The village was quieter than ever, as though a heavy fog had settled over Moshi, stifling even the faintest hint of life. The annual festival, a jubilant tradition that every villager awaited eagerly, had been canceled for the first time in memory. Instead of songs and laughter, there was only an eerie silence hanging in the air. It was as though Moshi itself was holding its breath in respect for the dead.
Lauren sat alone in front of her small house, knees pulled to her chest, her gaze fixed blankly on the dirt path beneath her feet. Shadows from the late afternoon stretched across the ground, but she felt no warmth from the sun, only a chill that seemed to sink into her bones. She had cried so much that her eyes ached, but the tears still came, flowing down her cheeks in silent streams. The air around her was thick, each sound amplified—the distant creak of a wooden door, the rare flutter of a bird's wings. These noises only served as cruel reminders of the voices she would never hear again.
Days passed in a blur, and she moved through them as though she were in a trance, numb to the pitying glances of the villagers. At first, a few kind souls had approached her, offering food or soft-spoken condolences. But even these gestures faded as the days went on. People resumed their lives, their whispers growing softer when she passed, their eyes flickering away to avoid meeting hers. Lauren could feel their pity, thick and suffocating, but it was tinged with a distance that stung more than words. It wasn't long before she was left entirely alone, a ghost in her own home.
Each night, sleep evaded her. She lay on her bed, the same bed her mother had tucked her into each night, clutching the thin blankets as though they might somehow hold her together. But as soon as she closed her eyes, the memories would flood in—the sound of her mother's laugh, the weight of her father's reassuring hand on her shoulder, the warmth of their voices filling their little house with life. Now, all of it was gone. And the silence that filled the empty spaces where they once were felt like it would swallow her whole.
Lauren barely ate, barely moved. Her once-radiant face, with its warm brown glow and soft, full cheeks, had taken on a sunken, ghostly look. Her eyes, so often wide with wonder, now seemed hollow, haunted. But even in her diminished state, she held a strange beauty, one that seemed almost ethereal, otherworldly. Yet even this beauty only seemed to deepen the gap between her and the villagers; it made her more of a mystery, more of an outcast. A "Nanita," they whispered when they thought she couldn't hear. She was an oddity, a stranger, even after all these years among them.
Ryan was the only one who continued to visit her, slipping away from his stepmother's watchful eye whenever he could. His presence was a small comfort, a reminder that she was not entirely alone. But even his visits were brief, and they always ended with him casting a nervous glance over his shoulder before hurrying off, leaving her once more in the crushing silence.
As days turned into weeks, the murmurs in the village grew louder, carried on the wind like the buzz of insects. "What will become of her?" "Who will care for the Nanita now?" Some whispered that she should be sent back to the forest, returned to the place where she supposedly belonged. Others thought of her as a burden, a strange child who had been trouble from the start. Though no one said it to her face, Lauren could feel their thoughts, their judgment pressing down on her like a weight.
Finally, a decision had to be made. The village elders called a meeting with the ZHASUNI, in the sacred chamber where the fates of the villagers were sealed. The discussions were heated, voices rising as they debated Lauren's future.
"Send her away!" one elder shouted, his voice thick with impatience. "Let her return to the forest. She has no family, no roots here. Why should we care for an outsider?"
Another voice joined in. "She adds no value to us. Her presence here has always been a mystery and a burden."
A third voice, softer but laced with a sharper edge, spoke up. "Why not send her to the hag? She has lived on the edge of the village, away from us, and surely the girl would be better suited there."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber. It was no secret that no one wanted to take the "Nanita" into their household. The fear, the suspicion that surrounded her, was too great.
Finally, Zoni, the head elder, raised his hand, silencing the room. "It is true," he began, his voice steady, though a hint of sadness colored his tone. "Lauren Esmond is an anomaly in our village. But to cast her out, defenseless, would stain our honor. I propose we place her in the care of the hag. She has lived apart from us, and it seems fitting that she should take in one who, too, has always been… different."
The council agreed, their decision final. Word was sent to Lauren, summoning her to the chambers three days later.
When she arrived, her heart pounded so loudly in her chest that it felt as if it might burst. She had never been to the ZHASUNI's chamber before, and the weight of the stone walls, the solemn faces of the elders, filled her with a dread she could hardly bear.
Zoni's voice broke the tense silence. "Lauren Esmond," he intoned, his voice carrying the authority of the village's long history. "On behalf of Moshi, I extend my condolences for the loss of your parents. They were valued members of our community, and we honor their memory."
She held her breath, waiting, dreading what would come next.
"A decision has been made concerning your guardianship," Zoni continued. "It has been determined that you will be placed under the care of Moa, the woman who lives on the outskirts of Moshi."
Lauren's heart seemed to stop, a cold wave of terror washing over her. The hag? She had heard the rumors, the whispered tales of the strange woman who had appeared in Moshi years ago, covered in bruises and dirt, her clothes tattered and her eyes filled with secrets. Moa had begged for shelter, but the villagers had been wary, distrustful of her silence about her past. Only when she had finally admitted, in a voice barely above a whisper, that she came from the West, did they relent, allowing her to build a small hut near the edge of the forest.
The West was a place of myth and fear, its people said to be strange, secretive, even dangerous. Children grew up hearing stories of the "beasts from the West," and Moa's mysterious presence only fueled their imaginations. Over time, she had become "the hag," a figure of scorn and fear. No one ventured near her hut, and Moa seemed content to keep her distance from the village. And now, they were sending her to live with this woman?
Lauren's knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, her body trembling as she gasped for breath. "Please… don't make me go," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I can stay here. I'll be quiet. I won't be a burden. Please…"
But Zoni's gaze held no mercy. "The decision has been made, Lauren," he said softly. "You will go to Moa. She will be your guardian now."
The words struck her like a blow, each syllable shattering the last of her hope. Her world, already fractured, seemed to crumble completely. First her parents, now her home, she thought, feeling the weight of the loss crush her. She couldn't bear to leave the house where she had grown up, where every corner held memories of warmth, love, and safety. But there was no escaping it.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she slowly rose to her feet. Her gaze drifted around the chamber, meeting the eyes of each elder, searching for even a glimmer of compassion. But their expressions were unreadable, their faces set in stone.
When she returned to her home, she moved through it like a ghost, gathering her few belongings with numb hands. She paused in front of the mirror, her face gaunt and pale, the life drained from her once-bright eyes. Clutching the locket her mother had given her, she whispered a promise to herself.
"No matter what… I'll survive. I won't let them break me."
And so, with the weight of her grief and the shadow of the unknown looming before her, Lauren prepared to leave the only home she had ever known. With her head held high, she walked toward the outskirts of Moshi, determined to survive whatever awaited her in the hut of the hag.