bitter laugh. “Your niece is a fucking wackadoodle.”
Aunt May’s eyes darkened. She grabbed my shoulders, her nails stabbing into my skin. “Charlie, I want you to listen to me, okay?” When my eyes found the rapidly darkening sky, my aunt forced me to look at her.
“Charlotte!”
She was as scared as me, her voice shuddering.
“Wren Oliver is dead.” My aunt said firmly, shaking me. Even then, though, I wasn't even looking at her. I was trying to find his ignited eyes lighting up the dark. “Wren died at eight years old in a terrible accident, and you can't keep using him as an excuse for your mental trauma.” There was something twitching in her expression I was trying to make sense of. When I risked a look at Jem, the boy was staring at me dazedly– like I really was crazy.
Aunt May pressed her face into my shoulder, and I could feel her tears soaking into my shirt. She was trying to hold it together, trying to understand.
“Charlie, I know you lost your family,” she whispered. “But you and Wren Oliver are not the same. You survived, and he didn't.” Her voice splintered.
“You need to come to terms with that, okay?”
When I didn't respond, she pinched my chin, forcing me to look at her.
“Charlotte.”
Aunt May’s voice turned cold. “I ignored this when you were a kid, but if you continue to use this poor boy as a coping mechanism, I will have no choice but to send you to a specialist.”
When Jem was taken away by paramedics, Aunt May held my hand, squeezing my fingers for dear life.
I caught her gaze scanning the tree's around us, delving into twisting oblivion. Every little noise sent her twisting around. She was looking for something.
“I'm going to get you help.” Aunt May said in a low murmur when we were back at the house. Jude was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging. I could feel his penetrating gaze burning into the back of my head.
Aunt May set a cup of cocoa on the table.
“No more fairytales.”
By the time I was eighteen, I had bitten three therapists.
They refused to believe that death was coming to reclaim my soul, and was using a dead boy to do his dirty work.
For my 16th birthday, I braced myself to come face to face with Wren Oliver’s ghost.
I wasn't even in town, staying at a friend's house.
But dead boys, and especially dead boys moulded into Death’s personal soldiers, could materialise anywhere.
I locked every door in the house, and taped up my friend’s window.
Nothing happened.
On my seventeenth birthday, I was sick in bed with gastritis.
Still no ghost boy.
Death seemed to have finally left me alone.
On my eighteenth birthday, I was stuffing books in my locker when my cousin popped up out of nowhere, scowling as usual. After an unexpected growth spurt and losing a tonne of baby fat, my cousin had scaled the high school hierarchy, swapping his weird experiments for a varsity jacket and experimenting with his sexuality.
The two of us had come to an unspoken truce.
I kept quiet about his spider collection to his popular friends, and he tolerated my existence until I left for college.
“Your surprise party is cancelled.”
Jude leaned against my locker, running a hand through thick dark hair tucked under a baseball cap. Jude never admitted it, but he was definitely embarrassed of being the odd one out.
My siblings may be dead, but they were still redheads.
I pulled off his cap with a smile, throwing it in his face. “Sure it is.”
My cousin’s eyes widened. He lost his slick bravado, grabbing for his cap.
“Hey!”
According to my cousin, my party was unexpectedly cancelled every year.
I wasn't sure if it was his weird superiority complex, or just plain jealousy, but it was getting exhausting.
Jude followed me down the hallway, matching my stride.
“Can you just not come home tonight?”
I quickened my pace. “It's only a party. I'm having some friends over, and no, we won't go anywhere near your room.”
“No, I mean.” Jude stepped in front of me, and for the first time in a while, he wasn't trying to hide disdain for me.
His dark eyes pinned me in place for a moment, the world around us coming to a halt. Sound bled away, and all I heard were his slow breaths. There was something there, an unexplainable twitch in his eyes and lips, that twisted my gut.
Jude stepped closer, his lip curling. He shoved me back, losing his facade.
“Stay the fuck away from the house tonight.” He said, and his voice, his tone, was enough to send shivers creeping down my spine. Jude had always hid behind a ten foot wall in his mind. It was jarring to see something in him finally start to splinter. Fuck. I thought.
This kid had serious Mommy issues.
I blinked, and the world resumed, kids pushing past us.
Jude seemed to catch himself, slipping back under his mask.
“I'm having friends over,” he rolled his eyes, “Your presence will ruin the vibe.”
“It's my birthday?”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Yes, I know. But–”
“I think you can deal with the attention off of you for one night, Jude.”
“Will Wren Oliver be there too?” Jem Littlewood hollered.
Jude didn't respond for a moment, his lip curling.
“Shut the fuck up.” He spat at Jem, who immediately backed down. With an audience this time, Jude forced an award winning smile. “Fine.” His lips split into a grin I knew he hated. My cousin clamped his hand on my shoulder, hard enough to hurt. I could feel his fingers pinching the material of my jacket. “Have it your way, dude.”
Jude backed away with a two fingered salute.
“Happy 78th birthday!”
In a sense, I wish I listened to my cousin.
My party was a success, sort of.
Four of us, a crate of beers, and no sign of my cousin.
I was mildly tipsy, sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling my legs in the water when my friend demanded more beers.
I was also hungry for cake, so I stumbled inside in search of the goods.
The house was dark, lit up in dazzling blue from the pool's lights reflecting through the windows. Aunt May was in her office on the ground floor, and Jude was getting high in his room. In my drunken state, I found myself marvelling my aunt's house, and how much of it was left unexplored.
For example, in the foyer, past the spiral staircase she’d had custom made, was an elevator I had never questioned.
There was a girl my age standing on the staircase.
She was frozen, mid run, dressed in ragged jeans and t-shirt.
Everything about her stuck out to me, bringing me to a sobering halt.
The girl reminded me of my sister– or at least, if my sister had ever grown up.
I wasn't sure if I was drunk or hallucinating.
Her flower crown was pretty…
Lily had grown wings.
I was slowly moving towards her, a sudden bang sounding from the kitchen.
The bang of something shattering on the floor.
Twisting around, I found myself gravitating towards warm golden light.
The first thing I saw was the refrigerator door hanging open, and someone, no, something, rooting around inside it.
Glued to the spot, I dazedly watched them grab milk, guzzling it down, and then soda, cracking open each can and sucking them dry, before carving their fingers into my birthday cake.
But I wasn't looking at the spillage of food seeping across the floor. Instead, my gaze found a crown of antlers, both human and animal bone entangled with dead flowers and human remains glued to a head of familiar matted brown curls. There was something sticking from battered and bruised flesh, twin gaping slits sliced through a torn shirt resembling glass wings that were not yet formed, reminding me of a butterfly.
Wings.
But not the wings I dreamed of as a kid. These things were unnatural mounds that both did and didn't make sense on a human boy. I could see the trauma of them slicing through his flesh, monstrous, looming things protruding from what was left of a human spine.
Human, and yet I couldn't call his beautifully grotesque face human.
Wren Oliver had grown up with me, now an adult.
Eighteen years old.
His clothes confused me, a single white shirt and shorts.
Wren’s feet were bare, battered and bruised, blood smearing my aunt's tiles.
Angel.
Death had turned his footsoldier, and my future killer, into an angel.
But there was nothing angelic about the dead boy, his body and mind sculpted and moulded into Death’s own.
The boy no longer resembled a human, feral eyes and a manic smile, choking down pieces of cake. His face had been contorted into a monster, gnashing teeth and sharp points in his ears, a sickly tinge to malnourished skin.
And that's when it hit me, watching him stuff himself with food.
Something slimy inched its way up my throat.
The boy didn't move. I don't even think he'd noticed me, gorging himself on anything he could get his hands on.
Chicken, raw bacon, leftover salad.
When he moved onto cupcakes, licking frosting from his fingers, I glimpsed markings on his arms, a language I didn't understand, carved into him.
His wrists were shackled, bound, in entangled iron and vine, iron that was ingrained into his skin, vines and flowers and ivy entangling his bones, that were part of him, polluting his blood. Slowly, my eyes found stab wounds splitting open his torso.
Raw flesh, where his skin had been torched, melting, and then merging, ripped apart and put back together over and over again.
I found his heart, the gaping cavern in his chest where it should be.
And it was.
Marked, carved, and branded with a symbol resembling an X.
Wren Oliver was not dead.
But, just like me, he should have been.
I remember saying his name, my voice slurred slightly.
I didn't drink that much, but I could barely coerce words, my head spinning.
Wren’s neck snapped towards me, his eyes narrowing with resentment I couldn't understand, hatred that seemed to puppeteer him. Slowly tilting his head, the boy’s lips split into a grin, eyes filled, polluted, with mania.
I could see where his lips had been stitched shut, and then ripped open.
“Hi.”
He held up his hand in an awkward wave.
When one of my friends stumbled into the kitchen, Wren reacted on impulse.
He picked up a knife from the counter, throwing it like a dart, straight through the guy’s throat.
Something shattered inside my mind.
Ignoring my friend bleeding out, Wren stumbled over himself, abandoning his feast. He took a single step towards me, backing me against the wall, coming so close, close enough for me to feel his very real breath grazing my cheeks. Just like when he was a kid, he traced the teeth of his blade down my throat. I wasn't expecting him to burst out laughing, trembling with hysteria.
His eyes were wild, feral and wrong, almost euphoric.
With what all I could only recognise as relief.
BANG.
I was barely aware of the gunshot.
The bullet went straight through his head, the winged boy hitting the ground.
Dead.
I saw the blood stemming around him in a halo before the bleeding pool faltered, seeping back inside his head.
Like rewinding a VCR.
Wren was dead, and then he was alive.
Wren’s body contorted, his chest inflating.
His gasp for air was painful, strangled, eyes opening wide.
Terrified.
“You fucking idiot.”
Jude’s voice sent me twisting around.
My cousin stood in the exact same robes he wore as a child.
The world tipped off kilter, and I was on my knees, then my stomach.
I sunk to the floor, my thoughts swimming.
Jude’s murmur followed me, creeping into the dark.
“I told you not to come home.”
I can't remember how long I was unconscious for.
When I woke, I was dressed in an evening gown, a dress that used to be my mother’s.
My vision cleared, and I found myself sitting in an unfamiliar room resembling an abandoned swimming hall.
The pool itself was empty, the bottom stained revealing scarlet.
There were symbols carved into each tile.
Like a game.
“Sit up straight, Charlotte.”
I was sitting at a banquet.
Jude was in front of me, sipping on wine.
He caught my eye for half a second before averting his gaze.
At the far end of the table sat my aunt May.
Kissing the rim of her glass, her smile was twisted.
“I've been waiting so long to give you your birthday presents, Charlotte. Your memories should be returning soon.”
“Mom.” Jude muttered, hiding behind his glass. “Calm down. You're embarrassing yourself.”
Ignoring my cousin, May tapped her glass with a fork, and in walked my birthday presents.
No, dragged.
By their hair.
Wren Oliver, the dead boy, was in fact my aunt's prisoner.
Behind him, was the girl who looked so much like Lily.
I think that's why my aunt chose her.
Aunt May cleared her throat.
“For a long time, our family has lived among creatures who live in the forest you played inside. In exchange for keeping this town safe, they only ask for small favors. Wayward children who disappear into the woods are good enough payment. Charlie, you and your siblings do not share our inheritance. Your mother never wanted fae children. She wanted you to be human.”
Aunt May’s smile faded.
“After losing my sister, and my niece and nephew, I made a deal to give my last surviving niece 100 years of life.”
Her words were white noise, my gaze glued to my birthday presents. I couldn't call them human anymore.
I couldn't call Wren human, when his face was so beautifully grotesque, painfully hypnotising.
The monstrous things sticking from twin slits in his back were supposed to be wings, except they looked wrong, cruelly protruding from his exposed spine. Under the influence of alcohol earlier, the girl made me smile.
Her wings, to me, looked like one of a real fairy.
In reality, they were torn and shredded apart, bigger than the girl herself.
When she dropped onto her stomach, she was dragged back to her feet, her knees buckling under the weight. Her tiara of flowers and bone looked pretty to me when I saw her on the stairs.
Now, though, I could see the pearly white of a human child's skull forced onto her head, dead flowers threaded through cavernous, gaping eye sockets.
The two of them were violently shoved into the empty pool.
“Jude. Please demonstrate, sweetheart.”
Jude stood, pulling out a gun, and aiming it at the winged girl.
BANG.
The girl’s body hit the tiles, her blood seeping across stained white.
“Now, of course, our king did not give you life for free.” May continued.
“The King demanded a debt, as well as two heirs to join him in his court once your hundred years were complete.”
Her lips quirked into a smile.
“The king is smart. If a child cannot be stolen from the human world, they can, however, be made, moulded and shaped from their human forms, skinned of their humanity through their suffering, leaving a hollowed out shell in the child's place.” She was speaking so casually, ignoring Wren’s whimpers.
“The conversion takes a while. 100 years to birth a fully blooded fae heir, who will lose their human memories, in preparation to join their new family.”
Jude shot Wren in the chest, his eyes empty.
This time, he dropped his weapon, using finger-guns instead.
“Bang.” He deadpanned.
Then the neck.
I watched Wren come back to life, and then die.
Over and over again.
I think at one point, he screamed and cried.
But not now.
He was their puppet on display, dancing for their entertainment.
Half lidded eyes drowned in oblivion found mine, and I understood his hatred.
Before he was shot again.
Stabbed.
Branded and burned, and ripped apart.
At some point, I screamed at them to stop. I couldn't breathe, slamming my hands over my ears and begging them.
Aunt May didn't listen, ordering for my hands to be tied down.
“The King required two human sacrifices to suffer in your place.” She concluded. “For one hundred years.”
Aunt May’s smile was suddenly sad, and she lifted her glass in a toast.
I was watching their blood trickle down each tile in the pool, like every death, every time they suffered, my body became progressively less human.
I felt disgusting. I wasn't supposed to be alive. Every single year of my life, every breath I had taken, was stolen.
Aunt May nodded at me, her lips forming a proud smile. She stood up, and was handed a sacrificial knife.
Climbing into the swimming pool herself, she strode over to Wren.
The boy slumped to the floor, trembling, his knees against his chest.
Aunt May grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head up, and sliced the blade across his throat.
His eyes flicked to me, and I swore he smiled.
Spots of red dotted yellowing tiles, a river trickling under my aunt's heels.
“Happy 78th birthday, Charlotte.”
Last night ended with me being locked in my room.
It's been almost 15 hours, and the door is still locked. Please help me. I'm fucking terrified of what my aunt is planning.
I can't stop shgajing. FycjbfucibFUCK
If she is telling the truth, I shouldn't be here, right??
And I can't stop thinking.
Is Wren Oliver trying to kill me, or himself?

