Necromancer's Descent

16 - Refugees and Rebellion

I stare dumbstruck at the undertaker, like a deer caught in headlights. Herself? Why would anyone do something like mutilating their own face?

"How do you know?"

He could just be making the assumption, right?

The undertaker shrugs and stares at one of the shelves instead.

"First, because none of the scars were cut upwards. The scars on your right, or cut from left to right are far more uneven, like you'd expect of a non-dominant hand. You just happen to have a left dominant hand as well. Had it been someone else, then they would just have moved to continue using their dominant hand. Cuts near eyes, mouth and nose are shallow, or not there. People going that far, usually wouldn't be that careful around those places."

He pauses, while I continue staring between him, and the floor as I imagine her cutting her face up like this. His words make sense... they make sense, but why would she do this?

"...it's not the first time I see refugees harm themselves or smear themselves in filth and mud to prevent being assaulted or taken advantage of after they lost someone they loved. If anything, young lads or ladies like Anna are exceedingly rare."

Eh?

Wait, someone they loved?

I look down at the boney hands that belonged to her and then back to the undertaker.

"How do you know I had someone like that?"

There is no ring, nor sign that there had been one. Even if this body is old enough to have a kid by medieval standards, I haven't found anything to even hint at it. It has no stretch marks anywhere and the chest part too seems pretty non-existent, which could still be due to being famished.

"...you..."

The undertaker looks back at me uncomfortably, and his expression seems kind of grim.

"...your hairband for furtive in love is still tangled into your hair..."

I reach up into the black matted tots of hair and feel around. I washed my hair briefly at the river, but I didn't feel anything back then. My fingers keep getting stuck as I begin to frantically feel around, but the black hair almost feels like a blanket. Finally I find a thick flat band tangled deeply into my matted hair, like it got tangled while only being halfway on, thus being mostly on the back of my head.

Even when I pull, it feels like I'm tugging on the entirety of my head.

...but it's there...

I feel my stomach begin to turn. Refugee...

Anna said so too, that this girl was from the south like Anna.

She tore her own face up with a knife to avoid being violated and taken as a concubine? That's always how it works, isn't it? Concubine, prostitute, maid, servant or slave. Even if they're forbidden they'll always be there, as people find loop holes, or just force people into it and make them believe that they can't get out, even if law and order says they can... and who would even uphold those laws when they're busy dealing with demons?

Who would realize if just another refugee is captured in a basement?

I feel my stomach sink.

But even so... why do something so permanent to herself?

... This world has healers, right? Then it's possible someone could eventually heal the scars, as long as she stays alive that long.