5. Hello, My Name Is _____

The flickering candlelight illuminated the face of a young girl. She looked no younger than 19 and was in her nightgown, unarmed and shaking from terror with a sword at her throat. Marcel was at a loss for words. He would have sliced her in two had she not made a sound. He lay down his sword and lifted the lantern closer to the girl. His guess was that this was the missing person from the third hut. He relaxed and slowly exhaled. "All alone and no escort, ay?" He said quietly. The girl said nothing. "What, cat's got yer tongue?" The girl still said nothing for a short time. Finally, she asked him, "Who are you, sir?" Marcel almost laughed out loud. In the past, no one had ever addressed him as "sir" and he most definitely did not deserve the title.

All humor aside, he wondered if he should tell her. He wondered if he'd risk getting captured. Then, he would never reach Vulcano. Should he kill this girl and the others? Or is it even worth getting worked up over? Where was he anyway? The uncertainty unnerved him.

He cleared his throat to answer her. "My name is Marcel. Marcel Giguere." He was given a blank look. Safe. "And what would your name be, pretty one?" The girl stiffened. Scared or not, she didn't like to be called such a thing. "My name is Dan."

"Dan....like....Daniel?"

"Daniella, sir."

"Daniella? Lovely name. Knew somebody with the male version of that name once."

"What happened?"

"He died."

"Oh...." she shrank away a little. "Just Dan will be satisfactory, sir."

"Ah," Marcel smiled a little. "very well." He noticed Dan was still rubbing her wrist. "Let me see it." Dan hesitated and held her wrist close. Marcel frowned. "Let. Me. See it." He ordered. Obediently, Dan let her wrist go. Marcel gently held it up near the lantern to examine it. His move had badly bruised it and it was swollen. He grimaced. "Fracture. Ouch. Had I known who I was up against, I wouldn't have gone so hard. Sorry about that." Dan said nothing. She was stuck staring at his appearance.

The light was dim, but it was enough so she could tell he didn't look quite right. She could only make out that his skin had a strange blue-green hue to it and that there was a dark hole where his nose ought to have been, but that could have been because his long dark hair hung down loosely in front of his face. Marcel could tell she was staring. He wondered why she hadn't run away at this point. " I can tell you're curious about my... " he gestured toward his face. "Go ahead, my dear." Dan shakily held the lantern up with her good hand. Her eyes met with two blanks, as if their completion had been abandoned by the powers that be. Grayed blue-green skin, studded with scars and growths from the sea, framed these milky-white globes. These features, combined with the lantern, formed a harsh gaunt profile that would have anyone shake in their boots.

Dan quickly put the lantern back where it was. Marcel chuckled. "Had enough?" Dan could still make out his eyes. She looked at him, quizzically. "How old are you?"

"If it's going to satisfy your curiosity, I am 22."

"Liar."

Marcel was caught off guard. "What?" Dan sat up. The shock of his looks had worn off. "I say you're a liar because you're clothes are too old fashioned." Marcel suddenly realized that she had a point. Out of all the women he had in his life, he had never seen an undergarment quite like Dan's. It had a modest look to it. The top portion had small ruffles and the skirt portion looked like it came all the way down to her ankles. As a whole, the dress looked like it was made for sleeping in. He suddenly remembered his cobwebbed cabin. The mold. The rotting wood.... and now this girl. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.