Names make pretty liars. It comes as a surprise, then, that such a pretence should be prevalent when there is little need for it. Why, the sheer arrogance of such an act astounds me; to bestow names of permanence is naught but futile in the face of everlasting change. Saol did nothing to prove otherwise; that a town named for life should be the farthest away from it was a pity, if nothing else. At first glance, it would fool a casual observer into believing all was well; another thinly veiled lie. Having been well-acquainted with declension, however, the truth was laid bare for me to see. Where there should have been vibrance, the town reeked of atrophy. Hair-like cracks stretched themselves across the old houses. The stale summer wind carried with it the endless whispers of suffering that now made Saol its home. The sun had long passed its peak, and the faint glow of its rays coloured the settlement dusty—like an old illustration on a jaded book. Gone were the springtime greens, for in their place were drab dashes of grey, brown and sickly olive. It would only be a matter of time before it too faded into nothing more than a page of tragic history in the lores of its people.

The townsfolk were no different from their dwelling: they were modest in appearance. None who walked by wore anything newer than a year. In place of their whites was beige, and what was once blue had turned grey. Multiple washes had stretched their clothes too far, a tear or two being a common find. They didn't bother to patch their attire—there were concerns of greater import. The bakers and hawkers, I noticed, no longer screamed their throats hoarse to attract the attention of potential buyers. Why would they, when their trays were just as empty as the townsfolk's pockets? The potato blight that had hit them the previous year only got worse. With hardly enough food to keep them going, it was no wonder that they spent no coin on other luxuries. I watched as a balding man nodded to another across the street. The short smiles on both their faces resolutely avoided their eyes. It was no greeting—just an acknowledgement of the fact that neither had perished yet. That seemed to be the way of things these days. In place of crinkled smile lines were deep bags of worry, and even the barest necessities were guarded jealously. Every breath was measured, and every moment, counted to the inevitable. All of Saol was waiting for tragedy to sink its fangs and suck their lifeblood. They knew those claws would come—that I would come. They just didn't know when.

The scent of wildflowers lingered in the air, a mockery of the food crops that refused to grow. With no land to call their own, the little that did was quickly sold or paid away. The odour of sweat was distinctly less pleasing than fresh bread, and yet, it was a sign of the one thing that had barely changed—the children. Their teasing voices—full of mirth and youth—rang out clear in the air, almost masking the woes of the townsfolk as they ran about, playing a game that was probably of their own making. A few had taken to fencing with twigs the length of their scrawny arms, screaming battle-cries and pretending to be the heroes of their bedtime tales before they began running once more. It was not long before they stopped, chests heaving and faces flushed from the thrill of an excellent game.

The sun had just begun to darken with the hues of sunset when a woman across the street called out, "Leg it home lads, the sun is down!" and just like that, everything came to a halt. The twilight air echoed with the sounds of slamming doors and racing feet. Worried mothers called their young boys off the streets and all those who were grown rushed indoors as though terrible beasts were at their heels. One would think these people were heretics, but who could say? Perhaps the beasts were real, and myths were their living nightmare. Rumours had it that the old widows' tales had at least a grain of truth to them and that evil things happened after sundown. They spoke of monsters who lurked in the darkness, waiting to prey upon those less fortunate than others. That would explain why the streets were swiftly deserted, save for the children who seemed reluctant to understand the perils that their parents feared.

For a while, all was quiet, and I took to watching the ever-changing canvas of the sky. For all the hurry it seemed to cause, the sky was far from remarkable. The bleeding reds of sunset gradually gave way to pinks and purples until the last remnants of colour were finally swept away by the inky shades of night. By the time the last tendrils of light were snuffed out of the sky, the town had come to a total standstill—almost as if life here died with the sun, much the way it began with it. The Shannon gurgled as it flowed while a few magpies made their presence known, but that was all that was heard beyond the hushed whispers that were no doubt exchanged within closed doors. The moon lazily revealed itself from behind the thicket of clouds as my gaze lingered when a sharp cry pierced through the haunting silence that had settled over Saol. That is when I saw her—the one I had followed into town. Tonight, she looked like a young child no older than ten summers. Even with her face hidden, there was no denying her beauty. Her red hair cascaded down to her waist like a mighty waterfall, straight and unforgiving. The moon's mournful rays left a circlet on her hair, the red gleaming like freshly spilt blood on a sword. With her white gown trailing behind her, she looked a picture of innocence as she walked in the shadows—unseen and unheard. Some would call such a form angelic; others would call it a work of evil. For my part, I will make no such distinction—all those who meet me are a culmination of both.

