Too fast
The whole body snapped forward like something broke inside it no wind-up, no warning just the will to hurt.
The blade was already coming.
She screamed as she raised the sickle half breath, half terror.
"Someone—please! HELP!"
Metal hit metal and threw her sideways. Her shoulder slammed into a post.
'what the fuck what the fuck what the—'
Her wrist stung. She didn't drop the sickle but it felt she should've she didn't even know she was still holding it.
The thing jerked back, like it needed to recharge its limbs. Then it snapped again.
She ducked. Spun. Hay flew up. Her foot slipped.
It slashed low—she jumped back too late.
Pain. White hot pain across her throat.
She dropped to her knees.
Her hand clamped to the cut. It was warm. It was wet.
'no no no no no'
She tried to scream again.
"Help—!"
Nothing, Air. Just air and the stench of death in the air
The creature twitched. Took a step.Then another.
'not like this not like this please please—'
She crawled. Reached for anything. Her fingers brushed wood—too far.
It raised the blade again.
She curled into herself, one arm over her head, the other still squeezing her neck.
She wanted to scream again. Wanted to cry. Wanted to go back.
The blade came down—
And then the doors exploded.
Voices. A body. Wood crashing.
The Hollow Man staggered. Steel struck bone.
A pitchfork through its side. A hammer slamming it off-balance.
It reeled.
She looked up. Everything was spinning. Her ears were full of nothing.
Then a woman stepped through the door. Older. Tall. Red hair streaked with gray. Coat dragging behind her.
She didn't run. She didn't shout. She just walked
She picked up a spike from the wall and drove it through the thing's chest like it was a nail in rotten wood.
It twitched.
Dropped.
So did Uma.
She felt hands on her. Warm. Shaking.
"Hey—hey, baby, stay with me," the lady whispered.
Uma tried to say something.
Nothing came.
Her mouth moved. Her whole body shivered.
She just stared.
"You screamed, didn't you?"
Uma didn't say or do anything just kept breathing hard not understanding a word not like she could, blood leaking through her fingers.
"I'm so sorry," Serosa said, voice cracking. "I've got you now. I've got you. You're safe."
But all Uma could think was
'I can't screamI can't scream,I can't scream!'
And everything after that went black
When she woke it was to the smell of books and breakfast.
Something savory. Eggs, maybe. Herbs. Butter. The air was warm and soft, like it had been living in this house longer than she had.
The ceiling above her was wooden. Low. Not polished or perfect—old beams with lines like stretch marks. The bed beneath her creaked as she shifted. The blanket was too big. Worn. Cozy.
Her neck burned,Not a lot.Just enough to remember,She reached up, slowly.Bandages. Thick. Firm. Tied carefully.She didn't pull. Just touched it. Just made sure it was still real.
Chatter drifted in from somewhere nearby. Voices. None of them familiar. Words she didn't understand. One was deeper. Another lighter. A small group, maybe three or four.
None of it made sense.None of it sounded like anything she'd ever heard before.
She sat up, slow. Her legs were stiff. Her arms ached.
There was a wooden tray set on the nightstand beside her.Steam rose off the food and beside the tray—sitting in a chair like she'd been there for hours—was the woman.
The same woman from the barn.Red hair streaked with silver. Still wearing the same coat, just with the sleeves rolled to the elbows.She didn't speak didn't try to explain anything.
She just reached for the tray lifted it carefully and placed it on Uma's lap.
The woman nodded once then sat back down.
Uma looked at the food. Then at her then back.Her stomach twisted. Not in fear—just the kind of hunger that made you feel small.She picked up the fork and ate
The woman said nothing.She didn't need to
The woman didn't leave. She stayed in the chair across from the bed while Uma ate, quiet and still, like she was waiting for something but didn't mind waiting forever.
Uma moved slow, chewing carefully. Every swallow lit a fuse in her throat, not sharp but deep, like the pain had buried itself in the muscle.
She didn't trust this place. Not yet. But it was warm, and warm meant something.
Then the woman spoke.
Not loud, not fast—just a short string of sounds, steady and directed at her.
Uma stared blankly. She didn't recognize a single word.
'Cool not English not even close great.'
The woman tried again, a little slower this time, like that would help.
It didn't.
Uma gave her a look she hoped translated to "I don't understand," because that was all she had.
The woman smiled like she'd expected that. She tapped her own chest and said one word.
Then said it again.
And again.
'Okay that's gotta be a name, right? Gotta be hers.'
She pointed to herself again, slow and clear, repeating the name one last time.
Then she pointed to Uma.
'Right I think she wants my name'.
Uma touched her chest and mouthed, 'Uma,' no sound behind it, just shape.
The woman's expression shifted—subtle, but brighter. She nodded, repeated the name. Not perfect, but close enough.
Then she pointed to the bread.
Said a word.
Then the fork. Another word.
Then the cup. Same thing.
'She's teaching me.'
The lesson wasn't fast or exact, but it was real. The woman made no demands, no corrections, just repeated each word like planting seeds, not caring how long it'd take them to grow.
For the first time since everything went to hell, Uma didn't feel hunted or lost.
Just… included.
She watched the woman's hands, her mouth, the objects. She didn't try to mimic anything yet, but it was sinking in, slow and heavy like warm water.
'I can do this this will be helpful pay attention Uma.'
She didn't know where she was, what this world wanted from her, or why no one had noticed when she first appeared—but this was something she could hold onto.
Something solid.
She kept eating. The woman kept pointing.
And between the silence and the soft clatter of dishes, Uma started learning how to stay
The rest of the day passed without a single word Uma could say, but more than a few she began to understand.
The woman—Serosa, though Uma still hadn't heard the name clearly—didn't treat it like a lesson. There were no tests, no pressure. Just small moments. Pointing to a spoon and saying the word again. Tapping her shoulder, then her own, and repeating something until Uma started associating sounds with meaning.
Sometimes she'd show her a thing, wait, then look to Uma for a response.
Uma wouldn't try to say it back. Couldn't.
But she'd nod, or mouth the word, or move her hand in a way that said, yeah—I got it.
Serosa noticed every time.
She wasn't loud. Wasn't overly patient either. She didn't coddle. She just… taught. In the same rhythm she moved through her house—quiet, strong, like someone who didn't like wasting time but never rushed anyone else.
When the sun began dipping lower in the window, Uma was already curled up in the corner of the couch again, blanket across her lap and that ache in her throat humming like a bruise.
Serosa came in from another room carrying a small stack of books.
Hardcovers, wrapped in old leather. The kind that looked like they'd been read a hundred times but still opened clean.
She knelt down and placed them on the table in front of Uma, then tapped the top one.
She said something—slow, deliberate.
Then pointed to Uma.
Then to the books.
Uma raise an eyebrow then made a jester's with her hands that said "you want me to read these"
Serosa nodded like that was obvious.
She turned to leave, paused, and added something else Uma couldn't translate. A little softer this time. Then she smiled and walked back toward the kitchen.
Uma reached for the top book. The spine cracked gently. The first page was worn thin, words pressed into it in a language she didn't know.
But she stared at them anyway.
'Guess we're doing this.'
She pulled the blanket tighter and leaned back, eyes following the shapes on the page like they were puzzle pieces waiting to click into place.
The words didn't come easy. They didn't mean much yet.
But they were hers now.
And so was the quiet.