"Have you, now," she said flatly, and yet there was something hinting at her voice. 

"You're curious about me, aren't you?" I asked, slightly amused.

"Quite frankly, yes, I am."

"Well, just how curious are you?"

She glanced away, then looked back at me. "Very, sir."

"Well, why not sate your mind's appetite, hmm?" I grinned. "What do you care to learn?"

What am I doing, offering to tell her things about me? Oh, right; humoring her. I scoffed quietly to myself. Lie, Grayson, lie. Lie 'til she's satisfied with what you've told her. 

Rhiannon's eyes dropped to the floor as she bit her bottom lip. "…Where are you from?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Where I am originally from, I cannot tell you. As a small child, I must have moved around a lot as well. Although, I cannot recall anything from that period of time."

"Are--or were--you a gypsy?" She asked.

"No, I am not. Nor have I ever been one."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then why must you move around so much?"

"I'm not sure," I sighed. "I don't like living in one place."

"I cannot comprehend why, though. Have you not felt content in any place you have been?"

"Obviously so, if I have left each place and moved on to the next."

A pause.

"You're not a criminal, are you? You haven't killed anyone?"

I scowled at her, delivering a menacing glare. "I think we should go downstairs to the kitchen, don't you? I smell food. Your mother must need some help, Rhiannon," I said, angered by her speculations.

"My mother is fine," she said firmly. "Now why won't you answer my question?"

I remained silent.

"You…haven't killed anyone, have you? Answer me, please."

"There is nothing to answer," I said, standing now, towering over the girl. I looked down at her. "Now you go and help your dear mother, and leave me to get dressed."

"You already are dressed," she noted, pointing at the clothes I had on.

"Fully clothed, then. I cannot traipse around my host's home wearing this," I pointed to the thin, tight shirt I wore. It was nearly translucent. "It would be highly improper. Now, off you go," I shoved her out of the room.

. . .

"You haven't killed anyone, have you?"

Rhiannon's question echoed in my mind as I strapped on the heavy boots I had worn not long ago. I pulled my sweater over my head and shook the hair out of my eyes, combing the messy, black strands into place with my fingers.

I sat back down on the bed. I leaned over, crossing my arms on top of my thighs, and stared ahead of me.

For so long, I have traveled. How tiring it becomes, always moving, never able to settle down. I long for a sense of normality. My entire life I have been outcast, shunned by those around me, and deemed a monster. I have a natural resentment toward humanity, hating every soul I have ever met.

And though I may think kindly of them, I do not have a care in the world for whatever may happen to them. All of the hatred society has cast upon me, I will emulate. There is not a single person that deserves my veneration.

I stared at my hands, the skin rough and riddled with calluses. These tools have performed such terrible acts, many of which I cannot remember…and those that I do happen to, I long to erase from my psyche. A troubled mind I own, the weight of my actions, and humanities abhorrence toward my very existence, bearing down upon me.

I sighed, laying my tired body down on the mattress once more. I let out a deep, ragged breath, in an attempt to calm myself. I find it amusing how a simple question, that deserves a simple answer, has angered me so.

"Grayson? You haven't gone back to sleep, have ye?" Elizabeth's voice called, startling me, if only slightly.

I stood up and opened the door, patting the wrinkles out of my clothes. "No, I haven't. I'm coming downstairs now."

"Alright, hurry now, hon."

I closed the door behind me and hurried off down the stairs. I followed the scent of Elizabeth's cooking. I sauntered through the common room, pausing before the door leading to what I can only assume is the kitchen. After once again removing the wrinkles from my sweater, I pushed through the door, the wooden mass swinging back and forth on it's hinges.

The kitchen was illuminated, the shutters opened, allowing the morning sun to brighten the room. On the table before me, plates were scattered around the table, all full. The multitude of luscious smells overwhelmed my senses. A wave of hunger washed over me, my stomach growling viciously. I clutched my stomach, and soon came to the realization that I had not eaten in days.

Elizabeth gave a toothy grin. "Hungry?" She chuckled.

I nodded feverishly. "I'm starving. I cannot recall the last time I've eaten."

Callum spoke up, taking a seat at the head of the table. He motioned to the seat across from him. "Sit down, then, boy. Eat."

I pulled out the chair and seated myself, staring hungrily at the plate of food placed in front of me.

"What're you trying to do, boy? Will the food into your stomach?" Callum laughed.

I laughed half heartedly. "I wasn't sure if your family prayed before your meal."

He snorted, shaking his head. "No. Now eat before your food becomes cold."

I began eating, pacing myself, savoring each bite of the delicious food. Normally, this cooking would be considered adequate at best, but I have not eaten in God knows how long. A dead deer's carcass would taste just as amazing. I reached over for the mug of steaming hot tea. Slowly I drank, relishing the warmth it brang, traveling throughout my body.

