The Curse of the Red Death | Hiatus

1 | Strange Tales

Four Years Ago

Beginning of the Mourning Years

If there were one thing Jane Hollythorn hated more than anything in the world, it would be working in her family's butcher shop. She hated the smell of raw meat, the blood that dried in every crevice of her hands and arms, and don't even get her started on working in the summer. She sometimes wondered if that was what hell felt like—hot, sticky, and miserable. But the worst thing of all?

The customers.

Living in a small town like Rosehaven meant that everyone knew each other. From an early age, when she attended the one-room school, she was known as the butcher's daughter. Now, a few years into her adult life, the moniker had earned its place.

"...hey!"

Jane gasped and jumped, snapping out of her internal monologue. "What?"

Her mother, Merle, stared at her with a pinched brow. A smile began to form as she breathlessly chuckled. "You were lost in your head again, girl. Keep working on the meat before it spoils. Jeamus will be here soon to collect."

"Sorry. I was just thinking." She stared at where her hands disappeared within a chicken's body. The blood and juices were already beginning to dry on her arms. Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes. In and out, in and out, in and out. She really hated working in a butchery.

She had no idea why she complained about such simple tasks when they took no time at all. Tying twine around the scaly legs, she took it with her to the front of their shop, where a wide, open window appeared. Metal hooks lined the brim of the window, and various pieces of meat or game hung down. This is where her father, Ahren, and brother, Tobias, made deals with customers and handed out the products. This early in the morning, though, it was relatively empty beyond her family. The sun just barely peeked over the tops of the trees.

She hung the bird up along with the pheasants, quail, and other local game. Her favorite was the Primrose Squill. It was slightly larger than the average pheasant, with a dull pink crest and belly. The rest of its body was a muted green that helped it blend into the trees it usually roosted in.

Jane's mother bustled into the room, holding a candle and shielding its flame until she reached the twin lanterns hanging in the corners. It was dark in the shop so early in the morning. The extra bit of light was helpful. "Your father and brother are finishing up the rest of the meat. I think we should expect a busy day"—­ she blew out the candle in her hands— "and try not to zone off again. Please?"

"You know I can't help it sometimes, Momma." Jane leaned against the counter and looked out into the gloomy street. She just wanted more sometimes. Something beyond Rosehaven and its repetition.

"You always did like your own company more than anything else." She sighed. "I worry about you sometimes. I know that you want to be a part of something bigger than this, but you need to learn to be happy with what you have. Don't go chasing things when you don't know if you can handle it."

"But how will I know if I can or can't handle things if I never try?" Jane grabbed one of their many rags and took to wiping down the countertops. Anything to keep her hands busy.

"You and Father may be happy with the lives you've built here, but I'm not. Don't get me wrong. I have loved being here, and growing up here was safe. I'm tired of safety and of the same faces passing by every day. I want something more, Momma. I want to travel before I settle down. If I ever settle down." She turned to her mother, squeezing the rag in her hands. "I want to know I can handle myself without my family's support. Does that make sense?"