Two knocks. One at the door, and one somewhere farther away.

Hilda opened the door, and there was Johanna, standing in a raincoat with her eyes downcast. Hilda opened her mouth to speak, but her mother did first.

"Hilda." Her voice was even but broken. "You need to come back."

"Mum, I've told you. . .I'm not going back to that disgusting place." She tried to close the door, but Johanna caught it.

"I don't have a problem with you staying out here, dear," Johanna said. "God knows you can take care of yourself, but-"

"God's not real," Hilda said.

"But you need to come back to town, if only for a few days."

Hilda was angry enough about her mother coming all the way out to the wilderness just to bother her about religion, but being told to go back to Trollberg. . .it had been a year since she left. And she had no reason to return.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of dead raindrops falling from a bleak sky. Hilda looked up and saw them: clouds of darkness that covered the land like foil around a melon. She sighed and asked her mother a question. It's a question Hilda had asked herself many times before. It's a question that humans had pondered for millennia and that they would be asking for countless millennia more. It's a question for society to answer, but that they never can: "Why?"

Without hesitation, Johanna did something incredible and answered this question correctly: "Death, Hilda."

The young girl gave her mother a quizzical look, but Johanna looked past her, eyes glazed over and staring into nothing. "So much death."