She followed the distant sounds of the boats in the harbour, making her way over the stone cobbles. The echo of Lily’s footfall from her heavy leather boots bounced and refracted off the contorted buildings that frowned down upon her, and she found a strange comfort in the knowledge that if her footsteps were so loud, then at least no one would be able to sneak up on her.

Every movement, every rustle of a skirt, every footstep was audible. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and she was unsure whether the goosebumps raised on her arms were from the chill in the air or from the strange, surreal feeling that she was being watched by a hundred little faces staring out of the grimy windows. With that thought, she focused straight ahead with even more intent, refusing to glance upwards.

She hurried, hands buried deep in the pockets of her cloak, her hair falling from its knot and billowing around her shoulders. She was acutely aware that her curls were still streaked with the dried crimson of Morrigan’s blood, so she flicked her hood up, hiding herself from any prying eyes.

She stayed in the light of the lamps, skipping from one skulking patch of fog to the next, avoiding the shadows, until she rounded a corner and the walkway opened up into the harbour.

There it was.

Shining intermittently in the gloom was the lighthouse. The fog was so thick now that only the very top of the tower was visible, its gleaming light a ghostly moon in the darkness. Its purpose was to warn ships away from the coastline, but Lily felt it warning her, too, to stay away, to turn back. The sense of being pushed back was visceral; she felt the instinct take over her whole body. The entire scene before her seemed to cry out, ‘No! Do not go on! Turn back while you still can!’ and it took every fibre of Lily’s strength and courage to push forwards, through the boundary of fear.

She had been so preoccupied with the strange juxtaposition of relief and terror that she hadn’t noticed the figure in the shadows. The sound of a thick chain being dragged over the clanking wood of a boat brought her out of her fevered imagination and she whipped around towards the source of the noise.

A hooded man stooped to gather the chains in his hands and Lily felt immediately threatened. She knew she couldn’t run and she knew that she had to find a way to get over to the lighthouse. It stood, mocking her, far out in the bay. There was no bridge or walkway that she could make out in the darkness.

‘E-excuse me, sir?’ she asked, as calmly as she could.

‘Who goes there? Wha’d’ya want?’ To Lily’s surprise, he sounded as terrified as she felt. She remembered the stories of the murders, the coven stalking the land, the witch originating here in this very village. She hadn’t spared a single thought for the villagers who lived here still, who had to deal with the fear every single night that the witch might return, that she had returned. They were all at her mercy. No wonder this man was frightened at the sight of a lone woman in the fog.