This was originally posted by midesaka little over a year ago. I noticed since then that there was an update that never got included in the original post. Only found it myself today scrolling back. Figured people today would enjoy it. I also need to credit Direct-Caterpillar77 for linking it in the megathread which is how I stumbled upon this.
OOP is OBlondeOne. I am not OOP. Reminder do not message or contact them, or comment in the linked posts below.
I've taken the text from the Original BORU. The new update is after 🔴🔴🔴
trigger warnings: verbal abuse, gaslighting, drug use
Original BORU
OOP delivers donated clothing to displaced fire victims. Woman demands coat OOP is wearing instead, then claims OOP threw donated clothing in ditch.
I am NOT OP. Original post by in on Sunday, February 26, 2023, with updates as comments on original post through Saturday, March 4, 2023.
Some people... - Sunday, February 26, 2023
[NOTE: I have added a couple of clarifying words in brackets to reduce quoting.]
I'm part of a local donation group, so every now and then, I get asked to help with clothes donations. Someone passes away or downsizes, and I will help wash, fold, sort, and deliver the clothes to various free stores. Sometimes, if we are notified of someone in the community in need, we will deliver essentials like winter or kids clothing to their house. We're just a group within the community -there is no religious, political or ulterior motive. We just spread extra through the community as needed as discreetly as possible to help out. This particular situation just hurts my head, and I'm still trying to figure out how it escalated the way it did.
So a few days ago there was a fire in our community which left 3 families displaced. We collected what we could in the sizes they needed, and off we went.
We dont ask for anything in return other than knowing the families are a little better off. We always apologize and explain that while they may not be they styles they're accustomed to ( as donated clothing ) but at least it is clean and warm. If they had specific needs to let a member of the group know and we would do what we can. A lot of our collected items belonged to other families whose children outgrew the items. It's anonymous and it's a way for our more comfortable community members to help out others within the community with this. It's one thing I love about my community - people don't hesitate to help where needed.
I was given an address and head out as usual. Pull in, get the bags and coats to the door and knock.
After that... I'm not sure what to think. It started off as it usually does. There was a mother and 3 children, so I explain that there are 3 bags of clothing in the sizes submitted, and a box of age appropriate toys just like with the other families.
I thought I heard wrong when she said she preferred my coat and just said what?
She called me rude and told me again,' This stuff is OK, but I want the coat you're wearing '.
When I told her, "No, I'm sorry, but I just bought this coat she got angry and accused me of picking through donation bags for "the good stuff."
I've never run into this issue before. None of the group members are well off. In fact, that's why we do what we do. Because life is hard here and we believe in sharing what we have as a community. We collect good quality items from those with extra and distribute it freely to those that need it or have specific needs. Sometimes we all take items from our own closets if they're needed more elsewhere. Last year we raised funds to help purchase a wheelchair accessible vehicle for a family. The year before it was a young family whose matriarch was diagnosed with terminal cancer. This years cause is to build 4 'tiny homes' for the homeless in our community to use as needed. Our goal is to provide stability so they can successfully reintegrate during and after addiction rehabilitation. We all do what we can to try to help, basically. It's a hard world to feel alone in.
Now, my coat is expensive ( $250 ) but I've also saved gift cards for 2 years and anxiously watched for post-season sales before finally taking the plunge and got it for 75% off. Maybe I messed up by wearing it on this errand? I don't know. After I said no, this is my coat a second time, she started yelling at me.
I just left the bags on the doorstep and drove away.
Today I wake up to a slew of texts from the group asking me to explain why I refused to give the mother any winter coats, and why I left everything at the end of the driveway... allegedly in a ditch? They aren't questioning. Most are downright accusatory. Some are just borderline mean.
It's the kind of day where I feel like giving up on this making the world a better place thing.
I've been where these families are. And people helped me just like this. I know what it feels like to rely on others... so I do try to be compassionate and understanding without being condescending or pitying. I don't often talk about what I do because nobody needs to know what came from where, or who is getting what. It's just paying it forward. I do this because it's been done for me, and it's the right thing to do. It's that simple.
But after today... I don't even want to reply to anyone. It's not just that woman. It's the texts that are getting kinda nasty at this point. It's these people obviously talking about me behind my back. It's how quick they were to assume I must have done this.
I'm not sure if I want to do this anymore after all this. I've been part of this for 5 years and have never had a complaint before. I feel betrayed by people I thought were my friends. It just all feels gross, dramatic and depressing now, and that's now how this is supposed to feel.
===
I could understand if this was, like, a fancy fur coat or something.
This is literally just a rather plain looking long coat that happens to be super warm.
I don't get it.

It's only been an official group with a board for about 4 months. But we have been doing this for 5 years now as a project of mine and the current board president that gathered consiserable traction and volunteers/funding as time went on.
They so need policies in place. If only to protect the clients that use the service. But as a new board we are all just learning the official ropes and red tape as we go.
The one person I thought I could count on is currently the one insisting this happened as the client describes.
I'm just so confused.

We did need a board in this case as we are partially federally funded- the community pantry is, anyways.
It's a requirement. Unfortunately.

I've had 1 out of 5 [members of the charity group] text asking if I'm ok, and what happened. The rest seem to believe that I did this.
I don't know how to move on from this. Because the truth will come out eventually in a community this small. It always does.
The question now is do I want to be involved with people like this. I don't think I can trust them after this.
===

Maybe take a breather from the group. The way they treated you is horrible.