The lonely one gave no sign of having sensed my presence. If anything, her head hung lower than before, but should I look for it, I knew I would find a face that bore nothing but pain and blank acceptance. It pained her to wail at the doorsteps of these people, but it was never a matter of choice; neither she nor I had the power to change the workings of the world. She followed the path her feet chose, guided by the faces she saw in her mind's eye. As we tread on the deserted roads, a child's cry rang clear, only to be shushed by worried parents who knew not what form my companion would wear.

"The children... "

"No," I began slowly. "They have always been the first ones to go." If it was me she looked to for denial, she was sorely mistaken; the brutal truth was all she would ever get.

"Where will you go tonight?"

"The orphan down the street. He's heard you before, hasn't he?"

"He has," she mumbled. "The first night, and every night after."

I nodded. "He will sleep soundly once more; starvation will be but a bygone nightmare."

As she turned away to resume her mournful walk, I caught her bloodshot eyes welling with unshed tears once more. The blood-curdling cries still rent the midnight air as I walked further away, down the street, to meet the boy as I said I would.

I found him huddled amidst the empty barrels, the rough sacks used as a makeshift blanket to shield him from the cold. The stone wall hard against his back was doing him no favours, and yet, I suppose he much preferred chafed skin to freezing. If there were a few things that never changed in my line of work, it was the pitiable sight people were in before I led them away. This one looked about fourteen, shivering in his disturbed slumber. His skin had an unhealthy tint to it, being stretched so thin I could easily count over half his bones. Even without touching him, I'd have known that his skin sizzled as he continued to string together incoherent mumbles.

"T-t... ime?" His eyes were barely open in narrow slits. I made no move to answer, for he knew well what I would say. He didn't need to hear it—now, least of all times. His eyelids seemed to weigh heavily as they drooped over his fevered eyes, and yet, past the burning haze, he looked at me with a silent plea. "S-s..sca... red."

"Hush... it'll be alright, little one. It'll be alright."

Crouching, I seated myself close, drawing his drenched head onto my lap as I sang a lullaby that spoke of a distant home—a lullaby meant for his ears alone. Sweat dribbled down his forehead in streams as I sang; he was fighting a losing battle. With every note, his breathing sped. His short and shallow gasps had lost their rhythm, much like the faint pulse beneath my fingers. Blues now spread with renewed vigour across his fingertips, gaining ground on his stiffening palms as they surged ahead. The rise and fall of his chest were in rapid succession, the tattered shirt he wore fluttering briefly from the pace. The rattling began not long after; his heart skipped beats more often than not. As I drew him into the folds of my cloak in a gentle embrace, the struggle ceased. He stilled, falling at last into the arms of peaceful rest. He would suffer no more.

I rose, knowing that dawn was not far away, and she would retreat soon. My responsibilities for the night were complete; all that was left was to follow her once more as the shadow she would never be rid of. The magpies had scattered, finding their nests and staying quiet through the rest of the night as I headed towards the woods that bordered Saol. It was where she would take refuge until the time came to leave. Littered with Oaks, Birches, Aspens, and Ash, the trees' boughs kept light at bay; there would be no need for it here. The occasional faeries kept away, as did the forest's other unseemly inhabitants. There would be little cause for their presence while I stayed in the woods. Moreover, they weren't my current company. It would be a while yet before they resumed their usual tasks. It was when I neared a clearing that I found the one I was looking for, her back turned to me as she faced a solitary willow.

"Will it ever stop hurting?"

"No," I said truthfully.

"Then why make this my burden to bear?"

"Because regret is a powerful thing. You regret that you had no time, do you not?"

A single nod. The past continued to haunt her no less than the morbid present.

"Come here, child." She didn't deserve to suffer so much. Confidante or not, I owed her at least some measure of comfort. She stood within my reach now, hesitant, not knowing whether to accept the offered hug. I guess the child at heart finally won over, for I soon found little arms wrapped around me, bunching the dark cloak within her fists as she bit on her trembling lip.

"It never gets easier, does it?"

A quick shake of her head.

"I suppose not, but this is the way it must be. Remember this each time you shed another tear: what you do... it gives people one last choice to live as they see fit. Without you, there will be a lot more regret and misery." She did not face me, but the way she buried her face further against my shoulder told me she was listening. "Sometimes, the peace of many others is worth our pain, wouldn't you agree?"

A nod. "I heard a few talking about me tonight... "

"Oh?"

"Am I really a monster?"

"No," I said as I wrapped my arms tighter around her tiny frame. "You are as human as you have always been." Warmth was a luxury neither of us could afford, but some solace certainly wouldn't be amiss. As the subdued sniffles morphed into tearful quaking, I found myself stroking her hair gently, cradling her against me as I hummed the melody she'd heard all those years ago when we first met: the same lullaby I'd sung tonight. It was far from happy, yet it was memory... and promise. I had promised to care for her ever since the day I led her away from everything she knew. I meant to keep that promise regardless of the sorrow it caused her... and the guilt it caused me.