Chapter 4: Asian Girl.
A ragged woman wrapped in a tattered cloak stood motionless by the snow-covered well at the village entrance, like a statue frozen by the wind.
Her arms hugged her frail body. Exposed hands bore swollen frostbite and cracks. Straw-like hair spilled from her hood, clinging messily to her gaunt cheeks.
Those ghostly green eyes lifted from the hood’s shadow gleamed with an unsettling, enchanting light, clear as a cold pool.
“Monster hunt!”
Children of Iceberry appeared as if sprouting from the snow, swarming from all sides. Every nearby stone was snatched. They rained down on the lone refugee by the well.
The woman bowed her head lower, hunching, silently enduring stones of all sizes striking her body and back.
A malicious cobblestone hit her temple. She only shuddered violently, stifling a grunt, still not dodging.
Older children shouted excitedly, emboldening their righteous game. Younger ones clung to mothers’ legs, sucking fingers, eyes wide with innocent curiosity and fear.
“Tim, get back here!”
“Holy Lord bless! Jona, close your eyes. Don’t look at her face!”
Adults panicked, fearing contact between their children and this filthy woman.
Children naively expressed disgust. Or rather, they inherited primal malice toward a group from parents’ fragments of talk and avoidance.
To them, bullying a visible “bad person” gave tender hearts courage and confidence to survive this rotten world.
“Mom, why must we hate her?” Cary stood by the pen, watching from afar. His small face was full of confusion.
“She is a subwoman.”
Renat continued milking, not looking up. Her voice was flat, stating an ordinary fact. “From body to soul, born unclean with sin. Even Sura struggles to save…”
“Subwoman?” Cary tilted his head, eyes shifting between mother and the green-eyed woman. “But she looks… like you, Mom. A woman.”
After a closer look, he added, “And… she seems taller than you. Prettier.”
“Cary, nonsense!”
Renat’s face changed instantly. She jumped as if pricked, hands on hips. Voice sharp, tiny body trembling with sudden anger.
“In this world, any beauty beyond imagination or reason is demonic malice in disguise to lure the fall! Mom is a real woman. They… they are nothing!”
Cary startled by her intensity, nodded quickly in half-understanding. He looked down, picked up a small stone.
“Monster hunt!”
Cary ran off, bouncing into the children’s group, joining the game of childlike justice.
…
…
No one knows exactly how many types of corruption sickness exist or their horrific ends. But “subwomen” are the most known and despised on the Sura Continent.
These once-men, body and soul fully eroded by dark corruption, are born unclean, beyond even Holy Lord Sura’s salvation or protection.
Their hallmark: unforgettable ghostly green eyes and ageless youthful beauty. They need no holy water to walk and survive deep in the Black Domain.
Subwomen live longer than ordinary folk, but it’s mere appearance. Life cannot be deceived. At end, they age and wither rapidly, then die.
Their souls are filthy. Disease barely touches them. But what truly inspires fear and loathing is their cursed fate—they are seen as natural bearers of misfortune, creators of heartbreaking calamity.
“Subwomen cannot enter the village! If you want hot water, I’ll have it sent out!”
Chief Mocus stood meters away, face cold, gripping a pitchfork. Tone final. Behind him, militia showed open disgust and wariness.
“Holy Lord bless you, kind sir.”
The green-eyed woman bowed. Her frail body shook uncontrollably in the wind. Voice humble and pleading. “Could… could you give me shelter? I’ll follow all church decrees… I’ll work hard, the hardest tasks, to repay your grace.”
This subwoman wanted to settle in Iceberry?!
Onlookers’ eyes widened in absurd disbelief. Iceberry was remote but not ignorant of subwomen. Shelter one? What misfortune and trouble for the village?
“Drink and leave at once!”
Mocus enraged by the audacity, waved. Eager militia raised sticks, advancing menacingly.
“Oh, Lady Renat and Priest Finn are here. Make way!”
A voice from the crowd’s edge. Villagers parted, letting Renat and Finn through.
As a retired Lantern Bearer, Renat’s status rose slowly but surely with effort and Finn’s support over years. Her arrival tempered Mocus’s anger.
Renat approached the green-eyed woman, lifting her childlike face, calmly appraising. Voice clear but not loud. “I do need help with chores. Holy Lord have mercy. Tell me your name, age. Completed the absolution rite?”
The subwoman lowered her head quickly, voice trembling. “Kadri… I’m Kadri, forty years old… Sixteen years ago, Bishop Jaeger of Eisendorf Monastery presided over my absolution… He gave me this name…”
Hearing “forty,” Mocus’s brow knotted tighter. Throat bobbed. He nearly ordered expulsion again. An older subwoman—who knew what stubborn, dangerous thoughts hid behind seeming submission.
“Hm. Shows you’re trying to atone for past sins…”
Renat nodded slightly, tone appraising. “I’ll have someone check with the church. If one word is false… you’ll go to the tribunal. Understand?”
She turned, bowing slightly to Priest Finn behind, showing respect.
“No, she lies.”
Priest Finn’s face darkened, eyes fixed on the woman. “Sixteen years ago, I apprenticed under revered Bishop Jaeger, recording absolution affairs. Holy Lord sees all. Your lie violates the Law of Truth!”
The subwoman reeled as if hammered. Body shook violently. Ghostly green eyes filled with terror and despair. She staggered back.
“Church Decree Three, Law of Truth: Though despised, subwomen must keep open hearts, shun lies, show truth, prove repentant without concealment.”
“Filthy liar!”
Including Mocus, villagers’ pent-up rage and fear exploded! Sticks, pitchforks, stones stormed the isolated subwoman!
Women screamed, clutching young children, turning away, daring not watch.
Older children rushed excitedly into the chaos, joining the beating of the “liar” and “monster.”
Behind the crowd, Renat blocked running Cary, face expressionless, coldly watching.
The subwoman’s tattered clothes grew more ragged in tearing and blows. She swayed like a breaking dead tree.
Amid angry curses and thrown objects, she stumbled into the dark, snow-covered barren forest beyond the village.
Days later, villagers gathering firewood found the frozen subwoman. Her corpse mangled—torn by beasts or desperate self-harm before death.
Chief Mocus and silent villagers dug frozen soil in a remote eastern wood far from the village. Her final, simplest resting place.
No funeral. No mourning. Priest Finn only gave a short burial prayer before the unmarked mound.
“Eternal Sleeping Holy Lord Sura, Just Judge, Ferryman of the Galaxy!
With flowing merciful holy water, melt the chains binding flesh. Let her piled sins shatter into repentant foam on the upstream return.
With eternal just scales, weigh her final piety. Let unfulfilled vows condense into silver scrolls of atonement in the wind of rebirth.
That light piercing darkness, stir the galaxy’s cold vortex. Let souls lingering on the bank reach the sacred shore.
Sura, extend Your compassionate fingers. Smooth her unclosed wounds. Anoint with holy glow that dissolves sin…”