The villagers were a motley crew. There was Brann, tall and burly, who had spent the earlier part of the day pointing out all the “risks” I might have posed in the forest, like wild animals and poisonous plants. He had a penchant for dramatic gestures and kept pointing a finger at me every time he said “danger.” Then there was Old Hilda—the braid-woman—who was sharp-tongued, wiry, and seemed to know everyone’s business before they did.

“Now, you must tell us something,” she said, leaning on the back of my chair, braid swaying. “How old are you, girl?”

I froze, blinking. “I… uh… I can’t remember…twenty… maybe… twenty-three? Give or take a year or two?”

Brann snorted, nearly choking on a piece of bread. “So you dont know.”

 “Memory loss does funny things to your brain. You wouldn’t understand. You’ve lived a simple life. And on top of that, I was imprisoned. You can’t understand the simple happiness of tasting freedoom.”

Hilda tilted her head. “Well, that explains why you wandered into the village looking like a wild cat.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, feeling my chest puff with pride. “You get it.”

Another man, this one younger with a scruffy beard and a mop of curly hair, piped up. “Where did you live before? Can you remember that? Maybe your memory isn’t completely erased…”

I swallowed hard. “…No. I dont remember.”

The room froze. Even the fire seemed to pause.

Brann lowered his fork with a dramatic sigh. “You mean to tell me,” he said, voice shaking in disbelief, “you don’t know where you came from?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, setting my spoon down. “I woke up, remembered nothing, and got kidnapped. That’s my life story. I know exactly this much.”

Hilda huffed and crossed her arms. “You’re going to be the most frustrating person in this village, aren’t you? Do you even know how to do laundry? Cook? Patch up clothes?You don’t remember even basic survival skills?”

The memories of my life in that house replayied very fast. 

“…I don’t know how to do either one of them.” I said, leaning back. “It’s part of my charm. Oh! I read in a book how we can grow zucchinis.”

The villagers chuckled, shaking their heads. Somehow, even in my disheveled state, my honesty won them over. Or perhaps they were just entertained. Either way, I decided it was a victory.

For the next hour, we traded stories. Brann recounted the time his cow had eaten three weeks’ worth of salads, Hilda told me about the time she accidentally trappes the head village’s cat in her house, and the younger man, Elias, argued passionately about whether turnips were better roasted or boiled.

I found myself laughing harder than I had in weeks. The villagers’ gossip, their minor squabbles, their endless capacity for overreaction—it was intoxicating.

At one point, the old woman who had scolded Korrin earlier leaned in. “You’ll need a room for the night, girl.”

I stood up from my seat. “I see… its quite late.”

Korrin cleared his throat nervously. “Well… the cheapest room is available. Nothing fancy. Small bed, one window, a little draft. But it’s clean.”

I nod

The old woman let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “Korrin, this girl deserves better!”

“Mother-in-law!” Korrin groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She’s been through enough! Do you think a drafty little room will help her fall asleep after being confined?”

“Mother-in-law, please,” Korrin begged. “It’s clean! There’s a roof! And the girl said she’s fine!”

“I don’t care if she’s fine,” she snapped. “She needs comfort. And you, my son-in-law, clearly cannot provide it!”

I blinked at the display. “Honestly, I’m alright,” I said again, standing and brushing imaginary dust off my skirt. “I just want to sleep. The bed doesn’t have to be… big.” I suppress my dissapointment.

The old woman scowled at me, clearly unconvinced, but Korrin gave a small, grateful smile and gestured toward the narrow staircase in the corner.

“You’ll find the room upstairs,” he said. “One mattress, one blanket. That’s it. The cheapest we can offer. It’s… serviceable.”

“Serviceable is exactly what I need. A bed, warmth, and not being locked in. That’s all I require to call it perfect.”

The villagers continued to chatter among themselves as I followed Korrin up the stairs. From the doorway, I could hear Hilda muttering to Elias about how he must help her plug the field tomorrow and how Brann was complaining.

I snorted, feeling warmth spread through my chest. Somehow, being included, being offered shelter, it all felt like a small miracle.

The room was tiny, just as promised. A single narrow bed sat against one wall, a small window opened to the street below, and the air smelled faintly of cedar and old linen.

I flopped onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, staring at the ceiling. Not the big, soft bed I had dreamed about, but it would do. It would do wonderfully.

Downstairs, I could hear the villagers’ chatter continuing. I caught snippets of their conversations: arguments about whether the village should plant turnips or carrots first, jokes about someone sneaking extra ale, and Old Hilda threatening someone.

It was chaotic. 

Delightful.

I took a bath, changed my clothes with something Hilda gave me – an indoor dress, and then I approached the bed and pulled the blanket over myself, cozy despite the slight draft, and allowed myself to relax. 

Outside the window, the village lay quiet, cobblestones glinting faintly under the moonlight. I could hear the distant sound of the forest rustling in the breeze.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. I didn’t know when Atlas might appear, or how I would face him if he did. But for tonight, for a few hours, I had a warm bed, food in my stomach, and a village that, bizarrely, seemed to care.

I closed my eyes, letting the laughter and chatter drift through my mind like a lullaby, and I allowed myself to fall asleep.