The villagers' gazes were strangely unsettling. This was, by all accounts, a completely isolated island; its inhabitants supposedly lived for generations without outside contact. Yet, they showed no alarm or wariness towards their unexpected guests. Instead, their eyes seemed filled with pity.
As Felicia walked through the village, each person she passed regarded her with the same distant, indifferent sympathy. Even when she spoke to them directly, their responses were normal, but their eyes remained cold and sorrowfully detached. She might have dismissed it if only one or two had reacted this way, but the universality of it was unnerving.
By sunset, she had found no answers. Stephan and the four men who had pursued him remained missing, and no villager claimed to have seen them. Felicia contacted the rest of the team; as Maurice had predicted, the others had been found unconscious and rescued by the villagers. Some had fully recovered, while those more severely affected by the poison were still healing. One team member requested her location to regroup. Just as Felicia was about to respond, Maurice grabbed her wrist. "What's wrong?" she asked.
She looked up and immediately saw it: a thick, white fog creeping in from the distance, rolling in rapidly like an approaching tide. They exchanged a glance and fled. The old woman's warning to return before dark now made sense.
Felicia, grabbing Maurice's wrist, urgently ordered the team to stay put; they would regroup after the fog cleared. They sprinted towards the old woman's house, but the fog advanced unnervingly fast. Felicia glanced back, misjudged her step, and stumbled. Maurice caught her, but she'd twisted her ankle.
The sharp pain made her wince and pale, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. Then, without warning, Maurice lifted her.
Felicia was unaccustomed to, and disliked, such close proximity to him. Just as she started to protest, Maurice stopped her; the fog was almost upon them. She had no choice but to remain silent.
Maurice moved swiftly, his long strides eating up the ground. They were close to the house, and within moments they reached the decorated residence. As he opened the door, his gaze lingered on the vibrant decorations; his lips moved slightly, murmuring something inaudible.
Distracted, Felicia asked, "What did you say?"
Maurice looked at her intently, his Adam's apple bobbing. He said nothing and carried her inside. Felicia never knew the absurd thought that crossed his mind: "I carried you through a door with wedding decorations… does that mean we're married?"
The old woman sat inside, cutting intricate paper patterns for the windows. Several others were present: a young woman in a dazzling wedding gown twirled excitedly while older women fussed over her, adjusting her skirt and admiring the embroidery. She was clearly the bride-to-be.
As Felicia and Maurice entered, the old woman greeted them warmly. Felicia briefly acknowledged the others before turning to the women's conversation about the wedding procession and banquet preparations. The young bride's gaze lingered on Felicia and Maurice; her bright, curious eyes scanned them, and slowly she moved closer to Felicia. Then, innocently…