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Sarah Blakley-Cartwright

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“For Lucie," Peter said quietly, the flame of a gilded saint's candle fluttering in his hand." "Leave." Peter had anticipated this reaction and was prepared. He cleared his throat. "I'm paying my respects," he said, still trying to be polite. The woman was grieving for her daughter. "I can guess the reason you're here. I've just lost one daughter," she said, her hand on the door. "I won't lose another." "Wait," "She's all I have left," she said. "And you have nothing to offer her." Peter knew that she was right, that Valerie deserved better. But he could not give her up. "I have a trade. The same one as your husband." "I know what a woodcutter earns." Peter began to protest, but Suzette stopped him. "Henry Lazar is her only hope for a better life." Peter looked into Suzette's anguished eyes, her words hitting him somewhere deep. It sank in: He could not give Valerie a good life. "If you love her," Suzette said, her voice cracking, "you'll leave her alone.”

“Dong. Dong. Dong. The third toll of the church bells hovered in the air, and everything became still. Someone in the village had died. Valerie froze. Dong. A forth toll shattered the silence. The world split open, exposing a raw inside. Valerie and Peter looked at each other first in confusion, then in awful understanding. The fourth bell meant only one thing: Wolf attack. She had never heard the fourth bell except for the time she and Peter had rung it themselves. With those bells, Valerie knew. Life would never be the same,”