The day Harriet returned was an awful day, to go down in the village’s history forever.

I remember a determined knock at the door halfway through tea that didn’t cease until I opened it.

There she lay, mutilated and bloody on the doorstep, unmoving save the wind in her hair.

Harriet wasn’t meant to return, you see- but she did, and the powerful forces that bind our world together punished her.

I cried when we were told by the priest that we must bury her with the suicides or we too will face the wrath.