It's an odd thing for me to walk through the crowded market. Normally, people weave in between each other, like they're forming a community tapestry built on friendly smiles and greetings. They brush against each other at times, pay no mind to their neighbor standing right beside them.

Whenever someone notices me nearby, though, it's as if the sea parts. No one wishes to get too close to me, whether it be out of fear of catching whatever may be infecting me or that I may lash out and harm them.

I spot the butcher on the side of the road, Mr. Smite. I carefully maneuver my way through the crowd, careful to not make any sudden movements or accidentally brush against anyone. He's handing a woman a brown paper parcel with a smile drawn wide on his face. He turns to me, and his face falls into a scowl instantly.

"Is Merla coming?" he asks gruffly.

I shake my head. "I'm here alone. She went to the River Town with the kids to sell some produce."

"Ah." His jaw sets, and he stares at me for a moment. Another woman approaches behind me, keeping several feets distance between me and her.

I swallow. My heart batters my ribcage. "I... was hoping to exchange the eggs for our normal cut of meat."

"Oh?" Mr. Smite says.

"A dozen eggs for a pound of meat scraps."

"For you, it'll have to be two dozen."

"But the deal with Merla is —"

"I know. I was being generous since I know she's experiencing a tough time. But you... why should I sell you anything?" Mr. Smite folds his arms over his burly chest.

"I'm buying food for my family."

"Adopted family," a feminine voice calls behind me.

Emotion swells in my throat.

"I'm not taking anything from you, cursed one," Mr. Smite says. "You'd need to cough up with a pretty high payment to get anything out of me."

"But—"

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have real customers to attend to."

I only stand there, my feet rooted to the ground. My body is in shock, incapable of processing this.

"Move!" Mr. Smite bellows. "Before I take my ax and hack you out of the way."

I dart away from the meat stand. Peals of laughter echo behind me. My vision blurs, and finally, the dam breaks and tears drip down my cheeks. I viciously swipe them away. I have to appear indifferent, not utterly destroyed by their words. Merla's right; they are cruel. I don't understand why, though. What have I done to deserve such a fate?

My gaze scans the market. There has to be somewhere I can buy food. I have to at least try, and buy in the normal amounts lest someone suspect that there's a reason why I'm buying less than normal. The scent of freshly baked bread reaches my nose, and I turn to the left to see the baker exiting her house with two trays lined with puffy, golden loaves. My mouth waters, and my stomach gurgles. I'd give anything for a loaf of bread. Something starchy to bind the nauseous particles churning inside me together. But I shouldn't indulge myself in such a delicacy. I must convince the villagers that I'm buying strictly practical foods for the week, for when Merla and the kids return.

Ahead, I see another merchant Merla frequents. I pick up my pace, hoping I can at least get a wedge of cheese.

I approach the next stand. Several women cluster around it, all examining the aged white and orange blocks on the wooden counter. Behind it, Miss Norris smiles and accepts a vine of grapes while handing over a segment of cheese.

No one seems to notice me at first, all focused on the cheeses and chattering amongst each other. But the moment I'm directly behind the cluster, a woman's peripheral gaze strays to me. She backs away, laughter and conversation dying from her lips. A gush falls over the women as the part, a chasm opening between us. I force myself to be brave and walk up to the table.

"I-I was hoping to buy some cheese," I say. "I have a dozen eggs with me."

A sneer twists on Miss Norris' face. "Merla ought to know better than to send you over. Tell her to come herself."

"She's in the River Town selling vegetables. Lenore and Clementine went with her."

"And left the wicked one behind?" Miss Norris snorts. "Well I suppose it makes sense that she wouldn't want a bad luck charm on the journey."

"She wanted me to trade for food this week. For her and the kids when they return." Insistence creeps into my voice. Why does this have to be so hard? Will no one trade with me?

"I would never do business with you," Miss Norris sneers. "Just look at yourself! You're diseased. And I need an infection to overtake my household, poisoning my nieces and nephews."

"I'm not contagious," I whisper.

Don't cry.

"I'm not messing around with anything having to do with you," Miss Norris says. "Now go! Get away from my table. You're slowing my business."

"Yeah!" another woman exclaims.

"Stop blocking the table!"

"Get away, wicked girl!"

"And take your curses with you!"

I flee from the table, from the taunts and the jeers.

Desperation claws at me. Everyone refuses to purchase from me. If this is how they treat me when they think Merla will return, how will they act when they learn she is dead? How will I survive?

Perhaps I should run away, try to make a new life in a new village. But starting over is far from easy, especially given my sickly appearance. And what if they take my escape as a sign of my guilt? They could track me down and send me into the woods, like all the other criminals. Goodness knows they've been waiting for their chance to do so.

In my haste to escape, my foot catches on a rock. I fall forward, hands shooting out to catch me. Pain splits my wrists as they smack the ground, while the eggs tumble out of their basket, splattering the ground with shell shards and white and yellow goo.

"Ew, gross!" a boy yells across the street.

"Watch where you're going!" another cries out.

A woman approaches, her tall silhouette looming over me as she places her hands on her hips. "Clean this mess up, now cursed girl! Before someone slips and falls."

Conversation breaks out throughout the streets, people saying how I truly am cursed, how if nothing else, my clumsiness will kill someone one day.

"I'm sorry," I whimper. "I'm so, so sorry."

"'Sorry' doesn't clean up the mess you've made," a man says from the side. From all sides, people close in, forming a circle around me.

"I will clean it up," I say. Tears descend from my eyes onto the stones below. It's not just because my knees and wrists are throbbing, nor the fact that I soiled the ground. The eggs were one of my few bargaining chips, my few chances at trading for survival. And they were yet another trace of Merla gone.

All at once, voices rise around me in a deafening cacophony of sound. The onlookers curse me for my appearance, tell me to return to the forest where I came from. Some threaten to throw rocks, even stooping to the ground and grabbing fistfuls of pebbles. I push myself to my feet and start for the cottage. But for the first time in my life, the crowd doesn't part for me. They stay in a solid line, holding me captive away from my adoptive home.

I step up to the line, until I'm only two footsteps from the villagers. A man steps forward, shaking his fist in my direction.

"We've had enough of you plaguing our community," he shouts.

"It doesn't matter what Merla says anymore," another voice says above the din. "Elowen must go!"

"Alright, alright!" I sob. "I can leave. Please, just let me get a few things from the cottage beforehand. I will leave and you will never have to see me again."

"She just wants to rob Merla of her belongings," a feminine voice accuses. "Don't let her go back."

The villagers shift into a tighter barricade all around me. I spin around, trying to figure out what to do. There doesn't appear to be an escape.

What about the bodies? If I leave, surely they will discover them in a few days' time, once their bodies start to rot and a neighbor goes over, wondering if they've returned. Who knows? The stench might be strong enough that passerbys can detect it from the road. Would they send someone after me, hunt me down so they can punish me the way they do all murderers?

As I stand there, searching for some way, any way to escape, a hush suddenly falls over the crowd. Now, the villagers part, forming a straight line to a single figure wearing a white nightgown. With two glossy, brown braids, still tousled from sleep and the smooth skin on her face practically glowing in the sun, one might almost mistake her for angelic. I certainly do a double take, because the last I saw her, she wasn't alive.

It seems that Lenore's spirit has awakened from immortal slumber.