Rain poured in sheets over the small hamlet. The trees bent under the weight of the rain and it washed out the homey russet brown and yellow ocher coloring of the building.
A figure stood under the ledge of a bakery shop. Dual colored eyes, one a sharp cat gold, the other glassy blue, stared at the deluge as rivulets of rain streamed off his hair and onto his black mask. He was tall and skeletal, currently dressed in a heavy black foul-weather cloak, treated to keep the rain from soaking into the material.
Frankly, Erik wondered if he would ever be dry again. He had been wandering not far from the hamlet when the sudden storm opened up over his very head it seemed. By the time he got his treated cloak out of his heavy leather satchel, he was soaked to the bone.
Thinking of this seemed to make him realize the heavy weight on one shoulder and he rolled the joint, hearing the pop of sinew and bone and felt the burn of stiffness subside for a moment.
He stared out into the curtain of rain, his breath coming out in small white puffs from his mouth, when he saw movement.
Erik reached up and pulled his hood closer about his masked face as a street urchin came up to him with a lazy walk. Chest bared with only a pair of tattered trousers, the urchin was soaked from head to toe, but it didn't seem to bother him. He stopped just under the ledge of the building and looked at Erik with black eyes.
"Sorry, sir," He said, his accent coarse. "You weren't the only one caught surprised by the storm," He shrugged. "All the inns are full although for a fee and some work one can bunk in the stable and if you have enough gold there are always warm beds at the brothel houses,"
A muscle ticked in Erik's jaw. "No," He said curtly. He turned for a moment, his tongue flicking out to lick the moisture from his lip as he scanned the small town. He hadn't lived this long by exposing his presence and he had too much pride now to sleep next to animals like a common beggar. He would find a place.
He felt the boy's eyes on him, waiting. He had promised the boy a few coins, nothing that lightened Erik's pocket, but probably more money than the boy saw in a week.
The thin man's eyes traveled a rain-swollen stream that wound its way around the outskirts of the hamlet and scrapped the belly of a stone bridge.
Across the bridge was a decrypted mill. The water wheel did not spin and it looked like the only thing holding the building together were the weeds that grew up its walls. It was not far; he couldn't get any wetter.
"What about that place?" He asked finally, pointing at it with a bony finger.
The boy's black eyes widened and his face paled, "Medusa Mill?" He asked back, shivering for the first time and Erik doubted it was due to rain or cold. "Gaw, no one goes in there, sir,"
"Good," Erik frowned and adjusted the shoulder strap on his pack and began to move, rain splattering on his hood as he left the shelter of the Bakery's ledge.
The child stepped in his path and the muscle in Erik's jaw ticked again.
"Sir, you can't go in there! A monster lives in there!" Erik's dual eyes locked on the boy, turning the boy cold with the impassiveness of their glare. The boy swallowed and continued. "A Medusa," He hissed. "My Papa saw her. The body of a beautiful woman with four snakes attached to her back. She has to feed the snakes or they will eat her! She sings a siren song to lure men to their deaths!"
Erik tilted his head slightly and frowned. He glared at the urchin in his path. "And how many have died?" He asked and the boy marveled at how the rain did not turn to ice in the presence of such cold words.
"I-I don't know, sir," He muttered, his cheeks turning red. Erik snorted and drew from his pocket several coins and threw them at the boy. They clinked dully on the wet stone street. The Urchin stooped immediately to scoop them up as Erik made his way past.
"I guess I'll be first," He muttered and continued his trek to the mill.
If Erik thought he couldn't get any wetter he was wrong. His face was drenched as the wind shifted, flinging water into his face. It either rolled underneath his mask and down his chin or pooled in spots on the mask's ridges. His shoes were waterlogged and his feet soaked. He grumbled, irritable because he would have to make a fire. He hated fire.
He crossed the stone bridge and he paused. He thought he had heard something. Something soft and sweet. When the sound was not repeated, he shook his head and continued on.
