Page 5 of Their Pretty Little Monster

“There’s not much left. I’ll take it when I feel worse.” She coughs again, her hand pressing against her chest.

My gut clenches and I rush back to the kitchen, turn off the stove, then grab a glass of water. I mix in the last of the herbal medicine—a precious amount—and bring it to her.

“Drink this, please.”

She stares at me, her face set in a stubborn expression. Rarely does she ask where the medicine comes from, and I suspect she knows it’s not through legitimate ways. Perhaps that’s why she’s always hesitant to take it, especially when it’s running low.

Reluctantly, she takes the glass and drinks it quickly, then lies back, eyes closing as she settles to rest.

“Just relax until I return,” I tell her softly, then step outside in the sunlight.

Passing several wooden cottages, I walk past two girls chatting, and I’m reminded of how much I miss my friend, Alina.

Just over five weeks ago, she was selected in our Day of the Choosing as an Offering to the monsters for an annual event. Thing is, names are randomly selected, usually between four to six sacrifices chosen each time, though this year they selected ten, which is unheard of.

For the past two years, since I turned eight-and-ten years old, I’ve dreaded the Summer Solstice, terrified I’ll be chosen, but so far, fate has been on my side.

No one wants to be picked.

Well, except Alina. She was desperate to have her name called out and went as far as to cause as much trouble in the village as possible. Every strike against you gains you an extra entry into the Chalice, and I’m convinced she had gained a couple hundred, ensuring her selection. She’d face anyone who got in her way and collected the medicine for my mom in case she was caught. She defied orders, and I admired her for her bravery.

Then, on her departing day, she told me that she was doing it in the hope of escaping and finding her sister in the Elite City. Mind you, it’s a place I’d never heard of before she told me. I pray she’s safe, knowing that I’ll never see her again.

Once you’re selected as an Offering and leave the village, you don’t come back.

I shudder at the thought and trudge along a dirt path, which is dotted with water puddles from last night’s rain.

A sudden, harsh bump strikes my back, a shoulder slamming into me, sending me stumbling forward. I cry out, falling onto my hands and knees, crashing into the muddy earth. The sting in my knees hits instantly, making me wince.

“Get out of the way,” snaps one of the farmers as he brushes past, disappearing around the bend and behind the storage sheds up ahead.

“Asshole!” I yell after him, frustration boiling over as pain shoots through my knees. Struggling to rise, I feel the cold mud clinging to me.

Laughter erupts from my left, and I glance over to see three girls taking amusement in my fall. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and a fire ignites in my chest. I push myself to my feet, wiping my hands on the grass.

“Why bother cleaning up? You’ll just end up back in the mud where you belong,” one of them mocks.

I straighten up, brushing the dirt from my clothes as best I can. “Thanks for the concern,” I grumble sarcastically, meeting their gazes with a defiant glare until they move on.

Breathing heavily, I feel a newfound strength building within me, one I thank Alina for. She would’ve laughed this off, maybe even taken a bow.

I let the squelch of my boots in the mud provide a small sense of satisfaction. I’m not letting them get to me. Some days are rough, fighting what feels like a losing battle against the village, but as my mom says, If you can’t find a good path, make one.

Reaching the storage sheds on the outskirts of the farming land, the air is filled with chirping birds and the earthy musk ready for toil. The main shed looms large, housing the village’s harvests. I head toward the smaller, quainter shed where supplies are kept. Inside, I find two wooden pails with handles that seem to have survived more seasons than some of the villagers. I note them in the ledger—the good old system where you pay at month’s end and hope the numbers aren’t fudged to make you pay more.

As I turn to leave, a cluster of elderberries catches my eye. They hug the side of the shed, perfect for our morning porridge. Rare finds, these berries, so I quickly start picking them, dropping them into one of the buckets.

“I hear a new Viscount’s been appointed.”

Raising my head, I overhear two Village Protectors talking near the shed. The mention of the Viscount has my attention. Weeks after the Day of the Choosing, the previous Viscount and Barons were removed, and we haven’t seen or heard from them since. Nobody knows why, but everyone’s talking about it, nervous about what’s going on.

These newly appointed Village Protectors have recently arrived in Nightingale, watching everyone, too.

I half listen while picking berries until the words dangerous and not local pierce through their chatter. My hands pause, berries forgotten. “And he’s from the Elite City, no less,” one of them adds.

I freeze. Wait, that’s where Alina mentioned she wanted to go.

“They’re saying he’s coming to stir things up because the higher-ups aren’t thrilled with how this village has been managed,” he continues.

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