"Ahhh!"

"Get Mother Maria!"

"He's getting up, run away!"

Seth grumbled as he struggled to grab hold of his consciousness. He was asleep. He had a dream. It was a nice dream. Then it became weird.

Like most, he was at first ignorant to it all being a figment of his dreamy imagination. He dreamt that he was alone in his garden, attentively tending to his plants. Pruning them diligently and spraying them tenderly. Abel approached the gate and tried calling out to him. But for whatever odd reason, his words were replaced with the sound of lovely songbirds. Ah, true bliss. It was all too good to be true.

Then, Abel suddenly began speaking as though he had the voice of a child. (Though; he was childish at best) Seth was utterly unnerved by the sound of his brother having a pubescent voice. And it was a… girl's? Okay, he was dreaming; that was certain now.

Groggy and slothful, Seth attempted to pry his eyes open. The dream that was once so fresh in his mind began to blur as it retreated into the back of his mind. He didn't know what time it was, but he was certain that it was far too early in the day to hear the cries of chipper children.

He rolled his body over, letting the force of gravity tip him onto his stomach. The force of his diaphragm pushing against the cushion he slept upon was uncomfortable; but needed. In two or three more breaths, he would force himself up to relieve his core.

"Scary mask, run!"

At the mention of his mask, Seth's eyes shot open. He flipped himself over and up in a panic. He frantically began patting his face. Much to his relief, he felt the hollow bone that comprised his mask still fixed upon his skin. Good… good.

His vision was blurred and fogged—the result of his blood vessels attempting to clamp down to account for the sudden shift in the gravitational direction. He stumbles for a few steps. Like a drunk, he clumsily trips over a protruding piece of floorboard. Reflexes kick in as he falls forward. He juts out his hand to catch the weight of his body on the nearby wall.

One, two, three seconds.

He breathes a sigh of relief. His hand could have easily punched through the stone slab. It took quite some time, far more time than he would like to admit, but he was able to control his strength.

Then, as his vision clears, he realizes that his hand had slammed a few inches from Maria's left ear and that his mask was suspended point-blank in front of her face.

He immediately reeled back the second their eyes met. He looked down, not daring to look her in the eye yet again. If he could say sorry, he would. Oh, dear gods, he could hear Abel's laugh ringing in the back of his mind. (A part of him was grateful that he at least lost his girlish voice).

Maria stilled herself like a statue. Her breathing became clogged in her lungs as she vainly attempted to recompose herself. She had heard all the commotion from her darling children. She easily deduced it was most likely caused by her peculiar guest. Not that he would have done anything to them, but his presence certainly could be perturbing to the children.

He seemed quite well-mannered to Maria. In the short time they spent together, he was rather polite towards her. Quietness seemed to be a given for him. He only made gestures to her, but they seemingly formed into coherent sentences in her mind. How odd.

Hearing all the ruckus and seeing her children run out of the room evoked her motherly instincts, and she promptly came to their aid. She rounded the corner and—

Slam!

It happened so fast. She blanked out for it. She sees Seth back away, looking down in complete awkwardness. Then, she remembers. The hand by her ear, the closeness of the man beneath the mask. Behind it, she caught a glimpse of his cherry-colored eyes. The heat of her own cheeks rounding the utter embarrassment she felt at the memory.

Gods. When was it that she last felt so flustered? When did she act so girly; and yet so unwomanly?

Oh, right. It was that Sunday evening. The last evening before he went down; and never came back up.

Seth began backing up, sensing that he may have overstayed his welcome. That was fine. He wasn't planning on staying anyway. One night. That was all.

He began waving his hands in front of himself apologetically. Maria nervously chuckled at how silly they must look from the children's perspective. The picturesque image of a mother was seemingly ruined in a near-instant.

"I see you're up and doing well," she says half-jokingly. The other half was rather sweet and sincere.

"..."

Seth responds with a shrug. He could have gone without the children making such a muck of the morning. But that was his pessimistic side speaking, a trait fostered and raised by Abel—a byproduct of being siblings with him. He had a place to stay that was warm, loud, but warm. Maria had shown him more hospitality than anyone had in the city thus far during his stay. Granted, it had only been less than a day. But Maria had known him for less time and had shown him extraordinary kindness. So, at the very least, he could put up with the antics of children. (It wouldn't be the first time anyway).

Seth leaned to the right, noticing a hint of movement by the doorway. He saw a wisp of blonde hair quickly dart away to the safety of the side of the door. Noticing that his attention had been drawn away from her, Maria turned around.

"Children," she called out lovingly. "Come on out. It's rude to act that way to our guest."

Having no other choice, the children hesitantly began to peep out from around the corner; and make their way to their mother's side.

The first was a human boy. His hair was brown, his skin slightly tanned, and his face scuffed with scratches and dirt marks. His eyes glimmered with a fierce sense of bravery, perhaps to mask his natural fear of strangers.

The second was a chienthrope girl. She had cream-colored hair, and her eyes were a soft auburn shade. She seemed looser than the others, less uptight. Her body language and overall demeanor reeking of friendliness. Perhaps, too much so.