It wasn't until he was reading the notice on the Mill's boarded door (claiming the building unfit and unsafe to live in) that he heard the sound again. Someone was singing inside the mill.
It was a pleasing voice that was not unearthly, but this did nothing to raise his spirits. In fact, as Erik found a rotting hole in the side of the mill large enough for him to enter, his spirits only continued to fall.
While it meant no monster inhabited the mill, it still meant the mill itself was inhabited.
Steeling himself, Erik slipped through the hole and soundlessly entered the Mill. He crept forward several paces as his eyes adjusted to gloomy interior. The smell of rot invaded his senses as he paused to survey his surroundings. It was merely a single room with rotting wooden floors. To one side was the gears for the water wheel which were now rotted or rusted; they could never be used again. The grinding stone for grain had been removed leaving again only bare gears and gadgets. On the other side of the roof was a hayloft full of molding hay. Perhaps they had tried to use the mill as a barn at one point.
The main source of light was a hole in the ceiling, the deluge outside created a small waterfall, sending a stream of water spattering to the decaying floors, but Erik's eyes never reached the floors.
Standing under the streaming water was a young woman, he would guess she was young, but couldn't tell.
Her back thankfully was to him, her more vulnerable parts hidden underneath a curtain of ink black hair that fell past her buttocks.
From what Erik could see she was naked, her lily white limbs flashing in the dim light and if Erik was a holy or moderately religious man, which he wasn't, he would have crossed or said a small prayer at what else he saw; but seeing as he was neither, he kept deadly still in the shadows.
From her back grew four silver-scaled tentacles, which in his eyes did make her fearful, but hypnotizing. He watched her, his eyes filled with graceful and sensual movements.
She was singing softly, almost murmuring to herself. She paused a moment, inhaling loudly to refill her lungs. The silence was no longer than a heartbeat but it was all Erik needed to shake himself from his trance and kick himself mentally. A smarting flush crept into his cheeks as he took a step backward to find somewhere to sleep, but the floorboards were treacherous. His foot dropped through the floor, rotting wood giving way under his way.
The girl's song died in her throat as she wheeled around. She held her black hair against her in a modest gesture.
Since he was discovered, in a vulnerable and foolish position, and in even worse spirits since being soaked to the marrow of his bones, Erik let out snarling curse and tried to extract his leg. No luck. He tried again and almost sank deeper when something steadied him.
The girl had stepped over to him and now one of her tentacles was steadying him around his middle. He pressed his hands against it, gaining some leverage and pushed himself out of the hole.
The tentacle under his fingers was no different than a snake's, it was sleek, smooth, and he could feel powerful muscles underneath a veil of delicate looking silver scales.
She watched him curiously as she withdrew her tentacle from him. He knelt down and examined his leg and, finding it well enough, he stood up.
"Is there anyone else in the hellish building?" Erik asked curtly. There was no reason beating around the bush. She stood behind him and shook her head.
"No, Master," Her voice was soft, almost refined. "Or I would not have been bathing so openly,"
Erik was, for once, grateful for his mask as his face flushed irritably.
"Could you not have found a stream or something to bath in?" He knew he was at fault. She was here first, but the retort pushed out his lips first.
Behind him, she tilted her head like a curious kitten.
"No," She said simply. "Not since I tried to steal food last week." She shivered. "I must hide all the time now or they will try to kill me."
Erik snorted and carefully kept his back to her. "Do you have any objection to sharing this sorry shack?"
"No, Master, I do not mind."
Erik grunted in reply and pushed back his hood and ran a hand through his hair. Most of the dark auburn mess had dried, but his bangs were sill soaked. He unclasped his cloak and let it fall heavily to the floor and then set his heavy satchel on the floor.
He sat on the floor and began to rifle through the satchel, thankful, not for the first time, for his insight.
He had packed his essentials, for he knew he would need them when he and his angel escaped.
A stinging thread of emotions cut through him.
Only, she wasn't with him. He was alone. He was always alone, the damnable creature he was, but- he wasn't alone.
