The gravel was painful and hot under her feet as she limped across the road. Kant’s eyebrows lowered as he watched her. “Wait for a moment. I’ll fetch your shoes.”

“No,” she said, passing through the two posts that marked the entrance. “Don’t bother.”

Now that she had her momentum, she didn’t want to sit, not even for another minute, because she was afraid she might never again get the courage to return to the house.

Kant matched her pace, walking at her side. The headache still throbbed, but it was beginning to slowly recede. She used her good arm to hold her cast against her chest so its weight wouldn’t hurt her shoulder.

Kant opened his mouth, then closed it again. Margot looked up at him, expectant.

“The curse is a heavy cost to bear,” he said. The words were faltering. “But life here is not empty of meaning. The business thrives. Townspeople are wary, but there are still friends among them. And as bad as the curse grows, there is plenty of joy to be found in the peaceful times.”

She knew he had to be right. Eleven generations of Hulls couldn’t have survived on the hill if life was entirely bleak. They had married. Had children. Raised up new generations to take on their mantle.

With a small twist of discomfort, Margot realized a lot of them likely saw the curse as a fair price to pay for the prosperity they enjoyed. The business was thriving. Their wine won awards, earned them respect, even fame. The house alone was more luxury than Margot had ever imagined owning.

Maybe she could learn to live here, like her parents had.

Margot blinked and saw the dead man entering her room. His lips stitched shut, unflinching as her axe buried itself in his arm.

No. No amount of goodness can make up for that.

They passed the public store. She caught a glimpse of Nora and Ray inside. Nora ran a dusting cloth along the photograph frames. Ray was unpacking freshly washed wineglasses from a tray. It was still too early in the morning for tourist visits, but they had to be on the land until dusk started to set in.

They’re playing a pantomime, she realized. Visitors come and Nora and Ray tell them the history of the land, as though those shocking details are all there is to it. As though the hill doesn’t hold a darker secret, one that’s silently consuming them.

The townspeople knew. Or at least guessed some of it. Margot remembered the flash of fear in the mother’s eyes as she dragged her son away in the grocery store.