*HALLO, EVERYONE! WELCOME TO YET ANOTHER AWAITED UPDATE! I WON'T KEEP YOU GUYS LONG HERE ARE YOUR QUESTIONS.

QUESTIONS!!:
-If you could cosplay as a character, who/what would you be? (Recently, I've been dying to cosplay as Tokyo Ghoul's Kaneki Ken, the white haired version of him, but, like, I don't think I can pull him off physically and financially. xD)
-Are you MLG pro enough, bruh??? (You bet yo ass I am, son. B-/ )

OKAY, THAT'LL BE ALL. ENJOY THE CHAPTER, GUYS! :D*

Stay Creepy, My Friends!~

Chapter 22

A coyote's maw came barreling towards my head, ready to bite, shred and maul apart my face until it was nothing but a bloody husk. Then, out of the blue, I saw an instance of a bright light, and for a moment I thought I was already dead. But this thought was countered as I heard a loud bang, like that of musket fire. I felt blood droplets fall onto my clothes and skin and I looked to my left to see the body of the coyote that was alive only just a second ago, ready to devour me.

My body trembled for a few moments until a voice came bellowing from my right. "Are you okay there?!" I turned around to be blinded by a light. I raised up a hand to block the light from my face and so I was able to see my helper clearly. It was a man, with an aged face yet his voice and stance showed that he was as healthy as a horse. He wore tattered clothes, that of a farmer. He must be one. But I felt rather surprised. Not because a person actually came to my rescue, or that he'd help the likes of me. No, I was surprised because he had no white man looking after him. He was black. The man stood atop a mound of dirt and grass a few ways into the tree-line and he stared at me, waiting for a response. I pulled myself together and called out, "Um..n-no, actually. I'm bleeding out. Q-Quite badly, I may add."

That was enough to send the man hurrying towards me. After he got closer, I saw that the source of the bright light was a lantern strapped to the belt of his pants. When he came close to me, he set his musket down on the ground and had a look at me. "Shit..," he muttered as he looked at the wound on my hip, where the coyote savagely bit me. "Don't mind my asking, little one, but would you like to come to my farm so I may treat you? My wife used to be a nurse and she's still completely capable to help you."

I just stared up at him, gazing into his dark eyes and seeing how his sweat dampened dark skin gleamed within the light of his own lantern. Why has he no white man watching over him? Is he a runaway? Or is his master just careless? I've never seen a black man without any sort of restraints or white man looking after him. This is awfully strange..

Emily, he's waiting for your answer.

Sam spoke to me. I snapped out of my thoughts and told the man, "Y-Yes, I'd like to be treated, please.." He nodded and picked up his musket to sling it over his back by a strap. Then he carefully picked me up into his arms and started carrying me away from my poor little campsite.

After a trek through the forest that was too long than it should've been, a farm came into view out on a grassy field. I was relieved to see that I would get treatment for all of my wounds and possibly food and shelter. Proper food and shelter. The man carried me all the way up to the front door of the cottage and knocked on it as best as he could with me in his arms. Immediately, the door opened to reveal a woman who was also black. She wore the usual cotton dress every other woman and girl wore, but she had a more respectful air of her. The way she gazed into my eyes gave me this sense of safety, a different sense of safety that Father never made me feel. I watched as her dark face contorted into a look of concern and I heard the man tell her, "This little girl was out in the woods all 'lone. She's hurt and she needs fixin' up."

"Come inside quickly," the woman said and waved us in, "before the coyotes come rushin' in, instead." The man carried me in and brought me into a room down a short hallway. The man placed me down onto a white sheeted table and he stepped back to let the woman, his wife, rush in with medical tools in tow. "Don't worry, little one," she told me in the most soothing voice I had ever heard, "You'll be alright. Just let me fix you up for a bit. Stay calm while I'm doin' this, okay?"