The issue is I can't avoid them either. I'm going to have to answer eventually, either via text or in person.
The longer I wait, the worse it will be. I know that. But I just don't want to deal with this either. Small community. The truth will come out eventually.
But it's now obvious that I can't trust these people. No matter what's said after this, the damage has been done.

Update:
As suggested, I did text them as a group in bullet form stating facts only. ( edit: sorry for formatting. Copied from text ,)
'

1. Items were carried to front door as per usual
2. Client requested my personal attire
3. Client accused me of theft from donation bags
4. Client verbally abused me
5. I left the following on Client's doorstep : ½ bag of women's clothing sizes m-l : 1+½ bag children's clothing sizes 3-8 : 1x bag of assorted linens & towels : 1x box of assorted children's toys and books

I am trying very hard to understand the context of some of the messages I've received about this, and am truly confused as to why anyone would think I would purposefully degrade a Client. You all know my history and reasons I participate.
As I feel I no longer have a place of trust within our group, I am formally resigning from my roles within the committee, and the (group)
I will, with your blessing, remain on the Helping Tree as a contact'
So far the replies are very interesting. They range from apologetic to accusatory to narcissistic. The most interesting one so far, I think, was not intended for me and insinuated that this was for the best. I can't believe how naive I've been.
There's an emergency meeting being scheduled for next week, as apparently you're not just allowed to resign mid-term from a board like this without a valid reason. Which I think I have.
The benefit of this is my accuser also has to give an official statement in the meeting minutes because ive resigned. Which I'm allowed to attend and comment on. Which adds validity ti my reasons for resigning. Would it be petty if I wore my coat again, or should I choose something older? Genuinely asking. I don't want to make things worse. I just want out to do my own thing.
Rumors are already starting and seem to be in my favor. Small towns are terrific/terrible for that. And I've just been texted asking me to withdraw my resignation ' for fear this may cause an irreparable rift in our charitable group'.
I have 8 months left to my current term as Secretary. A position that requires the trust of the board members to record accurate notes. Which I no longer feel I have. I don't want my character unfairly questioned again after I've worked so damn hard to build it up.
My resignation was intended to prevent drama and divide. It is doing the opposite.
What would you do? I feel like I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't.

Not allowed to resign? What are they going to do, ground you?

With a formal board, there are steps to take to remove a member of the core board ( pres, vice president, secretary, treasurer, committee heads).
Or so I'm being told. This may be a stall tactic. I'm going over the current bylaws and policies but it's small font and a hard read.

I'm surprised/touched by how many clients are defending me, but I think this is what is causing a lot of drama and distrust both within the organization and with those that use it. Which is exactly what I was trying to avoid by quietly resigning.
It just sucks, for lack of a better word. I feel like the religious have it wrong. It's not judge not lest ye be judged. It's just be judged these days.

Going forward, it needs to be mandatory that there be two delivery people on every delivery. No excuses. There will be people in the future that are in dire need of your group's services. Please do not let that woman's behavior stop you from helping those who appreciate your work. And bonus if the other helper has a phone's camera on . You have documentation, and they grow manners if they didn't already have them. Has anyone gone by the house again to see if there was really a ditch??

Oh my...
My dash cam! I'm going to check it.
Thank you! Thank you so much!

No audio. No clear AHA! moment.
But it does show enough.
It shows me pulling in, and that there's nothing on the porch. It shows the car moving slightly as I take the bags out, and it does show a bag being deposited on the porch as well as at least 2 coats/snowsuits.
As I back out you can almost see the whole porch. You do see her outside but the definition isn't good enough to see her face or what she's doing.
I'm also still not sure what proof-if any-has been submitted by my accuser(s).
Who, I'm told, has been dropped from the Helping Tree community pantry registry.
I'm actually starting to get very angry. That woman messed up. But she has 3 kids under her care that deserve to eat and be clothed. This is going way too far.

Update:
Ungrateful client is board presidents former sister in law.
And yes, they're still friendly.
Ah. Small towns... 🤷‍♀️
I can't wait for next week...

I KNEW IT! This whole fiasco smelled strongly of being COMPLETELY orchestrated! Typical small town intrigue and power struggle when there's only ONE that's struggling for the power! President wants you kicked out because you're a CO-FOUNDER and SHE wants to take ALL the accolades and applause from the community! Go get your reputation back, sweet Lady! You ARE needed and necessary to the community, if you weren't, you wouldn't have been doing this charitable work for FIVE years! FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!!!

I'm trying to figure out how to walk away, but still acknowledge what's going on without hurting the board-they do good work that's needed. I can't torpedo that no matter how I feel.
And that's the problem.
I think I'm going to ask for an official board inquest -which is eithin my rights according to our by-laws - before I go. I can't see someone doing this over reputation or clout. I certainly hope not, anyways. But if the inquest finds this was planned ( who tf does this? ) I would have grounds to have the board President removed. It's not pettiness- I don't want to see this done to someone else.
But you're right. Something stinks here and it gets worse by the day. I'm going to look into [comment ends here]

I'm going to submit a statement to the board, with footage from my dash cam that shows at least 1 bag clearly on the porch.
Unfortunately, I forgot to itemize the coat/3 snowsuits & boots dropped off in my group text, so I do have to justify that one somehow.
I also just heard they dropped off another 3 bags to the woman, including winter gear. I think it's an attempt at damage control, but I also think they're moving in the wrong direction, given what I'm hearing from many.
If she tries to sell the excess, like many seem to think she will, this will all come to a head so much faster. Either way, I'm ironically the least invested in this around here at this point.
Small town drama ...

I admit, looking back, it is odd that I was given this client when others were closer. I had thought it may be because of scheduling conflicts but I'm finding that's not the case either
Interestingly, there are rumors going around that this was staged. I'm trying not to pay attention to rumors without proof but I'm starting to wonder....
I hate this with a passion. It all seems so damn stupid.
I'm still so confused. The meeting has been scheduled for Wednesday night ( 2 days time ).
I haven't decided if I'm going yet. I don't want this drama to derail what has been a good thing so far.
I may just submit my statement and resignation and leave it at that. Popular opinion is on my side so why make it worse?

I agree with this so much!! People have had to do that here in my town too. We have small groups that helps out the community that aren't in any organization or charitable groups, just themselves giving back. We had specific residents in town that were running their mouth and taking "donations" and selling them for money. Eventually these residents were burning through different community groups and established organizations and they would complain about each one saying they weren't helping and deliberately causing trouble. These groups did post on Facebook telling their sides of the situation, just like you suggested. Well those residents kept doing this and blaming people for not helping, blah blah blah. It didn't take long for the rest of the town to realize that these specific residents were pulling these scams and they were booted out of all the community groups in town. Sometimes you do have to stand up and tell your side to the community. Eventually the truth will come out.

You are brilliant!
After reading this I started thinking about other groups that this woman may have been a part of at her previous location.
Well. WELL.
I now have 4 witnesses to past behavior willing to come with me Wednesday from 3! groups that have been similarly burned by this woman.
The question is.. do I want to take it that far?
I do- and I don't.
I feel this has taken up far more valuable time, and it's taking away from the original purpose of the group.
I'm also being asked to submit my name for board president by the majority of the board for the upcoming term. So I'm being supported ( now ).
I still don't trust any of them to have my back should anything happen. And if I replace the Pres shit will happen.

[Comment was deleted, but basically said, "Wear your coat to the meeting, and bring the receipt for it!"]

I don't think I need to bring the receipt. They are all aware of when I got my coat, and what I paid for it.
I'm being told there are 2 board members who seem to think I'm blowing this out of proportion ( Pres and Treasurer ) and should just take the reprimand ' maturely'.
When ( if ) I go in Wednesday I'm just going to tell then simply that I feel I no longer have the trust required for my appointed position, and am respectfully resigning to prevent further drama.
Pass in my official resignation and walk away.
I've also discovered the emergency meeting is to consider 3 resignations-not just mine.

OP, defend yourself!!! There’s something fishy about this. Also, call CPS (anonymously?) and report her for being unstable.

No. I won't be petty and call CPS
Those kids don't deserve to be dragged into this, too.
===

Maybe you should start your own group with people you can trust?

I've actually been thinking of a fringe group for more rural locations that don't fall.within community boundaries.
This may just be divine intervention in disguise.