I took another bite of the warm bread, then spoke. "Thank you for the meal, as well as the room. You simply cannot imagine how grateful I am."

"You don't have to thank us, Grayson," Elizabeth said.

"Oh, but surely I must," I said. "I hope I am not inconveniencing you by staying."

"You aren't inconveniencing us. We run an Inn for Heaven's sake. Just enjoy your stay here," Callum said.

"How long are you staying?" Elizabeth asked.

I pursed my lips. "Another day or so. I'm not sure, quite frankly. I've been traveling for a long while, and I could use the rest."

"Stay as long as you like. Did you sleep well last night?"

"Unfortunately no," I sighed.

"I can tell," she said. "You look as tired as you did when you arrived. I would have fed you last night, but I thought it best to let you sleep."

"I would have fallen asleep at the table," I laughed. "But yes, I'm still just as tired. I suppose all of this is catching up on me. I'm lucky I spotted your home, otherwise I'd have been sleeping in the damned woods 'round here."

"No, not these woods, boy," Elizabeth said.

I raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is wrong with these woods?"

Callum cleared his throat. "The forest here is known as Satan's Playground."

"How so?"

Callum hesitated before speaking. "Many…have been murdered there, the bodies mutilated. Torn apart…the innards scattered amongst the dead leaves of the trees. Villagers, and travelers like yourself, have entered the woods, and have yet to return. Most bodies are found, others have simply…disappeared. It has been said that there's Devil worshippin' occurring in the woods as well."

"I think it's the damn gypsies that caused all this," Elizabeth said. "Before they came into the area, the killings were never this bad."

"This bad?"

"Yes. There have been killings before…but never this many. Grayson," her voice shook, "it's terrible."

"I've seen the bodies, all torn apart like that," he said, jutting his thumb at his chest. "It's not safe to enter the woods. Almost everyone here in Brockenhurst has seen some sort of creature roaming around the wood. I think Satan dwells within these parts. Nothing else could have been responsible for these atrocities. There's nothing more evil."

"Father Addison saw a demon, he says," Elizabeth added.

I shook my head. "I don't mean to disagree, but I think it's all superstition," I said. "I highly doubt there are demons running rampant in the forest surrounding the village. There might be someone that's escaped from the asylum killing these people. Or a rabid bear."

"Or a wolf," she suggested.

I crossed my arms over my chest, sighing, successfully suppressing another scowl. "Yes…or a wolf."

"Superstition or not, the woods are dangerous. And if yer caught wanderin' about, the villagers are gonna think you're up to something. That you may be to blame for the killings," Callum warned.

"Why? A man cannot stroll through the forest in the light of the precious moon?" I asked. "This is the only place I've come upon, where walking through the woods is seen as a transgression, rather than what it really is: just a leisurely stroll."

"I understand your annoyance at that. But, you can walk through the woods. As long as you don't mind being suspected of something."

"Of what, being a ruthless killer?"

"Or a beast," he said gruffly. "They speak of beasts often. Werewolves they call them."

My eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed. "Werewolves?"

He nodded. "They morph from man, into beast. Savages. They kill without remorse, tearing through villages, killing livestock, as well as innocent people."

"Father Addison says there are a creature of sin. Only the heretics are condemned to such a fate, to live as both man and beast, until they are brought to an end by the humans," Elizabeth stated.

"And how do they attain this…fate?" I asked.

"They are bitten by another wolf. The wolves are able to sense the sinners, Father Ad-"

"Elizabeth, by the grace of God, I swear if I hear another word of that pompous, self righteous, bastard, I'll beat his name out of your memory," he half shouted. Callum turned to me. "I'm a religious man, you see. But Father Addison is a cruel, hypocritical man. Everyone, aside from himself, is a damned heretic."

"Ah. The type to promise everyone Hell, I presume?"

"Exactly that," he laughed bitterly. "Are you religious, Grayson?"

"I can't say that I am…but I do attend church every so often."

"Why aren't you?" Elizabeth asked, baffled.

"God hasn't exactly…favored me all these years. He's given me more curses than anything. My faith has dissipated," I frowned.

"What do you mean by 'curses'?" She asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"I just…don't have the best of luck, I suppose." I shrugged. "Calm down, I'm not one of the beasts you speak of," I laughed quietly.

"Or are you?" Elizabeth asked, the suspicion hinting at her voice, I cannot be certain if it was feigned.

Taking a sip from the mug, I said, "I'm not one of them. Do I look like one of those mongrels?"

"Well…" She glanced at her husband.

"You surely cannot be accusing me of being one of those beasts," I said, trying to remain calm.

"Elizabeth, I've had enough. Don't bother the boy."

"Is it wrong for me to speculate upon something?" She asked.

"When you're clearly wrong, yes," I said, standing up. "I think I'm going back to bed. I'm exhausted."

"Grayson, come now, don't listen to her--"

"Thank you for the meal. I'm going to rest, now."

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