I had no trouble obeying, as she removed my cotton dress and began treating me. I still bled but not as profusely as before. "Love," the woman called the man, "get some whiskey from storage and bring it here." The man nodded and ran off to do as she said. In a moment's notice, he came right back with a bottle of golden whiskey and a glass. He poured some of the alcohol into the glass and gave it to his wife. Then she handed it to me. I stared wide-eyed at the glass filled with the potent whiskey. "Drink it up," she told me, "it'll numb you out and you'll be able to handle my treatment." Despite that I've never once had to drink whiskey, her tone of voice made it seem so efficient that my life seemed to depend on just a sip. Hesitantly, I drank and immediately gagged and went into a coughing fit. The woman had me drink more to have me stop coughing but the taste was so rancid on my adolescent tongue. But, the more I drank, glass after glass, right to the brim, the more I began to feel vertiginous. The room seemed like it was swimming after three full glasses and that's when the woman went to work. I barely felt a thing as she cleaned away the blood, poured alcohol and began stitching my wound with the correct needle and thread. To my luck, she was also gracious enough to clean up any other wounds I had. All I had to do was keep drinking.

After what felt like forever, she was finished. Her last touch was wrapping bandages around all of my wounds. It seemed like I hardly needed clothes by all the gauze I had on me. By the time she was gathering up her tools, I was wavering in and out of consciousness. The man picked me up and brought me into a different room, one with a bed, and he placed me onto that bed. The woman came in, and tucked me in gently. I gazed up into her facial features and felt a warmth and calmness. She looked down upon me and smiled. Despite being old like her husband, she looked full and beaming with energy. She placed a hand on my head and said, "Have yourself some sleep, little one. We'll be here for you come morning light."

I nodded sluggishly and my eyes drew heavy. My tiredness overwhelmed me and soon I was drifting off into a drunk sleep.

...

I awoke to the smell of something cooking, or freshly cooked already. As soon as I sat up within the bed, the room around me swirled out of control and my head began to ache. I deduced it as the whiskey taking its wrath upon me. Moaning tiredly, I slipped out of the bed and stood on my feet. They felt sore, despite having been treated by that kind woman, but I was happy to know I'll feel better. To my left was a wooden nightstand, with a small lantern on it, unlit for it had no purpose during the light of morning, and next to it there was a neatly folded cotton dress. On the dress was a piece of parchment. I picked it up and read its contents.

'Dear Little One,
My husband and I have taken it upon ourselves to give you a new, clean dress. Your other dress was far too tattered to be sewn, let alone be worn again. Do enjoy the new outfit and do not strain your fragile body. Be careful and do make yourself comfortable.
-Ruth'

Ruth? So is that the woman's name? I placed the parchment aside and gingerly took the new dress into my hands. I slipped it over my head and was careful not to let it snag on any bandages. Once I had smoothed it out and let it hug my body comfortably, I walked out of the room. My feet patted against the wooden floors and I strolled my way down the short hall. The smell of food grew stronger once I came out into the main room and I followed the tempting scent towards what was the kitchen. Inside I found a woman, stirring some sort of meal within a pot. I stayed standing behind her and I watched her hum a melody to herself. But her humming was halted as she stopped stirring, turned around and yelped in surprise. I ended up stifling a yelp myself. Soon, the woman was chuckling and saying, "Goodness, you startled me, little one. I near thought you were a fiend."

"Are you Ruth," I asked her quietly. She gave me a heartfelt smile and nodded. "Indeed I am," she said, "I see you have the dress I left for you. Is it comfortable?"

I nodded. "Yes, it is. Thank you," I told her.

"No need to thank me," she said, turning back to her pot, "Now, little one, would you like some stew? I made some extra especially for you."

My stomach gurgled at the mention of food and I groaned softly. "Y-Yes, please," I mumbled. Before I could comprehend, I was seated at a table with a freshly steaming bowl of stew in front of me. My stomach was literally snarling at me to eat, and I succumbed to my starvation. Considering that I hadn't consumed anything in the time span of a week, with the addition of the two days that I was left lost and stranded, I devoured everything completely. Not a single bit of meat or vegetable or juice was left behind in the bowl. I feared that I would end up eating the bowl too. I was that hungry.