Update. The meeting.
My apologies This will be long.
As I parked, there were a couple that stopped to say hi, but the majority of the board did not acknowledge me. My accuser though.. she had a great laugh at my expense, and literally taunted me in front of the others on the way in. 'ooh here for more, are you? Guess you didn't get enough of me yet' and blows me a kiss.
She showed up with the Pres. I feel that's relevant. Especially seeming as she ran home.
The meeting started at 6 pm. I was not allowed to sit at the table until the issue was brought up... I sat, alone, for over 45 minutes. Finally someone peeked outside at 6:53 ( to see if I was still there? ) and called me in.
My accuser wasn't there. I say down and the first thing said to me was ' well. We may have made a mistake' followed by this big flowery apology that stank of bullshit and was gaslit better than a propane stove.
'You know that when a complaint comes in, we have to investigate it'
At that point I just exploded. Like... I didn't even talk to my kids like that when they were babies. It was the kind of tone you have when talking to the very simplest of minds.
I told them there's a massive difference between investigating and outright accusing, and that I didn't appreciate how their ineptitude at leading a board nearly derailed the whole organization and just put a really bad light on what we were doing. She says ' by unanimous decision, we've decided not to accept your resignation. Welcome back'
I've likely been this confused before, but I don't remember when. I was expecting this to be much harder. I had a factual speech ready and everything. Walked in and it was just 'we oopsied, oh well teehee'
'Well that's unfortunate that you refuse to accept it, because it's given and I'm not rescinding it. I'm out. And it seems you all know exactly why. For those who have reached out to me- I'll consider your offer of leading this board, but at this time, I'm not comfortable with the lack of trust and transparency I'm seeing. ' and left.
My phone has been blowing up all night. I meant to update immediately but it just kept ringing and tinging. I don't even know how so many found out ( good old gossip is my guess ) but I had over 30 calls and just as many texts/social media messages.
So. What hspprned while i was waiting outside.
My accuser decided to get on something pre-meeting. Literally acted like a wild animal at one point. I'm told it was so bad that the police and Child Protection Services were called by 4 of 5 ladies present, and when told they were called, my accuser took off running home. That's a whole 'nother story. The kids are now safe, I'm told. There's that.
The versions I'm hearing are surprisingly similar, for once. So I'm going to tell you the events as I was told.
Pres' husband is apparently an addict. Who gets his stash from the sis in law/accuser. I'm not clear on the details but I'm told blackmail was involved. Common word says she threatened to spill the beans on hubby. You know how it goes. Get hurt, get prescription, get hooked, get cheaper street drugs because they're cheaper and no doctor regulates them/questions your dose. There's a rumor he is also sleeping with sustained in law but this is not confirmed... but has been going around for the better part of a year now. Maybe I should start listening to more rumors because I had no idea.
Accuser started off normal, if ' twitchy'. She went to the washroom and shit allegedly went sideways not long after she came out. At one point she was laying on the floor, ' slithering and grunting' like an animal'. I wish I could have seen it, but kinda glad I didn't.
When Accuser left, it swayed the remaining 2 votes my way. There was a discussion on how to ' handle' me where the Pres just said she'll follow the board on the vote after they shot down her suggestion that the complaint still be addressed. The way she glared at me when I came in ( yes, wearing my coat! ) tells me she was not happy about it either.
The vote was unanimous to keep me. I did not wish to stay after all that.
Tomorrow they have an open board meeting to tell people what happened, as transparency is ironically a promise we made to the community so they know exactly who and what they're supporting. I won't be there. But a lot of angry and confused people will be. I'm glad I'll be missing it, but I have a feeling I'll hear all about it. I'm told there will be some calling for Pres' resignation. We shall see, I guess.
I started this feeling lower than low. Tonight I'm surrounded by positivity and I feel GOOD about this decision. Is this Karma? It feels like Karma.
Steps are already being taken to form what we will call The Fringe Farm. We will collect fresh farm goods donated by local farmers and deliver to homes that need a little extra, focusing on those that live between communities and people new to rural life. Eventually I hope to offer clothing and household goods, but I need to find a source outside the community so I'm not taking from the original group.
I also have a preliminary board. Comprised of 3 of 5 members of the original board haha
I've told then they have to finish their term at the group (because they do damn good work, and it's not fair to those that need them to just walk away-hypocritical? Msybe. But i refuse to torpedo the group ). 2 still submitted resignations because they're just floored by that last meeting. Theirs was depending upon mine, so their exit meetings are being scheduled for next week. Because they no longer have a secretary to record minutes I'm being asked to. I'm also being asked to submit my name for Pres should the current one agree to resign.
I haven't decided if I will. I feel that will come across as petty, and tbh it's no longer my business.
Thank you for the encouragement. I'm not sure if I would have had the courage to attend if not for the overwhelming kindness and support shown here. By strangers. * shakes head*. You have no idea how much this meant to me when I needed it.
Thank you.

Update #2.
The open meeting was a shitshow, I'm told.
Pres was called to resign. Refused.
So the board resigned. The group is now being led by the Pres and that's it. So it's essentially dead. You need minimum 3 board members to continue as a registered charity/nonprofit. Nobody ( out of approx 50 ppl ) raised a hand when asked if they wanted to join.
The Fringe Farm, by comparison, has more volunteers than we can organize. This is the group started after you lovely folks helped me decide staying wasn't worth the trouble.
I have mixed feelings over this. One.. it's nice to feel validated. The other... I really don't like how this went down for too many reasons to count.
Our first task as a new org?
Writing an iron clad policy everyone agrees with. Including specific steps to collect, file and address complaints or concerns.
Reminder - I am not the original poster.
🔴🔴🔴
Some People... ( update 2 ) Posted March 28th 2023
Update #2
The Aftermath
It's been... interesting.
The old group has dissolved. Nobody wanted to work with the pres anymore after all that. They held an emergency meeting to try to figure out why most of the board submitted their resignations and it was a shitshow of Pres accusing the remaining board members of conspiring against her, which caused the last remaining board members to also resign over time.
My new board ( Fringe Farm ) is thriving. We've taken over collection and distribution in our area and 2 others as we've merged with 2 other small groups to tap more resources.
Imagine my shock and surprise when the original offender called my Treasurer and asked to be put on the list... of course we did help her but we took the Secretary's minivan and all 7 of us went as a group. When we got there it was the former Pres husband that answered the door.
Our first task was to have an ironclad board policy that states anyone accused of wrongdoing will be spoken to privately by the pres and vice pres ( neither are me-i prefer to work behind the scenes ) prior to anything else.
I'm hearing rumors that the former board pres (P) isn't doing well. When the shit hit the fan her husband left her for sis in law and they've been ' methed up ' ever since.
I honestly feel bad for her. They have no kids and now it's just her... we are having a meeting next week and I believe we are going to invite P onto our board in a non-authority role. After hearing everything that went down afterwards... she's had to get a job and they're currently trying to sell their house amid divorce proceedings so I guess the rumor he was getting a little more than drugs from sis in law was accurate after all. Rumors say P is in massive debt thanks to her husband addiction. I don't think she should have to go through it all alone. I also think her situation was causing her an immense amount of stress and that's why everything happened as it did. She knows she messed up. There's no need to rubbing salt in her wounds.
Reflection:
This has been a very eye opening experience into how our personal lives can seriously affect our moods and actions, I think.
We never really know what someone else is going through, and why they behave the way they do. Part of me wishes I knew so I could have handled it better on my end. Part of me is still raging/hurt at how it all went down.
Hurt people hurt people. It's sad but so very true.
Original post : https://www.reddit.com/EntitledPeople/comments/11cmv5l/some_people/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Update #1 : https://www.reddit.com/EntitledPeople/comments/124id5some_people_updates/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
Some additional comments

You are very kind to want to help someone who tried to ruin your reputation. If you ask her to join your new organization, this should be contingent on a very serious conversation about a lot of subjects. Her husband left her for a family member and drugs, and that's pretty fucked up and awful. However, that doesn't give her an excuse to take it out on someone who wasn't even remotely involved. If this kind of behavior is out of character for her, then sure, have the discussion. If this is how she always is, save yourself a major headache and just let her go. As for the SIL, she should be put on some kind of a list. Stop helping her.

OOP:
Sis in law is not being helped by our group, but I did refer her to another that has not had dealings with her yet, and gave them a heads up that this person needs help but is unstable due to 'current life choices'. She had kids who are blameless in all this that don't deserve to be left out, should she get them back.
I think I forgot to mention that she temporarily lost her kids over her animilistic outburst at the meeting? Too many witnesses and too many complaints I guess. And as her and P's husband are blowing through cash like theres no tomorrow on drugs its unlikely to resolve itself anytime soon.
( and yes, its been confirmed that at least 1 of the 3 children are P's husbands, possibly 2 )
As for P... I feel for her. I really do think all of this was a desperate control tactic because she had none in her personal life. I get it.. I think. My life, from the outside, looks perfect. Good kids, great partner, great and satisfying job, decent home & car ... and people ( seem to ) like me.
I don't want her left alone. Depression is a terrible thing, and it makes no sense to help a community while ignoring someone within it that's obviously not ok.
I will definitly proceed with caution in case P has not learned her lesson but leaving her out feels wrong.

Please forgive me for being incredibly late to these posts - I’ve just read the whole saga through (twice!) as it takes me back to a former life where my role included managing volunteers and ah, the memories this brings back! These kind of voluntary groups do amazing work (and you sound like a truly fantastic individual, OP) but it can get so messy and so cliquey and people can become very protective of their little fiefdoms. These groups are fantastic when all is going well, but once things start going wrong it can all fall apart incredibly quickly. The only way round it (as you’re doing) is to have robust and even-handed policies in place and stick to them. I know you’re not doing this for praise or thanks, but I do think you should recognise your own value and allow yourself at the very least a tiny pat on the back, not because of this situation per se, but because the speed with which you’ve established your new group and how quickly your old group fell apart without you indicates what an effective and impactful leader you are. Even if you don’t see yourself that way, it’s clearly how your community does.

OOP:
We offered one-time temporary help. Our unofficial misdion is 'we don't refuse anyone because we don't know their story'.
I also think many of our volunteers were curious/nosy and that's why we've been able to have such a large group so quickly. Sadly, I'm well aware that some help just for the gossip and we haven't been operational long enough to root those out yet to divert to positions where they can't collect potentially harmful gossip.
The second request she made ( the very next week... making her total 3x requests for clothing & food over 3 weeks just over our 2 groups ) was passed on to another group as nobody wanted to get involved, and I'm not allowed to get involved on my own ( our by-law to prevent drama: 'Once a conflict has been reported the accused is not to have any involvement with the donation or distribution of goods to the accuser.' This also serves to protect our volunteers from frivolous accusations or personal vendettas. )
REMINDER: Do not comment in posts linked here. It is a violation of Rule 7

