There’s an armless maiden in the woods beyond the house.
She doesn’t wail or weep the way you’d think a ghost or a grieving girl would. Her footsteps are heavy—sometimes she loses her balance—but that’s the only way to hear her coming.
There’s an armless maiden in the woods beyond the house.
She doesn’t wail or weep the way you’d think a ghost or a grieving girl would. Her footsteps are heavy—sometimes she loses her balance—but that’s the only way to hear her coming.
“We should make a map,” she says. “Just to keep track of things.”
I keep my mouth shut, try not to look at her.