"Take caution not to choke, little one," Ruth warned me as she was placing two other bowls of stew onto the dinner table. I wondered who else they would be for, but my questions were answered as I heard the door open and close and footsteps grew louder towards the kitchen. I turned in my chair to see the man from last night, the one who found me and brought me here. He smelled of outdoors and sweat and he looked famished once he took a seat on the chair across from me. "Oh the sun is unjust today," he remarked and Ruth handed him a cup of water.

"Your aged bones don't help much with your exhaustion, do they?" Ruth had remarked with a playful smile.

"I suppose not," he chuckled tiredly and drank his water eagerly. I watched the both of them quietly. The man had almost started eating the stew when he glanced at me and froze. Then he jumped out of his seat and said, "I'm terribly sorry for my rudeness, little one! I hadn't put attention to your presence! Good morning!" He held out a hand for me and I hesitantly took it, feeling how calloused his darkened hands were as he gently shook in greeting.

"Little one, this is Frederick," Ruth stated, "He's my husband."

"The two of you are married?" I asked out of mild shock. They nodded and I could only shift my gaze back and forth between them. I was shocked because of how infrequent this was. Two people of color, together, married? It's something I had never heard of or thought possible. Most of society frowns upon such things, though the hysteria over witchcraft distracts people from the "unethical" ways of the black and the inequity of their existence as human beings. Father never discussed these subjects with me, though I know he wasn't for nor was he against blacks. Though, the subject was still real to me as I'd see white men blab about the "filthy blacks" or when I'd attend public punishments and watched the majority of the punished be blacks, just to seem like a normal English girl and not a corrupt witch. I'd watch idly as every single white person discriminated against them, going as far as marking them as non-human. In these times I'd think of myself of all the hatred I've received just for being different, for being a "witch". I'm just as non-human as people label the blacks as. But I am human. Blacks are human too. So what's so wrong with us?

"I thank the both of you," I mumbled, "for saving me from the outdoors. I would've been dead if it wasn't for you two."

"We're just happy to see that you're safe and sound," Ruth said with a smile that gave me warmth.

"So, little one," Frederick started, "is there somewhere that we may take you? A home perhaps? I'm sure your family is worried sick about you."

The kitchen grew quiet as I hadn't answered yet. Frankly, I didn't want to. Despite that I had gradually stopped crying every time I ever mourned over my Father, for some reason I now want to break down. I couldn't bring myself to discuss the happenings of a couple of days ago to other people. I managed to choke out a few words and I said, "I don't have a family.."

The kitchen grew unbearably silent, with dense melancholy in the air. I didn't dare look up at Ruth or Frederick, for fear that I may cry right before their eyes. Through the quiet, I heard Frederick say in a hushed voice, "Wh...what happened..?"

The sound of a small thump and then Frederick's "ouch" broke the silence and Ruth hissed, "Quiet! Don't ask something so sensitive!"

"My apologies, Honey, and to you too, little one," Frederick mumbled shamefully. I shook my head and finally looked up, though only staring at my empty bowl. "It's alright," I started, "I would've had to explain myself sooner or later.. I suppose now would be the appropriate time." Just as I was going to speak, I stopped and froze. What can I say? What can I tell them? I'm a criminal; a witch. Everything I do or say is all a result of being a threat to humanity. I constantly escape persecution and it's all I've ever known. It seems like I can only give out my name but even that's risky. If I tell this couple of who I am, what will they do? Even if we are both discriminated, maybe it doesn't mean that we're on the same side. If I tell them, they may not allow my presence within their home. For all I know, they may not even allow me to live...! I cannot tell them the truth.. But I cannot lie to them either.. What should I say?