Let me start by saying I'm a very sexual person. I've been sexually assaulted at 13, pulled through the ringer by my misogynistic fathenarcissistic mothelegalistic grandmother and Baptist school at that age. I went through a purity ceremony so people would stop judging me by the oral sex I was groomed and coerced into engaging in with that older man. I saved myself for marriage, and have held myself to the highest standards of perfection ever since. I would no longer be compared to "rotten apples at the bottom of the tree", a used napkin, etc.
Now - since I'm talking to procreative Christians and I feel the need to extensively defend my stance, here are my reasons I've never wanted to have children:
1. I am autistic. The smells and sounds surrounding children overstimulates me to the point of having meltdowns. I was even afraid of other children when I was a child myself, and was friends with mostly adults/older people (hence making me a prime target for SA). I was even kind of scared/disinterested in baby dolls as a child. I remember I had a Barbie doll and my grandma said, "She's trying to tell you 'Mommy, I'm cold' " and I was taken aback and disgusted and thought "I'm not her mother." When there are children at a store, I have to go into another aisle. Their screaming, their crying, their bodily functions - it's overwhelming. Even when I'm around my nieces I do not let them touch me and I have to wear noise cancelling earbuds so I can bear the situation as long as possible. When I was asked to babysit as a teenager, I had meltdowns from being overstimulated and needed help from someone else and was never asked to do it again. My husband, also ADHD, is overstimulated by children and needs breaks very often.
2. My husband and I both have emetophobia. This is one of the ways we bonded before our first date! He's kept a running log of exposures to sickness/norovirus/food poisoning since he was a little boy and has foods he won't eat due to trauma associated with vomiting. When I was about 2 years old, my dad said that I was in a high chair next to another child who coughed and I started panicking and squirming yelling "He's gonna barf! He's gonna barf!" I remember being 4 and whenever I'd watch a movie I'd ask my parents if it was a "puking movie". I remember each time I've ever vomited in my life and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't traumatic. My husband can't even clean up our cats' hairballs - he gags and has to leave the room. Thankfully I don't have this issue.
3. I have childhood trauma. My dad hated women. My mom hated my dad and was a narcissist. I was a marital rape baby. She didn't want kids. She got drunk and my dad, wanting children, saw that as an opportunity. I was supposed to be aborted but she was convicted and didn't do it and everyone celebrated it. She's told me her entire life how much she hates sex but it was worth it because she had someone who had to love her no matter what. I could go on and on but let's say she was emotionally a teenager and I spent most of my life raising her, coddling her, and guiding her through her divorce from my father. My mom didn't deal with me being neurodivergent well and saw me as an inconvenience when I had my needs. This deeply hurt me. With how overstimulated I get around children and physically am less tolerant of it than her, I'd hate to pass this trauma on.
4. I have struggles with food/body dysmorphia. Being autistic makes me socially inept. The only connections I've been successful at making are due to "pretty privilege". I hate to admit this and my father thinks I'm vain because I'm a woman and it's "in my nature". I worked as a personal trainer after dealing with an eating disorder for 14 years. I've had tremendous amounts of body shaming and I associate taking care of my body with taking care of my temple. I train hard. I have a strict diet. I will age, yes, but due to my genetics I don't carry weight well and I feel disgusting AND weird instead of just weird when I'm fat. My husband and I even met because he's attracted to thin women. When I was 14, my mom actually thought I was ugly because of my hair, teeth and weight. That stopped when I lost 40 pounds. My Christian school made me wear men's clothing because I was "blessed" (according to a teacher who made this rule while staring at my breasts). I stopped having these restrictions when I lost weight.
5. I cannot deal physically with pregnancy. I have some form of endometriosis and I've been to the ER multiple times for the shooting, stabbing pains that doctors have always said was "normal" and have never believed me. Going on birth control allowed me to hold down a job that I didn't have to double over in pain at, allowed me to not have to skip class due to feeling like I was going to meet God if it got any worse. I take my pills continuously and haven't had a period in over a year and I've never felt better. I also have blood pressure/blood sugar issues and faint often, and need to adhere to a rather strict diet so I don't faint. The unpredictability of children and having to sanitize my food environment whenever their dirty hands come into play would honestly have me fainting once a week.
6. We're not financially capable. We're in debt. I work a full time job and a side gig resulting in 50-60 hour work weeks just to stay afloat. With how rent and food costs are rising, I don't see how this is possible to do alongside me having to cut down those hours to deal with pregnancy, post-partum issues, etc.
Now, it's easy for all Chrsitians to tell me I can pray this away and get over it. Friends, I've tried. I've been on 4 different antidepressants. I've been in therapy most of my life. I've self-harmed all of my teenage years and have tried to "not think about myself" and be a therapist/caretaker for everyone else which led to further burn out. I've tried to be normal as much as I can but my oddities just spring up. It's been like this for almost 30 years and I don't know how to stop it short of a barbaric lobotomy.
I feel shame having sex for pleasure. I've been in a sex positive community of women online for a while and am finding myself LOVING having sex. But I feel like I'm sinning, fornicating even - for not being open to procreation. Even though I take pregnancy tests each month, test my husband's vasectomy annually (8 clear tests thus far after 6 years), use ovulation monitoring strips each time I have sex (and 4 subsequent days after), take birth control continuously and wi-fi monitor the temperature/humidity of where my pills are stored, I still feel like I'm walking around with a target on my back for God to hurt me. I'm actively looking into a bilateral salpingectomy because of the sheer dysphoria I feel with the fact that my body is capable of such horrors. I'd honestly rather lose a limb than endure pregnancy.
I know God isn't above creating people for holiness over happiness and using them at their detriment for how he sees fit (e.g, Job, Judas, etc.). The curse of women is to suffer misogynistic rule, to endure pain in childbirth, to give in to her husband's sexual desire with a lowered ability to enjoy the process, and to be silenced and resigned to a role of obedience. Who am I to try to skirt God's will? He's righteous, he has the power to hurt me, he knows me, and it's terrifying. God will do with me what he will, and it's up to me to praise him from my second-class citizenship in society. God set it up - he created Satan knowing he was evil. He put satan in the garden alongside tempting fruit with his (at the time) perfect creation, knowing the fall of mankind. Then, he placed the curse on Eve for being tempted and giving in to what looked like something that would bring her pleasure and comfort. He put me in a marriage where I'd want to have sex. I am tempted to. Why would he not curse with me with what would hut me most should I give in? Sex feels sinful. But it feels good (obviously). I did everything right but I feel that the goalpost has moved due to the aforementioned issue. When you're a Christian woman, you have 2 ways to have sex:

1. A fornicating whore who has sex outside of marriage.
2. A God-honoring wife who is looking to please her husband and start a family.

I have sex and I'm met with so much guilt because we are not open to having children. I have a suicide plan (my father is OK with this and has even said that he wouldn't "rather have a baby than me" because he is so against abortion) should I ever get pregnant because abortion is out of the cards. Intentional miscarriage is possible but I feel that God would punish me through more insidious ways should I go this or the abortion route. Logically, prevention of the issue altogether is the best issue. This paragraph should also tell you that I would not raise a child well or even trust myself not to become the next Andrea Yates as a result of post-partum mental issues. I am relatively stable now, but I know I could not handle this.
Yes, before anyone asks I am seeing a therapist. But due to financial restrictions I can only attend twice per month. So if you reply and you're going to give me that "go to therapy" cop-out, please refrain from giving me a notification to check.

“And in that moment, right when the Dark Lord was gloating about the weakness in heroes hearts, I charged up from behind him and cracked his head in with my war hammer! Crumpled like a cloak.”
“One and done?”
“One and done!” Thorin confirmed.
“HA! Classic boy!” One of the older heroes slapped his knee as he said it and the table broke out into cheers. The tavern had already been rancorous, and it wasn’t every night someone came back from saving another world.
“Good Ol’ fashioned hubris,” Thorin held up his stein, “To HUBRIS! May our enemies have it!”
“And we only have what we deserve!” The barkeep called from across the room.
“Aye! And get my friends another round! All this gold from that world is weighing me down!” Thorin pushed out from the table and patted the old-hand he’d been talking to on the back. He had a lot of people to visit tonight. It’d been a while since he’d been back at The Valhalla.
Thorin approached the bar, and the Barkeep turned their attention away from their conversation and toward the man ordering the next round of drinks. “Lookin’ for something cheap, I assume.”
“Something hard if you have enough, but don’t leave me beggin’ on the street.”
“You can sleep under one of the tables instead.”
“How’d you know my favorite place to wake up in the morning?”
“You talk in your sleep Thorin, I’ll save a pillow for you under table three.” The bartender added, before walking away to prepare the drinks. Once he was out of sight, or at least not staring at Thorin, the hero softened for a moment.
Coming back to the Valhalla was always a joy, but a bittersweet one. These heroes all went out into other worlds, getting summoned across space and time to stop calamity after calamity. It was the greatest profession someone could ask for, but Thorin couldn’t help but miss parts of the world he went to save.
He’d lived there for years, after all.
The bartender served Thorin first, exchanging another set of jabs before beginning to distribute the round. The cheers of free drinks added to the cacophony, snuggling in with bard songs, tall tales and gambling debts. Thorin considered the drink. There had been one back in Halensya, they called it Dragonglass. It’d burned in such an interesting way. He’d need to figure out the recipe, if it was something they could make in The Valhalla.
“I know that expression,” a woman said as she leaned backward against the bar to join Thorin. “Feelin’ homesick for a place you’re not from?”
“Happens a bit every time, right?”
“To every one of us,” she nodded along with what he’d said. Kalena was an old hand in The Valhalla, a talented sorceress who’d saved more realms than Thorin’d seen. She always strode around the bar like a mobile rainbow, covered in colourful trinkets and fashions from the lands she’d rescued from darkness. “Got a question about your story if you’ll lend an ear.”
“I got two for a reason.”
“Thank ya kindly,”-Kalena accepted her drink from the passing barkeep- “In your story, you mentioned a maiden. What happened to her?”
“Oh, Aerenae?” Thorin suggested.
“Your story, not mine. Don’t pretend you don’t know the name.”
“Yeah, Aerenae.”
“What happened with her? You talked about her at the start and then never told us how it wrapped up.”
“Eh,” Thorin grunted. He took a drink of the near-toxic swill he’d ordered for the bar instead of giving a proper answer.
“Well, consider my curiosity satiated.” Kalena rolled her eyes as she said it. “Don’t wanna give the gory details. I get it. Just thought she was critical.”
“She said no.”
There was a pause. Certainly not in the bar, but in this conversation.
“Pardon?” was how Kalena broke it.
“She said no.”
“To a night with you?” she clarified. “Ah, well. Happens to the best of us. Can’t find the best fling on every plane an--“
“I asked her back to The Valhalla with me.”
Another pause in the conversation. This time it was Kalena waiting until the bar was loud enough to cover their voices again. “You asked her back?”
“And she said no.”
“That was it?”
“She said no,” Thorin reiterated. “Didn’t wanna leave her kingdom. Told me she couldn’t. Not after everything that happened.”
“Did you tell her we save kingdoms all the time? Worlds even?”
“She knew where I was from, Kalena,” Thorin sighed, “and she said no. Now if you don’t mind. I’m trying to have fun drinking about everythin’ else so I don’t ruin a lifetime thinking about it.”
“Thorin.”
“She said no, that was the end of it.”
“Yeah, of course,” Kalena broke her casual backward lean against the bar, turning to match Thorin’s hunched posture. Her multicolour bangles jingled as she fell into the conversation again. “But you’re asking a girl back to the Valhalla. I’m just wondering…“
“I’m not gonna tell her everything she told me. She had her reasons and—”
“Thorin, what the fuck are you doing here?” Kalena cut him off. It wasn’t like he was making the right argument. “You offered this Aerenae your one invite, and when she said no, you just left?”
“What was I supposed to do? World was saved. She said no.”
“Stay. You stay there, you dumbass. Send back your medallion and we’ll find another hero. Gods.”
Thorin shot up. What the hell was he doing back here? He’d saved a hundred worlds and nobody had ever tempted his invitation out of him. Now he was just going to... “I need to talk to Odin.”
“Yeah, you do,” Kalena rolled her eyes as Thorin pushed off from the bar and sprinted toward the door. The bar fell silent as he ran.
Then. Once the door was closed, the Old Hand Thorin’d expounded his adventures to spoke up. “He going after that Aerenae girl?”
“Yessir!” Kalena confirmed, “He’s going back!”
“GOOD MAN!”
The bar broke into cheers. Another hero found their deserved fate, and this one had been obvious to anyone who’d heard Thorin’s story.

