Mary continued without slowing her pace, reciting a cherished tale passed from mother to daughter for generations.

  “We also take care of the Moonflower at this time of year.”

  She fished delicately through her basket until she lifted a single delicate bloom. Its petals were thin, white as snow, and shaped like a small star, five slender points stretching outward like rays of moonlight.

  “This one blooms only in winter. At the time when the moon is largest and brightest.” Mary said reverently, holding it up against the sunlight.

  “On that night, we will offer these flowers to Her Majesty. We will dance under the stars, sing around the big bonfire.

  “Couples propose their love. Girls celebrate their beauty, and boys… they pray to become braver,” she recited almost in a poetic tone. The kind of words taught in church hymns or embroidered into old tapestries.

  “Farmers wish for a rich harvest. Shepherds wish for healthy sheep. Elders pray for peace… And the young wish for their dreams,” she continued, her words drifted like warm breath in cold air.

  “Together, we celebrate the winter and the serenity of the moon, for three days and three nights!”

  ‘That sounds romantic,’ Arnold thought. There was something charmingly na?ve in how this child described her world.

  Mary tugged him forward again, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

  “Come, sir! Over here! The center of the village!”

  Soon they stood in the heart of the village, where the footpaths converged. The earth here was stamped flat from generations of footsteps, and at its center stood a statue carved from pale stone.

  “There she is, the Moon Maiden! Isn’t she beautiful?!”

  Arnold raised his eyes toward the statue.

  Beautiful wouldn’t be the word he would choose. He didn’t find it particularly impressive.

  Her face had been worn smooth by time; only vague contours remained. Whatever expression she once bore was lost to erosion. Even the nose had half-cracked away, leaving only a soft slope of stone.

  Her robe folds were expertly carved, marked with delicate engravings of moons and stars. The hem swirled around her stone ankles like drifting snow.

  In one hand, she held a tall staff. At its head was something akin to a scale, two crescent shapes balanced against each other like twin moons.

  Her other hand stretched skyward, extended her fingers toward the heavens.

  “That’s the posture she made when she fought the vile beast!” Mary puffing out her chest proudly and declared. “The vile beast from the dark forest! She fought it there, over the east hills!”

  ‘I see… so she’s the Moon Maiden,’ he thought, squinting toward her staff. The statue looked ordinary, just like any other statue carved in stone, except for the missing face. It felt unremarkable to him.

  It reminded him of the girl he had seen in the basement’s mural, but it was hard to make any meaningful comparison when time had erased most of the statue’s features.

  Mary tugged him again, pointing toward a circle of young villagers nearby. They held each other’s hands, spinning awkwardly to the tune of a fiddler sitting on a wooden crate.

  “See there, sir! The young folk are at their dancing for the winter feast. Would you like a look?”

  “No.” Arnold shook his head. He did not need to know this.

  “Then next direction!” Mary did not oppose him, since he was the one who held the money.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She guided him eagerly toward the next destination.

  “Here is Ma’am Ella’s house. She’s the woman with a lot of lice on her head, haha!” Mary giggled, covering her mouth. “After a while, we’ll come help her get the lice off. But in return, she’ll feed us! A free meal is the best!”

  Arnold stared at the modest house she pointed at.

  ‘…Alright then,’ Free meals in exchange for lice-picking? He supposed that was one way village life worked.

  Mary continued leading him through narrow dirt paths between the homes, introducing each with enthusiasm.

  “And this is Ma’am Opal’s house.” She pointed at a tiny cottage with peeling paint and ivy vines. “She sometimes sleepwalks at night! She goes outside and murmurs stuff like ‘give back my child,’ even though her child, Otis, is still sleeping soundly inside.” Mary giggled, kicking a pebble. “She tells the scariest stories! They keep us awake at night!”

  Arnold paused mid-step. Was that… supposed to be a joke?

  A woman wandering outside, muttering about a missing child, sounded more concerning than comical. Did she have a nightmare?

  “And this is Mister Ben’s land! He’s a shepherd. He owns a really, really big farmland, and his son Bennet will take over one day.” Her smile stretched wider, sheepish and dreamy. “To be honest… in the future, I want to be Bennet’s wife. Whoever marries him will live the most luxurious life!”

  She clasped her hands beneath her chin, eyes turning starry as she stared upward. Her imagination was clearly busy crafting wedding scenarios.

  Arnold rolled his eyes. ‘This girl… already this greedy at this age? Seriously, who is responsible for teaching this kid?’

  Mary quickly snapped out of her fantasy and pointed toward another cottage.

  “That’s Vine’s home. She’s my age!” Mary suddenly pouted. “Her beauty is flawless. Her family run a plant nursery. She’s my current competitor for Bennet’s wife.”

  Mary pumped her tiny fists in determination.

  “But I won’t lose! I’ll win his heart first, with my flowers!”

  Arnold grunted, ‘What a competitive spirit… but in the wrong aspect…’

  He found himself worrying about Bennet’s future. That poor boy didn’t even know two girls were plotting marriage battles over him.

  As they walked, Arnold noticed that the villagers’ eyes on him seemed to become less wary. It seemed Mary’s bright, infectious nature was at work, chasing away most of his intimidating aura.

  “There, sir, see there! It’s Miss Polly’s baking house. Her bread is the best in the world!!” Mary pointed at a bakery with a wide-open window and warm steam spilling out.

  Arnold immediately understood the unspoken request in her voice. Without a word, he slipped a silver coin from his inner pocket and held it up.

  Her eyes glowed like twin lanterns.

  “Thank you!!”

  She sprinted to Miss Polly, chatting and laughing with her, probably explaining something about “this kind noble sir”, and soon returned holding a warm, golden-brown loaf of bread.

  She tore off a piece and gave it to Arnold.

  “Here! Please try it!”

  “?”

  “It’s still hot. It’s gonna be delicious!”

  Arnold accepted it and took a bite.

  ‘Not bad.’ It was indeed better than the stale bread back at the mansion. He should buy some for the two mouths waiting at home.

  They resumed walking.

  Soon, they came upon a cluster of people wearing red bonnets, seated beside a wooden roadside stall. A woven fabric canopy shaded them from the afternoon sun.

  Laid before them were neatly arranged goods: sheepskin, rough-spun cloth, simple tools, handmade soap bars, carved trinkets, bundles of herbs, and even a few glass jars.

  “They’re merchants. They visit and trade their goods for our things, everything!” Mary explained.

  She then pointed toward a small building tucked in the corner of the village. It was much darker, less lively, and crammed with shelves visible through the open door.

  “That’s Mister Otto’s general store! He sells daily stuff, food, household items, and even cures illnesses with his magical herbs! He’s weird… but his goods are really, really good!” Mary lifted her chin as though presenting a royal palace.

  Arnold tilted his head and squinted his eyes.

  ‘Magic?’

  Mary waved her hands frantically.

  “Oh! Magical herb! Not magic magic! I don’t really know! He says it's magical.” She lowered her voice. “He uses herbs to treat illnesses. But no one understands how it works… so we call it magical herbs.”

  She leaned even closer and whispered conspiratorially.

  “I heard bad people try to steal his herbs! But!” she held up a finger, “they can’t use them without him doing some special spell thingy. So they had to return them!”

  ‘…’

  Arnold stared at the store. Magical herbs? That was his first time hearing that term.

  “Ah!”

  Mary gasped and pointed at a tall building beyond the central square.

  “There it is, the church!”