Wrong..ness?

The smell of warm, fresh cow dung filled the air — a brutal reminder that the day was going to be hectic and rough, as usual.

Niverea got up from her flat excuse of a bed and stepped outside. She headed straight to the back of the barn, where she could wash her face and rinse her mouth.

There was no time to bathe — and honestly, she would rather save the water for more important things. Who could blame her? The only stream in the village was far away, and if left to Niverea, she would never step foot there again. The long distance was one thing — but it was the crowd and the constant gossip that made her hate the chore more than anything.

The women and teenagers filled the place in the early morning hours, clogging the forest path with loud mouths and side-eyes. Niverea avoided them like a plague. They wouldn’t let her near the water, and the insults rained like ash during the dry season.

There was another reason the stream got so crowded early in the day: spirits.

Dark ones.

Rumor had it soul-eaters roamed the forest after noon — creatures that devoured your soul and left your body to rot like forgotten meat. So most villagers only fetched water in the morning.

Niverea stared down at her reflection in the still water. Her black hair was long, thick, and a total mess — dry, tangled, and overdue for a wash. Her olive-caramel skin glowed despite the grime, and she loved it. In Catyra, white skin was worshipped like gold, and some high demon ladies would lock themselves in for months just to bleach into ghostly perfection.

"What good is it if you're pale as a sheet? Barka," she muttered, tossing a dried twig out of the way.

The cow barn was huge. Madvil and her husband owned a ridiculous number of cows. Not that it was profitable — demons didn’t fancy cow meat. They preferred wild, feral beasts. Milk? Ginger ale? Blood? Only low-ranked demons and creatures bothered with that.

Idiots, if you asked Niverea. That creamy white liquid was heavenly.

The cows began mooing the moment she stepped into the barn.

“Shh, or no breakfast!” she snapped.

Miraculously, they fell quiet.

“Oh, good. Since when did you lot become obedient?” she mumbled, half-amused, and opened the pen to let them out. The hay was already waiting, and the cows began munching like it was their last meal.

She picked up the broom — Madvil’s favorite weapon of choice — and went inside to sweep the barn.

It wasn’t even mid-morning, and she was already tired.

She bent over, swiping dried dung into a pile. Some were old and crusted over from yesterday. Others were fresh, squishy, and stinking to the gods.

“If only the cows would stop pooping for the great spirit’s sake,” she murmured, holding her breath as she worked.

Sweeping dung was far from fun, but it still beat fetching water — where people ran their mouths faster than the stream itself.

Once done, she stretched her back and sighed. The sun was shedding its orange cloak and preparing to burn everything in sight. She had to hurry — chores unfinished under the noonday sun never ended well for her.

One task done. Now for the next: herding the cows back in.

“If only they’d walk in by themselves,” she muttered with a tired sigh.

A loud moo made her glance back.

Her eyes widened.

The cows were walking in on their own — in a neat, straight line.

“Barka! What in the spirits—?”

She rubbed her eyes. Was this a joke? A miracle? Never in her life had these stupid animals done anything useful on their own.

“Niverea! Niverea, where are ye? Stupid gal!” a voice screeched from outside.

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Madvil.

Of course.

Niverea trudged out, still baffled by the cows, and found Madvil standing in the yard — arms akimbo, face twisted in rage.

Here we go again.

“You stupid girl! Look what you did!” she yelled, pointing dramatically at the ground.

Niverea followed her finger and gasped.

All the water she’d painstakingly fetched the day before had been spilled, soaking the red soil and turning it to thick mud.

So much for the miracle cows.

“Now get ye stinky ass and clean up the floor!” Madvil shrieked, stomping hard into the mud — splashing Niverea with thick brown goop. The old woman cackled and stormed off.

Niverea stood there and sighed for the hundredth time that morning.

“Barka!” she cursed under her breath — then continued with a string of vile insults unfit for a “lady.”

But Niverea wasn’t a lady.

She was a slave, feeding stupid cows and serving two dirtbag demons who didn’t deserve half of what they had.

“How am I supposed to clean up this mess? Tulfooni!” she cursed again, snatching the broom and a pan.

She scraped and swept the thick mud into the pan, tossing it outside in intervals. The sun was high and unforgiving by the time she finished. Her arms ached, her back throbbed, and her mood? Rotting like dung in the heat.

It still wasn’t clean, not really — but it was good enough for these people.

Now, she had to fetch more water.

Again.

She set a clay bucket on her head and took the forest path. It was dangerous — but shorter — and today, Niverea didn’t care. She was tired, bitter, and reckless.

The deeper she went, the heavier the air felt.

Her mind drifted to yesterday — when she’d lost the firewood bundle and fled with her life.

The glancingbicicus trees were watching her again, their long silver leaves whispering and judging. The flabbinggabs still loomed like hungry giants, their branches twitching at passing shadows.

Something was… off.

More than usual.

It wasn’t just the trees watching this time. Something darker lurked.

Something… wrong.

Her chest tightened. She adjusted the bucket on her head and picked up her pace.

A single cricket chirped.

The sound was oddly comforting.

“At least I’m not alone. Thanks, little buddy,” she muttered aloud — if only to soothe herself.

She finally reached the silent stream and dipped the bucket into the cool water, her reflection rippling beneath the surface.

Something was definitely different about today.

And Niverea? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what it was.

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