DAY: MAY 10, 2024

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• 5-10-2024HOW INCENTIVES COULD BETTER TREAT STIMULANT USE DISORDER
• 5-10-2024RESEARCH TEAM INTRODUCES NEW TOOL TO BOOST BATTLE AGAINST CHILDHOOD UNDERNUTRITION
• 5-10-2024STUDY FINDS POOR MUSCLE HEALTH IS COMMON IN PEOPLE LIVING WITH OBESITY, INCREASES RISK OF EARLY DEATH
• 5-10-2024STRESS HORMONE DURING PREGNANCY LINKED TO IQ IN CHILDREN
• 5-10-2024CHRONIC STRESS DURING ADOLESCENCE MAY REDUCE FERTILITY IN ADULTHOOD
• 5-10-2024LATE-STAGE STUDY FINDS MENOPAUSE DRUG FEZOLINETANT SAFELY REDUCES HOT FLUSHES FOR ALMOST SIX MONTHS
• 5-10-2024STATES WITH ABORTION BANS SAW GREATER DROPS IN MEDICAL SCHOOL GRADUATES APPLYING FOR RESIDENCIES
• 5-10-2024PANDEMIC AGREEMENT TALKS NEAR END WITH DEAL ELUSIVE
• 5-10-2024NEW RESEARCH TRACES THE SPREAD OF HIV IN AND FROM INDONESIA
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• 5-10-2024FRENCH, US DRUG FIRMS TEAM UP FOR COVID-FLU SHOT
• 5-10-2024FLICKER STIMULATION SHINES IN CLINICAL TRIAL FOR EPILEPSY
• 5-10-2024ANALYSIS REVEALS NEW INSIGHTS INTO GLOBAL SURGE OF STREP A INFECTIONS
• 5-10-2024USING MRI, ENGINEERS HAVE FOUND A WAY TO DETECT LIGHT DEEP IN THE BRAIN
• 5-10-2024UNOBTRUSIVE, IMPLANTABLE DEVICE COULD DEEPEN OUR UNDERSTANDING OF BEHAVIORAL RESPONSES
• 5-10-2024PSYCHOLOGICAL THERAPY SHOWS PROMISE IN IMPROVING QUALITY OF LIFE FOR PEOPLE LIVING WITH MOTOR NEURON DISEASE
• 5-10-2024AUTISM’S MISSING MICROBES MAY INFLUENCE SOCIAL BEHAVIOR BY PROTECTING THE GUT
• 5-10-2024SCIENTISTS MAKE PROGRESS ON NEW CHARGED PARTICLE THERAPY FOR CANCER
• 5-10-2024ERR-GAMMA ‘TRAINS’ STOMACH STEM CELLS TO BECOME ACID-PRODUCING CELLS
• 5-10-2024PSYCHIATRIC RECORDS SHOW OVER HALF OF THE PEOPLE WERE ADMITTED AGAINST THEIR WILL
• 5-10-2024A TIME FOR BIPOC PEOPLE TO LIFT THE STIGMA
• 5-10-2024CHILDREN IN UTAH DEVELOP E. COLI ILLNESS FROM PLAYING AROUND LAWN SPRINKLERS
• 5-10-2024RACIAL, ETHNIC DIFFERENCES SEEN IN BREAST CANCER TREATMENT DECLINATION
• 5-10-2024RESEARCHERS QUANTIFY THE RISK FOR DIABETES AFTER GESTATIONAL DIABETES
• 5-10-2024STUDY REVEALS NEED TO REVIEW TEMPERATURE CONTROL MEASURES IN HOSPITALS TO MANAGE LEGIONELLA
• 5-10-2024DISPARITIES IN DIRECT ORAL ANTICOAGULANT INITIATION HAVE DECLINED IN RECENT YEARS: STUDY
• 5-10-2024VIDEO LARYNGOSCOPY IMPROVES INTUBATION ON FIRST ATTEMPT IN NEONATES
• 5-10-2024SIGN HERE? FINANCIAL AGREEMENTS MAY LEAVE DOCTORS IN THE DRIVER’S SEAT
• 5-10-2024HOW THE BRAIN IS FLEXIBLE ENOUGH FOR A COMPLEX WORLD, WITHOUT BEING THROWN INTO CHAOS
• 5-10-2024RFK JR. SAYS A PARASITE ATE PART OF HIS BRAIN. DO PARASITES ACTUALLY ‘EAT’ HUMAN TISSUE?
• 5-10-2024EU RESEARCHERS ARE TAKING FRESH APPROACHES TO UNDERSTANDING IMMUNE-SYSTEM DISORDERS FOR MORE EFFECTIVE TREATMENTS
• 5-10-2024STUDY POINTS TO PERSONALIZED TREATMENT OPPORTUNITIES FOR GLIOBLASTOMA
• 5-10-2024HEPATITIS E VIRUS DETECTED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN URBAN NORWAY RATS IN SOUTH KOREA
• 5-10-2024COMBINATION OF BREAST CANCER AND CHEMOTHERAPY MAY SPEED UP PHYSICAL DECLINE IN OLDER ADULTS
• 5-10-2024VISUAL EXPERIENCES UNIQUE TO EARLY INFANCY PROVIDE BUILDING BLOCKS OF HUMAN VISION, STUDY FINDS
• 5-10-2024RESEARCH SHOWS IMPACT OF CAREGIVING ON PARENTS’ EMPLOYMENT, HEALTH

