Ireland Monét Cash

WORKING TITLE: Silence Like Knives

I. The Curse had fully taken him, then. I’d always felt it my personal responsibility to watch over him- to care for him. And, yet, he now lay bare. Withered. Sprawled across the straw-filled makeshift mattress with little-other than a tattered cloth shielding his ever-paling figure from the World’s eye. The Widow Ayre had come to call, and was now seated at the edge of his bed. Upon entry, she brushed past my guilt-stricken figure, kneeling to analyze the man. After tending to the kettle, and livening the fire, the Widow set to attempting comforting him, delicately patting a dampened cloth across his sweat-stained complexion.