Preface

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A youthful mother sat, stroking her baby's sparse, honey-coloured fuzz, next to her dying husband. He lay with one hand over his chest, the other by his side, in a dreamless, troubled sleep intertwined with the darkest vines of death. Soon, they would cover his mind completely. The woman did not shed a tear, though, and slipped her rough, calloused hand through his own thin and frail one. The babe was cooing happily as she bobbed her up and down in her protective arms. The man stirred in his sleep, and the woman stood and walked over to the child's cot, rocking it gently. She lay it in the soft sheets they could only just afford, humming a gentle tune until the baby was asleep also. She let out a long sigh, adjusted her beige tunic and slipped on a pair of leather hunting boots, for she was the breadwinner in the family, and therefore had to gather food from the house across the road. It was a fine house, unlike the something of a shack that sheltered the poor family, with large limestone walls and a tiled roof that curved gracefully. Every day and every night, the woman would clamber over the walls and take merely lettuce from the lush, thriving garden. This small green would feed the mother and father, yet also ale him, for a week. The baby would drink milk, and once old enough, would share the lettuce. The limestone was rough on the lady's hands as she scrambled over the wall. She landed without sound on the moist patches of vegetation covering the expanses. She reached down and plucked a small, green lettuce from the dirt, inhaling the scents of earth and fresh dew. She sorted through each healthy frond, picking bits of mulch from the damp lettuce, when a voice made her fumble on her grip of the salad. An icy cold hand clamped to her shoulder. A velvet voice whispered, 

'It is against the law to trespass. It is against the law to steal. What is your business here, if not something illicit?'

The woman's eyes widened with fear, breath short and fast. She tensed. Turning her head, the wife's heart raced with fear as she met the cold, glacial blue eyes of her neighbour. She was in the form of a little girl, no more than twelve, with choppy, red hair cut to her ears, mismatched stripy socks and a patchwork of fabrics sewn together to make a cropped jumper, but her voice and eyes held age beyond the beginning of time. The lettuce fell out of her quivering hands and onto the dirt, almost by force. The child reached her other hand to the woman's chin and pulled her face closer, so that their noses were almost touching, one graceful finger trailing down her jaw. The girl tutted.

'So young... such a pity you chose this.' She seemed to be inspecting the mother, clear blue eyes gracing her every imperfection. 

'I need this lettuce, or my husband will die. Please, let me take it, just this once.'

'This is not the first time you've been here, pretty woman. I watch you come in and out of my garden every day.'

'I beg of your forgiveness. I'll do anything.'

The girl smirked, then her body grew until she was in the form of a bridesmaid, tall, thin and fair, but her gown was in tatters and blood blossomed from her white robes. Her voice became ragged.

'You will do anything?'

'Yes.'

'Very well. You can have a pick from this garden for as long as life proves... in return for the infant.'

The woman gasped. It was her and the father, or they all died of starvation. For the first time since the father's illness, a glistening tear tumbled down her dirt-smudged cheek. This way, the poor child would at least live.

'You wouldn't.' Her voice was barely a whisper.

'I most certainly would.'

The woman breathed a long sigh, rubbing her temples.

'Fine. Take the baby, but keep her safe. Do not harm her.' She spoke tearfully yet commandingly.

The pale bridesmaid clicked her fingers, and she woke to find herself on the floor of the shack they lived in, with no baby to be seen, but instead simply a small, green lettuce.

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