"Are you okay, little one," Ruth asked me, pulling me out of the pit of my anxiety. She held this soft, nurturing look within her eyes which had my heart beating. Looking into those eyes of hers, I felt safe. I felt like nothing could ever hurt me ever again, like the world wasn't a terrible place. She made me feel free. It was a feeling I had never thought I'd ever feel. I actually feel free. Free from the pain that society bestowed upon me. I felt like I could live, and this was all I ever truly wanted. Why has Father never made me feel like this? He's kept me safe, but these feelings are different. What's so special about Ruth?

"You don't have to explain yourself," the woman told me in a gentle, melodic voice, "We wouldn't want you to suffer through your memory."

I felt relieved to receive her permission not to explain myself. I didn't want to get hurt again and I didn't want to hurt Ruth and Frederick. This feeling of security is something I want to hold onto and never let go of. Just the thought of shattering this sliver of hope had my heart aching with dread. I kept staring into Ruth's soothing dark brown eyes and I watched as those eyes slowly filled with great concern. I worried over why she would give me that look but it wasn't until I stifled a hiccup did I realize that I began to cry. Tears pooled and blurred my vision until they fell and grazed my cheeks. My lips quivered and it wasn't too long until I was sobbing profusely and wailing like a newborn. Without any sort of warning or hesitation, Ruth wrapped her arms around me and held me to her chest. I hid my face within her dress and let her sweetness engulf me and dull my pain. She pet my hair and ran her fingers through it, whilst whispering reassuring words into my ear. I sniveled and shook within her hold, and I apologized numerous times for ruining her dress with my running nose and seemingly endless tears. Why was a crying like so? Am I not relieved to be in the presence of such kind people? Am I not pleased with their hospitality? Yes, yes I am. So why am I crying? Why?

Then, it fell in place, like a puzzle piece. Ruth is the first woman I've ever had such close contact with. She's also a very kind, and gentle woman. Her attention and care is a different kind that I've never received before. I've only had my Father's care throughout my life. I love him, of course, but his care seemed out of place compared to other father/daughter relationships. He was a man, a tough and intelligent one at that. Ruth is gentle and she must be intelligent as well. Just looking at her and hearing her speak, I can imagine her with children, taking care of them and giving them love and advice. I can see her being a perfect female figure, an amazing role model. I can see her being a mother-.

A mother.. She's like a mother. I've never had a mother.. Father told me that my mother died giving birth to me. I never had the chance to see her and Father never found another woman. I've never experienced this sort of care and now that it's happening, it overwhelms me.

"You'll be okay, little one," Ruth told me and I believed her almost immediately. I would be okay. She's here so I'll be okay. Once she finally released me from her hug, I nearly begged for her not to. She wiped away my tears and gave me a smile, which warmed my soul. I now felt like I could tell Frederick and Ruth anything and everything that was holding me back. I felt secure with the two of them and comfortable with myself. So, I took a daring chance, and admitted my name. "My name is Emily Mason." And I'm a witch, I thought, but I held that bit back.

Frederick and Ruth gave me smiles and it seemed like hearing my name had made them happy. Frederick and I shared a gentle handshake and Ruth gave my hand a squeeze. "Well, Emily Mason," Frederick said, "it is a pleasure to have your acquaintance."

"Indeed," Ruth agreed, "Make yourself at home, Emily."

Happiness coursed through me and a weight seemed to lift off of my shoulders. Home.. I've never had a home. Just cabins or filthy makeshift shelters. Father and I never considered a shelter as home because we knew it would never last with our life style. Father said to refrain considering a shelter as home, because it would also be harder to leave behind. A home was something I've always wanted that I've never had the chance to receive. Now, I can finally consider a house as a home.

Do you hear that Sam, I thought within my head.

Yes, indeed.

We can be happy, I thought, we can be free!

..Free...?

Of course! Isn't this great?

There was a pause of silence within my head and for a moment I feared that Sam would refuse such an impossible thing for us. But, the sound of Sam's joyful laughter stated otherwise. Once he calmed down some, Sam, sighed and told me..

This is perfect.

-TBC-