MAY 10, 2024

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• 5-10-2024RESEARCHERS CREATE AI MODEL TO UNDERSTAND HOW BRAIN ACTIVITY RELATES TO ILLNESS
• 5-10-2024‘WHAT WAS THAT?’ HOW BRAINS CONVERT SOUNDS TO ACTIONS
• 5-10-2024HOW SLEEP WRINKLES LEAVE THEIR MARK
• 5-10-2024HOW TO FIND MORE INFORMATION ABOUT A DRUG THAT YOUR DOCTOR PRESCRIBED
• 5-10-2024A PAIN IN THE NECK OR SOMETHING MORE SINISTER?
• 5-10-2024FIVE THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT BIRD FLU
• 5-10-2024COULD BETTER INHALERS HELP PATIENTS, AND THE PLANET?
• 5-10-2024OUTDOOR WORKERS FACE SKIN CANCER DANGER
• 5-10-2024CANCER PATIENTS OFTEN FACE MEDICAL DEBT, EVEN WITH INSURANCE
• 5-10-2024SIZE OF A PERSON’S FAT CELLS MAY HOLD CLUES TO THEIR FUTURE WEIGHT
• 5-10-2024ONE IN 8 US ADULTS HAVE NOW USED MEDS LIKE OZEMPIC, FINDS POLL
• 5-10-2024DO SEX DIFFERENCES IN HOW ADIPOSE TISSUE RESPONDS TO INSULIN EXPLAIN WHY TYPE 2 DIABETES IS MORE COMMON IN MEN?
• 5-10-2024HOW HERPES HIJACKS A RIDE INTO CELLS
• 5-10-2024CAN PICKLEBALL, TENNIS AND OTHER RACKET SPORTS REALLY HELP YOU LIVE LONGER?
• 5-10-2024ARM FAT MAY REVEAL WOMEN AND MEN AT RISK OF SPINAL FRACTURE
• 5-10-2024PANERA BREAD IS PHASING OUT ITS ‘CHARGED LEMONADE’ DRINKS—WHY CONSUMING TOO MUCH CAFFEINE CAN BE DANGEROUS
• 5-10-2024RACE AND SEX PLAY A ROLE, STUDY FINDS
• 5-10-2024RESEARCHERS SHOW IMPACT OF INSOMNIA AND DEPRESSION ON ASTHMA CONTROL
• 5-10-2024HOW INCENTIVES COULD BETTER TREAT STIMULANT USE DISORDER
• 5-10-2024RESEARCH TEAM INTRODUCES NEW TOOL TO BOOST BATTLE AGAINST CHILDHOOD UNDERNUTRITION
• 5-10-2024STUDY FINDS POOR MUSCLE HEALTH IS COMMON IN PEOPLE LIVING WITH OBESITY, INCREASES RISK OF EARLY DEATH
• 5-10-2024STRESS HORMONE DURING PREGNANCY LINKED TO IQ IN CHILDREN
• 5-10-2024CHRONIC STRESS DURING ADOLESCENCE MAY REDUCE FERTILITY IN ADULTHOOD
• 5-10-2024LATE-STAGE STUDY FINDS MENOPAUSE DRUG FEZOLINETANT SAFELY REDUCES HOT FLUSHES FOR ALMOST SIX MONTHS
• 5-10-2024STATES WITH ABORTION BANS SAW GREATER DROPS IN MEDICAL SCHOOL GRADUATES APPLYING FOR RESIDENCIES
• 5-10-2024PANDEMIC AGREEMENT TALKS NEAR END WITH DEAL ELUSIVE
• 5-10-2024NEW RESEARCH TRACES THE SPREAD OF HIV IN AND FROM INDONESIA
• 5-10-2024METABOLISM OF AUTISM REVEALS DEVELOPMENTAL ORIGINS
• 5-10-2024FRENCH, US DRUG FIRMS TEAM UP FOR COVID-FLU SHOT
• 5-10-2024FLICKER STIMULATION SHINES IN CLINICAL TRIAL FOR EPILEPSY
• 5-10-2024ANALYSIS REVEALS NEW INSIGHTS INTO GLOBAL SURGE OF STREP A INFECTIONS
• 5-10-2024USING MRI, ENGINEERS HAVE FOUND A WAY TO DETECT LIGHT DEEP IN THE BRAIN
• 5-10-2024UNOBTRUSIVE, IMPLANTABLE DEVICE COULD DEEPEN OUR UNDERSTANDING OF BEHAVIORAL RESPONSES
• 5-10-2024PSYCHOLOGICAL THERAPY SHOWS PROMISE IN IMPROVING QUALITY OF LIFE FOR PEOPLE LIVING WITH MOTOR NEURON DISEASE
• 5-10-2024AUTISM’S MISSING MICROBES MAY INFLUENCE SOCIAL BEHAVIOR BY PROTECTING THE GUT
• 5-10-2024SCIENTISTS MAKE PROGRESS ON NEW CHARGED PARTICLE THERAPY FOR CANCER
• 5-10-2024ERR-GAMMA ‘TRAINS’ STOMACH STEM CELLS TO BECOME ACID-PRODUCING CELLS
• 5-10-2024PSYCHIATRIC RECORDS SHOW OVER HALF OF THE PEOPLE WERE ADMITTED AGAINST THEIR WILL
• 5-10-2024A TIME FOR BIPOC PEOPLE TO LIFT THE STIGMA
• 5-10-2024CHILDREN IN UTAH DEVELOP E. COLI ILLNESS FROM PLAYING AROUND LAWN SPRINKLERS
• 5-10-2024RACIAL, ETHNIC DIFFERENCES SEEN IN BREAST CANCER TREATMENT DECLINATION
• 5-10-2024RESEARCHERS QUANTIFY THE RISK FOR DIABETES AFTER GESTATIONAL DIABETES
• 5-10-2024STUDY REVEALS NEED TO REVIEW TEMPERATURE CONTROL MEASURES IN HOSPITALS TO MANAGE LEGIONELLA
• 5-10-2024DISPARITIES IN DIRECT ORAL ANTICOAGULANT INITIATION HAVE DECLINED IN RECENT YEARS: STUDY
• 5-10-2024VIDEO LARYNGOSCOPY IMPROVES INTUBATION ON FIRST ATTEMPT IN NEONATES
• 5-10-2024SIGN HERE? FINANCIAL AGREEMENTS MAY LEAVE DOCTORS IN THE DRIVER’S SEAT
• 5-10-2024HOW THE BRAIN IS FLEXIBLE ENOUGH FOR A COMPLEX WORLD, WITHOUT BEING THROWN INTO CHAOS
• 5-10-2024RFK JR. SAYS A PARASITE ATE PART OF HIS BRAIN. DO PARASITES ACTUALLY ‘EAT’ HUMAN TISSUE?
• 5-10-2024EU RESEARCHERS ARE TAKING FRESH APPROACHES TO UNDERSTANDING IMMUNE-SYSTEM DISORDERS FOR MORE EFFECTIVE TREATMENTS
• 5-10-2024STUDY POINTS TO PERSONALIZED TREATMENT OPPORTUNITIES FOR GLIOBLASTOMA
• 5-10-2024HEPATITIS E VIRUS DETECTED FOR THE FIRST TIME IN URBAN NORWAY RATS IN SOUTH KOREA
• 5-10-2024COMBINATION OF BREAST CANCER AND CHEMOTHERAPY MAY SPEED UP PHYSICAL DECLINE IN OLDER ADULTS
• 5-10-2024VISUAL EXPERIENCES UNIQUE TO EARLY INFANCY PROVIDE BUILDING BLOCKS OF HUMAN VISION, STUDY FINDS
• 5-10-2024RESEARCH SHOWS IMPACT OF CAREGIVING ON PARENTS’ EMPLOYMENT, HEALTH

Trigger Warning.
I’m in Luteal and about a week away from my period. Like clockwork, I am always feeling sad a week before my period. This time, I feel so so so hopeless and suicidal (don’t worry, I’m too chickenshit to do anything; my instinct for survival is unfortunately too strong lol).
I’m at the lowest point in my life, and in about a week and a half, since I’m jobless and broke (and semi-homeless), my storage unit company will auction off my storage unit unless I come up with a way to pay the last 3 months. (This is all thanks to an unreliable “friend” for promising he would help me pay each month, only to ghost me).
Maybe I’d be dealing with all this shit better if I also didn’t have PMDD exacerbating my emotions thru difficult life events. And if I had a family & money. I mean I’ve been through a lot of traumas in my life since childhood – and until 2021 arrived, I was doing well & relatively thriving through all of it (I got a professional degree & at some point held a prestigious position, bought a house, etc. etc.).
I never thought leaving a physically abusive relationship in 2021 (where although it was physically abusive, I was financially secure & doing relatively well) would lead to me to where I am today. I know this is probably messed up thinking, but I wish I had never left and listened to all the advice about leaving. Because when it’s all said and done, ppl will feel horrified for you, and say that they’ll help, but then they’ll go on with their lives and you’re stuck trying to put all the pieces together. And many will doubt the abuse was that bad, and it's just embarrassing for me at this point.
The events that broke the camel’s back and led me here:
(1) 2021. I left a physically abusive relationship. Had a lot of legal drama with that. Not fun.
(2) I was then raped by a very rich man who tried to silence me with money.
(3) 2022. He tried to silence me legally, and I was literally slut-shamed by a judge. I got fired from my job because of said-rich man.
(4) Spring/Summer 2022. Redemption. I ended up winning the lawsuit against my rapist and my job reinstated my position temporarily.
(5) Even though I was struggling financially and barely able to makes ends meet, I was pushing thru. I then met an evil millionaire man in disguise who I trusted but who would fucking break me in the end. He love bombed me, was well off, helped me with various moves and getting a lease. Helped me with everything. He even told me—“Your father [my father died when I was a young girl] told me to help you and I am stepping in his place to do that.”
(6) Even though he was 20 years my senior, we eventually fell in “love.” He proposed. He bought me a new car. I sold my old car to pay off some debts.
(7) 2023. The year that broke me. He ended up leaving me in Mexico on Valentine’s Day (we were to elope the next week), saying he never loved me or any woman for that matter, and confessed “maybe I’m a sociopath.” And he literally said he used me for my body (it was only just “lust”). This is after me telling him I wanted to wait until marriage to have sex so I didn’t feel used due to childhood SA.
(8) Basically, he stole my car that he bought me, left me carless and unable to do my job. I was also pregnant with his child. He pointed a gun at me. There was legal stuff involved. Jail time involved on both ends. Basically, he tore me apart. And after I had the miscarriage, I became a broken shell of a human I used to be. With no car, and leaving me destitute, I could hardly get out of bed.
(9) Fall 2023. Almost got evicted because ex fiancé stopped paying the rent when I had miscarriage.
(10) I also let a family member move in to help pay for rent. Had no idea he had a serious drinking/pill problem. He ended up beating the crap out of me one day and almost killing me while he was under the influence. Had to call the police. He went to jail. And omg writing this all out sounds so crazy.
(11) If you’re still reading this, thank you. Eventually, I had to put all my stuff in storage. And I am now living with a disabled relative in a different part of the country. I’m trying SO SO HARD to get back to living life but I can’t right now.
(12) I found an attorney who would help me sue my ex-fiancé to get my car back (I’ve been carless for over a year and it has fucking wrecked me for some reason). I just can’t get the motivation right now to even send my lawyer what she needs to get this lawsuit started. I need some semblance of justice after what my ex-fiancé did to me.
I realize this is a LONG LONG rant. And yes, I have a psychiatrist. And no, talk therapy doesn’t help.
I guess right now I’m just stuck. And I’ve isolated myself from friends. Most friends/people don’t truly understand what it’s taken for me to get to this point here. I’m not lazy. Far from it. I’m just tired.
After a certain point, what doesn’t kill you DOESN’T make you stronger. It makes you weaker. And unable to function.
Any advice (please be gentle) would be appreciated. The attorney is one of my first avenues to some relative freedom (I need money to survive). I’m just so tired.

