She woke as usual, brushing her hair, straightening her clothes, moving as if nothing had happened the night before. As if she hadn’t just convinced herself to be devoured by the snake.

  Downstairs, she joined the staff again. Carrying, folding, wiping—just as always. But today she noticed the stares. The same looks she had always drawn, only heavier now, sharpened with something unspoken.

  Don’t look at me like that, she thought.

  I don’t want to be pitied…

  The questions festered inside her chest, twisting tighter with every pitying glance. But she didn’t let it stop her hands from moving. She needed to be useful—because if she truly vanished from this world, then at least the memory of her would remain here, faint but lingering. That was the only meaning she could still cling to.

  Once she was done with the chores, she returned to her chamber. A few children were there, but they felt more like judging phantoms than companions. Every whisper struck like a verdict, every glance like a knife.

  She went to her corner and began gathering her belongings.

  A book—its cover torn, its pages yellowed, the ink already beginning to blur. It was the first book Elra had ever given her, so she kept it close, no matter its condition.

  A set of clothes—bloodied and in tatters, more rag than garment. They carried the weight of a past that felt like a puzzle slipping through her hands. Each time she thought she could piece it together, the picture dissolved, leaving her back at the beginning. Yet for some reason, she didn’t want those old clothes washed or discarded. There was something about them—at least, that’s what she told herself.

  As if pressing her forward, time refused to grant her the grace of nostalgia. So she gathered the rest. Her belongings were few, light enough to fit into a single bag. Fitting, she thought, since no one had ever given her anything meant to last.

  She looked around the room. Her peers pretended they hadn’t been staring at her just moments ago.

  She searched for what she might miss—the smell of potato soup, which she might never smell again once they began studying her nose; the distant chatter, never meant for her, which she might never hear again once they enhanced her hearing. The breeze of the wind, the cold but gentle atmosphere which she wouldn’t be able to feel again after they done with their ‘research’.

  Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to believe again.

  Better to burn than to fade away, she thought. Better to risk it all than shy away.

  As she tried to compact her thoughts, a silhouette entered the room—Elra.

  Elra’s lips trembled as she watched her beloved Moony sink deeper and deeper into her fixation, willing even to be experimented on if it meant for her to use more magic.

  “Ple—”

  The word almost slipped out, but she stopped herself. She saw the girl’s eyes, and knew. Another discouragement would only shatter what Moony needed most—her fragile resolve.

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  So the two walked together, down the familiar hall that already felt like it belonged to the past with every step they took. She passed the room where they had once held her close—people who might have been parents, if only the word almost had not been written across everything.

  They went to the front door and then they waited, just beyond the old wooden steps where children used to gather for morning games.

  The sun was steady above. A few clouds drifted in slow shapes overhead, and the breeze carried the smell of dust and spring grass. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped and then went silent.

  The trees along the fence were in half-leaf, branches still patchy with winter’s stubborn hold. The ground was dry, and the patches of grass looked tired, pressed flat by foot traffic that had slowed in the last few days. Only a few chalk marks still clung to the stones from the children’s old games—faded lines, hopscotch ghosts.

  Elra stood beside the girl, her hands folded in front of her.

  “Thank you, Matron…” the girl laughed softly.

  Elra didn’t look at her.

  “It was fun with you around.”

  “…”

  “But it’s better this way, right? This way you can forget about me—a troublesome girl till the very end.”

  “…”

  “Ah, and I’m excited to see where I’ll be relocated.”

  “A…”

  “Maybe to Rangdenfallt? The capital city is grand, isn’t it? I hope I can go there someday.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Who knows, maybe there will be another Moony there… one without silver hai—”

  Elra broke. She pulled the girl into her arms, unable to stop herself. The child felt so small beneath the weight of her tears—tears that belonged to an adult who could no longer hold them back.

  “There won’t be another Moony,” Elra whispered.

  “Matron, stop… I’m not that special.”

  “You are to me!” Elra’s voice cracked. “Stop pretending to be strong!”

  “But if I’m not strong,” the girl murmured, “your eyes won’t change. You’ll look at me the same way they do.”

  “Please forgive me, Matron… but I don’t want to be pitied anymore...”

  Elra said nothing. She only held her tighter.

  And at last, the girl lost her restraint. She cried, clinging to Elra, and for a moment their grief was shared, wordless and whole.

  After a while they finally regain their composure. Wiping the tears from her face and stared to the distance.

  In the distance, the road curved around a hedgerow. A carriage appeared—black and white—rolling forward with slow, deliberate rhythm. Its wheels whispered over the dry earth, the pale horses pulling it almost too perfectly in step.

  The frame was polished blackwood with pale steel trim. No decoration for beauty’s sake, just clean lines, sharp edges—functional, but impossible to ignore.

  On its side, an insignia stood out: a serpent coiled into a circle, an ouroboros. Its single eye wasn’t drawn, only suggested by the taper of the curve. Around it, faint lines fanned outward, thin as veins or rays.

  The girl stared at it for a long time. It wasn’t a moon. But it felt like one.

  Elra’s eyes were steady, though not dry.

  “I’ll remember you. Always. But I’ll miss you more.” She said it with a somber tone, one which the girl wouldn’t probably hear again.

  She nodded. Then Elra leaned down, lowering her voice to a whisper.

  “Wherever you end up… just stay in the world. That’s all I ask.”

  The wind shifted. Leaves stirred in the trees behind them.

  The carriage slowed, drawing close. Dust curled up behind its wheels as the pale horses let out a long breath of steam. The girl tightened her grip on the sack in her hands, but she didn’t move.

  The carriage rolled to a stop. Silence stretched.

  Then—click.

  The carriage door swung open. Just the door, held wide, as if it had been opened knowing she would come.

  “Thank you,” the girl whispered.

  They both hugged again for a moment longer.

  Then she stepped back and nodded, once.

  The girl gave one more small smile. She turned and stepped into the carriage. The door closed behind her without a sound. The reins cracked.

  The carriage rolled forward.

  Elra stood where she was, her hands clasped before her, her shawl fluttering slightly in the breeze.

  The black and white silhouette of the carriage slowly grew smaller against the gray stone road. Dust rose behind it, pale in the late morning sun.

  The trees along the edge of the path swayed gently. A crow passed overhead, flapping once before gliding out of sight.

  The road wound eastward—toward the borderlands. Toward the unknown.

  Elra simply stood and watched, as the carriage—and the child she had raised—faded into the horizon.

  Until there was nothing left but silence.

  The Bell That Marks Departure may not have battles or spells, but for me, it was a fun chapter to write, how i imagine the town and how out of place it is really challenge my imagination.