5/24/2023 0 Comments Margaret owen little thieves![]() ![]() The proper age to be spilling grain and breaking things.” “Four,” Death said in her soft, dark voice, for Death always knew.įortune wrinkled her nose. ![]() “Three? Ten? Forgive me, I never know with you humans.” ” Fortune tilted her head, and the wreath of coins about her brow shimmered and flipped, changing from copper to coal to silver to gold. Wherever she goes, the milk spoils, the wool tangles, the grain spills. “We’re stretched thin to feed the twelve other mouths already, and this one-she’s ill luck. ![]() “Please,” the woman said, shivering in snow up to her shins. Her other hand was locked around the ragged mitt of a little girl beside her. One hand clutched a dimming iron lantern, which smoldered just bright enough to catch the snowflakes flitting by like fireflies before they melted back into the shadows. Her dull carrot-colored curls twisted from under a woolen cap, her wind-burnt red face as worn as the threadbare cloak over her shoulders. On this night, a woman had come to do just that: meet them. More than that cannot be said, for no two souls see Death and Fortune the same way yet we all know when we meet them. ![]() They stood tall and unfathomable in the glass-smooth snow, Death in her shroud of pyre-smoke and shadows, and Fortune in her gown of gold and bones. Once upon a time, on the coldest night of midwinter, in the darkest heart of the forest, Death and Fortune came to a crossroads. ![]()
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