Hi guys, I'm new to writing, and I decided to write down how one of my villains got their powers. I should say this to preface, I'm not expecting this to be God tier writing, but I would love any and all criticism, how well it flows, quality of writing and descriptiveness, anything helps. Hope you enjoy.
One more thing, just to clarify, Anwir is the son of the earl Courtenay, he tried helping out the poor in his area, and got rejected due to bad history with the earl, this what happened shortly after attempting to take his life.
Amazing Grace:
Anwir limped along the dense thicket of the forest, with his foot dragging behind him, leaving a dull trail as it disturbed the dry, cracked earth beneath him. Anwir winces and groans in pain as foliage would brush against the noble’s tattered, burned clothing and disturb his wounds.
The food and clothing I’ve provided, the hospital I opened. Did it mean nothing to them?
Anwir thought to himself as he began to sob, the tears that streamed pricked and stung his open wounds. Anwir didn’t care, the mental pain was too great to keep bottled up.
“Over Here!! There is a small line heading this way!!”
Fear pierced through his heart as Anwir heard voices far off behind him. Anwir turned back and saw the faint light of torches making their way towards the disfigured noble, making his heart race faster, sweat dripping down his forehead. To Anwir’s horror, he realized that the peasants were not yet finished with him, they were not satisfied with tearing down burning everything he had given them, they wanted his blood. Quickly, Anwir decided to hide in a thick bush, he curls into a ball, and covers his head in his cloak. The setting sun’s lack of rays helped shroud the forest floor, helping cloak Anwir in the shadows of the forest.
“The bastard really thought he could escape us?”
As the footsteps neared Anwir’s location, a wave of dread swept over Anwir, it would be a miracle for Anwir to make it out with his life.
My Gods, haven’t I been punished enough? Please, spare me; I beg of you.
Anwir’s thoughts came to a halt as they arrived in proximity to his bush. Anwir launched one last prayer, and began to hold his breath, to minimize any sounds from him. The torchlights tore through any darkness the forest had to offer within a certain radius, voices and laughter could be heard all around him as they searched for him.
“Drinks for a week when we hang the wretch!”
“I call dibs on his trinkets! They’re mine!”
“No way he didn’t see this coming, did the Courtenay’s really think we’d fall for their deceit again?”
Torchlights reached their peak, Anwir could see wispy, menacing shadows dance across his bush, twigs and leaves snapping at a consistent rate. Anwir’s heart sank, he had nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide, if they found him, his fate would be sealed. Time seemed to stand still as Anwir could hear the voices and footsteps begin to recede, continuing forward ahead of him. Too afraid to come out, Anwir stayed for several more moments, before finally crawling out of the bush. Nothing but silence, save for the odd scurrying of a critter, or the flap of wings from a bird. Stunned by their words and death threats, Anwir mindlessly hobbled through the foliage, he wouldn’t react to the pain anymore, for their words had stung deeper than any blade or wound could. Although Anwir is a Courtenay, he is not his father, he only wanted help those he could for the peasants who faced constant injustice, and this was his thanks? As Anwir reached a clearing, he stopped to gaze at the sunset, taking in its final rays before it disappeared into the night.
Beautiful as always. I should take in what little I can, for I may not live to see the dawn press her lips against the earth once more.
Anwir stood there and gazed as the great ball of fire descended into nothing. Swallowed up by the darkness, Anwir stumbles around, grabbing leaves and soft brush to lie on. The constant, searing pain flares whenever Anwir bends down or makes sudden movements, causing his eyes to glisten as tears would form. Biting his lower lip, he slowly squats down, evenly spreading his findings beneath a tree, and lies down. The son of Lord Courtenay expected to hear silence and was surprised to hear the opposite. The pitter patter of critters could be heard all around him, rustling the leaves that littered the forest floor. Howls could be heard reciprocated in the distance, and the continuous buzz of insects was everywhere.
Its…peaceful. If only my situation could allow me to enjoy this in its entirety.
Anwir succumbed to the pulsating pain, and closed his eyes, uncertain of what the dawn may bring.
____________
As a new day began, the dawn touched the sky leaving its golden rays streaked upon the earth’s ever reaching cerulean canvas, poking through the thin wispy clouds that lay scattered across the sky. Birds all across the woodland landscape sang praise in honor of the dawn. Tiny creatures of the woodland floor hopped and crawled about the dew-covered ground, imprinting their tiny feet upon the earth’s moist soil. Crawling in and around his hair, up and down his neck, and flittering in and out of Anwir’s clothing, he was given a rude awakening when a small millipede attempted to crawl into his damp mouth, seeking food.
“Arrgh!”
Anwir swiped away the multi legged freak, and got on his knees, weaving his encrusted, scarred hands through his matted and knotted hair. Anwir took hold of his ragged, grimy overcoat, and ripped it off, he brushed off various creepy crawlies meandering across his singed torso, some even feasting on his mottled dead skin. Picking up his overcoat, he violently shook it, a shower of bugs rained to the ground. After slipping his coat over himself again Anwir lifted his left leg, he tore off his crisped shoe, and shook out the bugs that had once claimed it and did the same for his right. Searing pain shot through his body, his muscles and torso screaming at him as he lifted himself from the ground. Anwir couldn’t remember a time when he had felt anything like this. Anwir scanned his surroundings, and laid his eyes upon a small, unassuming plant. No more than a foot tall, with several small bundles of jet-black berries with small beads of water clinging to its dark exterior. Desperate for anything, Anwir bent down and grabbed the top of the plant and reached inside his pocket only to find his hand protruding through a small hole.
Will nothing be in my favor from now on?
With his knife gone, Anwir made do with placing his hand at the base of the plant, and yanking it from the ground. Shoving the fruit inside his mouth, the purple juices flowing down his chin, further staining his already soiled shirt as he chews furiously. Swallowing and reaching for more, Anwir puts the cluster of berries into his mouth and chews slower this time. Taking his time to savor the juicy, tart flavor the berries provided. Never did he believe that something as simple as fruit could be so inviting. Anwir tossed the remainder of the plant to the ground, and scanned his surroundings, attempting to determine his next move. It was through the plants and trees hindering his sight that Anwir found his next goal. In the middle of a clearing, Anwir could make out a well. Anwir trudged along towards the edge of the forest that led to the clearing, pushing and moving through any plants that made contact with his broken and charred body, his muscles and body voicing their complaints with every limp and accidental contact the Courtenay took and had respectively.
Perhaps I spoke too soon.
Stumbling through the dense overgrowth, Anwir breached the forest’s edge and found himself in a clearing. The sun’s rays were shown in full force, thanks to the lack of trees blocking its path. Small shrubs and minor vegetation littering the clearing. As Anwir inched his way closer to the well, the woodland’s tiny inhabitants took notice of him. Some simply gazed at him with their heads poking through the shrubbery, others would flee in fear of a perceived threat. Anwir smiled at this, knowing he is the least of their worries.
Just how exactly old is this well? Is there even any water?
The aged well had a stone base, its bricks weathered by time and nature, patches of glistening dark green moss strewn all around the base, topped off with a gray, porous ridden wellhead. A gray, rusted bucket, hung on a tarnished iron hook. Anwir leaned his body over the edge of the well, and laid eyes with the bottom. Darkness. A pure, undisturbed abyss was all that stared back at him, not even the slight reflection of water could be seen. Taken aback, and even a bit scared, Anwir took the bucket, and tossed it into the well. for a second, nothing happened, until an audible splash was heard, confirming the presence of water. It was at this moment that Anwir noticed the eerie silence of the clearing and the forest that surrounded it. No longer had he heard birds sing, nor the flap of their wings, the rustle of leaves and brush was nowhere to be heard either. A shiver went down the unsuspecting noble’s spine, before drawing the bucket, he surveyed the clearing. Nothing. Anwir saw nothing but greenery as far as the eye could see. As Anwir drew the bucket up from the depths of the well, a sudden chill ran down his spine, sending a shiver through his entire body. The eerie silence of the clearing heightened his senses, making him acutely aware of his surroundings. With a trembling hand, he grasped the handle of the bucket tightly, preparing to lift it out of the darkness below. Before he could fully pull the bucket out, a horrifying sight greeted him. A grotesque clawed hand shot up from the depths of the well, its twisted fingers reaching out towards Anwir with malicious intent. Anwir's heart pounded in his chest as fear gripped him, paralyzing his muscles.
He stumbled backward, falling to the ground in terror, his eyes wide with horror as he watched the demonic creature emerge from the depths. His mind raced with thoughts of escape, but his body refused to obey, leaving him helpless against the approaching menace.
Before he could fully pull the bucket out, a horrifying sight greeted him. A grotesque, sinewy arm shot up from the abyss of the well, its twisted fingers cupping the edge in an attempt to free itself. The wellhead splintered into pieces as the long, crooked being pulled itself out. Anwir's heart pounded in his chest as fear gripped him, paralyzing his muscles. He stumbled backward, falling to the ground in terror, his eyes wide with horror as he watched the demonic creature emerge from the depths. His mind raced with thoughts of escape, but his body refused to obey, leaving him helpless against the approaching menace. But then to Anwir's astonishment, the creature spoke. Its voice was dark and sinister.
"I thank you, friend" it hissed, its red eyes gleaming with malevolence. "I have been trapped there for what seems like an eternity"
The tall, crooked being began to stand up, its feet slowly sinking into the mud beneath him. The crooked being set his sight on his savior.
"by the looks of you, you're a noble, yet your clothing is in disrepair." The Crooked Man
stepped closer to Anwir, to get a closer look "Ahh, I see now, Courtenay's son. What are you doing here? Who did this to you?"
The Crooked Man offered hand to the Noble's son, but Anwir, still processing the events, said nothing. The Crooked Man lowered his eyes.
"Have you no words? Son of Courtenay?"
Finally coming to his senses, Anwir stood up, and backed away several feet.
"I-I-I did this to myself. No one else."
Faster than the eye could see, The Crooked Man grabbed Anwir by the throat, and pulled him closer to his face.
"Foolish Courtenay. Lie to me again, and I'll cut out your stomach and feed it to you."
"The...peasants I...Was attempting to h...Help." Anwir said, his body screaming for air.
The Crooked Man chuckled and put down Anwir.
"So, the poor Son of Courtenay attempted to play savior, and paid dearly for it."
Anwir, still apprehensive of the Man asked him "Who are you? Why were you in there?"
"I am your savior, and that is my business alone." The Crooked Man reached a hand out to Anwir "Allow me to give you a gift, so to speak. A chance to punish your tormentors."
Anwir eyed the hand, not sure what his offer entailed "In exchange for what? How will I know that you won't bend me to your will?
The Crooked Man smiled "I have no intention of doing such things to you, for I merely want to repay a debt I owe you. So...What is your answer?”
Temptation swirled in Anwir, a part of him wanted to take his offer, but a small part in his heart held out.
"No, they don't deserve death, nor punishment, they knew not what they did."
The Crooked Man bellowed a raspy, malicious laugh "The flames of their hatred mark your body, singe your soul, and yet...You still defend them? You are one of a kind, Courtenay."
The Crooked Man begins to hack, and spits out a small black stone "Take this, Courtenay. If you seek your revenge, crush this stone in your hand, and eat its dust."
The Crooked Man handed him the stone and crouched down. His back was bulging, the Man began to shriek, his piercing cry so loud, that Anwirs ears were ringing. Flesh tears, blood splatters everywhere as The Crooked Man's wings sprouted from his back, and he began to stand.
"Tell no one of our encounter, Courtenay."
With those final words, The Crooked Man took his leave, laughing maniacally as he flew upwards, staining the sky with his presence.