Rain slashes sideways as I crouch behind the rotting barn, my breath ragged. The goat stands atop the burial mound, silhouetted against the lightning, its head turning too far, too slow, like it already knows I’m here. My knife feels like a toy. Old Mara’s voice echoes from the cottage below—chanting, singing, something wet and guttural. I promised myself I’d do it fast. But now that I see it, hear it hum my sister’s lullaby… I hesitate.\n\nThe wind dies. The goat stares straight at me. No eyes—just pits of black. I have seconds. I can rush in now, blade first, and end this. Or I can retreat, find the ritual book first, and risk someone else dying tonight. Or I can set the barn on fire, draw the villagers out, force their hands. But if I fail, they’ll crucify me on the hill instead.