He was suddenly aware of eyes on him and looked behind him.
He kicked himself again; he had forgotten the girl was naked and got an eyeful of wet, goose-pimpled white skin and a pink nipple escaped her curtain of black hair.
He ripped his gaze away, redoubling his efforts to find the food he had packed.
"Don't you have anything you can put on?" He snapped, his long fingers finally closing around a coarse rind.
The young woman scuffed a pink toe against the rotting floor and shivered.
"All of my clothes are wet, Master," She murmured. She scratched her arm and stammered out. "Would you have something I could barrow until morning? My clothes should be dry then,"
Erik growled deep in his throat. He was content to let her freeze but he was tired of his eyes being assaulted by her naked image and he was uneasy about keeping his back to her. He did not know what she or those tentacles were capable of.
He reached into the satchel and pulled out his spare cloak and tossed it at her.
"Many thank yous, Master," She breathed, her voice thick with emotion, but the gesture was lost on Erik. He turned to her as she placed the cloak on and set the leather satchel between them. He began to gnaw on the crust of bread as she sat across from him.
He did not eat often, but something about the rain, his miserable mood, and sudden excitement had stirred his usual dormant appetite.
It was after a moment, half of the stale bread devoured, he swore he could feel her eyes burning through his hands.
He looked up irritably and she dropped her eyes, cheeks reddening in shame.
"I don't suppose you have food," He asked gruffly, lowering the bread from his mouth. "Or is that drying too?"
Her whole face went red, "I-I don't have any food, Master. I steal from the trash when I can but I'm not good at it. I've never had to steal before," She continued to stare at the ground. "I haven't eaten in three days," She raised her eyes tentatively and saw Erik was studying the crust in his hands. He then looked at her and her spirits rose a touch.
Erik retreated into himself, bringing the bread back to his lip and gnawing on it.
The young woman turned her head, but not before Erik saw tears in her eyes, and she drew her knees up to her chest. He could taste her disappointment more than the bread in his mouth. It robbed the stale crust of its entire flavor.
He exhaled raggedly. He was just planning to buy more food tomorrow; he didn't know how much longer he could stand stale bread. He had no appetite now and there was no sense in throwing it away.
Begrudgingly he held out the crust and cleared his throat. The girl's head jerked up and her eyes glittered, turning from a somber grey-blue to a fresh green. He blinked as she carefully took the crust from him with trembling fingers. It seemed her eyes changed color with her mood.
"Oh, thank you, Master!" She breathed and began to devour the bread ravenously. He frowned at her, ire rising.
"Don't get use to it," He snapped. "I'm not a walking charity,"
She didn't hear him, wolfing down the crust of bread like a jam filled tart, her ink black hair sliding over her young features.
How old was she? She could have been much older than her, Erik chastised himself. He had to stop thinking about it. It had been over a year now.
He watched her, noting for the first time that she elongated ears that peeked from her black hair. It reminded him of pictures he had seen of nymphs and elves.
Could she be some mythical creature?
He snorted. Not likely, the last he read, elves did not usually survive on handouts of old crusty bread.
Then, as he watched her, he found his curiosity peaked. Just what was she?
"You are most kind," She murmured after polishing the crumbs from her fingertips with her tongue. "I have not experienced such kindness from anyone since my Master Montague's death," She peered at him intently and he felt his stomach knot irritably. She was studying his mask. "If there's anything I can do for you, Master, please ask,"
"Yes," He said briskly. "You can leave me alone,"
She blinked, her eyes dulling from their vibrant shade of green to a stony grey. She scooted away from him, biting her pink lip to keep it from trembling.
"I-I am sorry," She murmured.
Obviously, she had thought she had found a friend, but she was wrong. Erik did not have the luxury of friends. He watched as she lay down on her side and curled into a ball. Only when he was sure she was asleep did he push himself to his feet and begin stalking around the mill for anything dry enough that would serve for kindling.
As much as he hated fire, he knew he would have to make one or his travels would be slowed down if he became sick