The last child was an elf, or at least; half of one. Though, Seth admittedly wasn't comfortable with guessing their gender. They had dirt blonde hair and cyan eyes. Aside from their physique, they seemed rather bland, nonchalant at best. They only seemed to go with the flow of the other children's moods.

Seth's hand quivered in front of him, creating an awkward gesture resembling a wave. The trio of children quickly darted behind Maria's leg, the boy to her right, while the chientrope and the half-elf to her left. Maria let out another laugh.

"Now, now. No need to be afraid. Seth is quite friendly." Seth sheepishly scratched at his mask. "So, why don't you introduce yourselves to him?"

Seth was frankly half expecting them to be stuck in a permanent state of trepidation. However, much to his surprise, the human boy took a step away from Maria and spoke first, albeit dubious.

"Rye."

Seth could see that a part of the boy wanted to return to his mother's side, but he stood his ground as if he were trying to prove himself.

"Fina."

The chientrope spoke next after seeing the boy's show of bravery. Though, she still hung close to her mother.

"Roux."

The half-elf spoke last. They said their name rather indifferently and chose to only poke their head from behind their mother.

Maria smiled proudly at her children.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it."

Seth would have had the courtesy to return the greeting with his own name, but Maria had already spoken it for him. Usually, he would have just traced it out in the air in front of him; or drawn it out on the floor using the dust by their feet. He couldn't remember the last time he had uttered his name aloud.

He felt the children's eyes burrowing into him, studying him. Eyes. He didn't like them. Especially when they were on him.

"What are you doing here?" Fina blurted out.

Seth was slightly taken aback by the sudden abrasive and blunt nature of the child.

"Yeah! How'd you get here?" Rye joined in with his friend. "And what's with the mask?"

Mask? No, he means his face. The face he wears when he's outside the garden; when he's alone; when he has eyes on him.

Seth began shifting around, like a child whose hand was caught in the cookie jar. For once, he wanted Abel by his side to at least explain; or to seamlessly (slyly) change subjects. But he was without his brother and a voice to speak on his behalf.

Sensing that the question made him uncomfortable, Maria stepped in.

"Watch your tones when you're speaking to our guest!" she said sternly, embarrassed for her children.

She let out a small sigh.

"He doesn't need to answer if he doesn't want to answer. But, I'm sure you'll get your answers when you are polite to him."

She smiled warmly at Seth before turning around and making her way to the door.

"Come along now, it's nearly noon, and we'll need to make lunch. Syr won't be able to visit today."

Seth swore he saw sparkles—tears of relief coming out of the children's eyes.

Having said that, she left the room, leaving Seth with the trio of children. To avoid any sort of awkward interactions, the children simply ignored Seth's presence and began to mingle amongst themselves.

"I don't think he's an adventurer. I haven't heard of an adventure with a mask before," stated Rye.

"Hmmmm," the other two hummed.

Frankly, the way they harmonized with each other was rather adorable.

Frowning, Fina turned to Roux.

"How come Mother Maria keeps answering for him?"

Roux shrugged.

"Maybe he's shy."

Shy? Sure, that works. He can let them make their own little theories about him. They would be better than the truth.

Suddenly, all three of their eyes darted onto Seth once again. He anxiously placed a hand on the back of his neck. Did they have to stare so intensely at him?

"Mister Seth," Roux began. "Why can't you talk?"

The question was rather blunt, borderline crude. But it was a natural question for a curious child to ask. Maria didn't ask him, assuming that he simply couldn't, or better yet, he wouldn't. But being tactless came with the territory with children. He found that part of them to be admittedly charming, for lack of a better term. As though it added to their already sweet, naive, innocent nature.

Seth pulled the inside of his cloak to loosen it around his neck. He bent over to give the children a better look. The skin of his neck was smoothened, raw. A shade of red soft tissue wrapped around his neck, like an extra layer that had been seared onto his flesh. Veins and muscles woven together under his skin to create a grotesque pattern. The children's eyes continued to widen, even after Seth tucked his cloak back snuggly around his neck.

Seth felt a shiver run down his spine. It came from a mixture of the sudden cool air he felt on his bare skin and guilt. He felt as though he had tainted their innocence, burning a haunting image deep into their psyche. A part of him wanted to apologize while another countered, saying it was futile in doing so.

The children were eerily quiet. A few minutes had already passed. Seth didn't know what to do. Should he leave them be? He felt he had already done enough to wrong them. But a lingering thought surfaced in his mind. Could he somehow help them? How? Silence ensued as the two parties did not know what to do.

"Sorry…"

It was faint. Seth looked to see that it was Fina who spoke the words. All of the previous excitement and bubbliness of the girl had been sapped out of her. She spoke the words through her mustard yellow scarf.

Seth bent down and smiled at her. She couldn't quite see he was smiling because of his mask, but she felt it. He smiled, reassuring her—them—that it was fine. And having said what he wanted to say, he extended out his hand to her, his palm open. After a brief moment, she places her hand in his. Not wanting to be left out, Rye and Roux placed their hands on top of Fina. Seth let a small, hoarse laugh through his mask.

Tucked snuggly behind the door frame, a mother is smiling, proud of her children.