Chapter 5
A Friend's False Smile
Anya confides in Silas, who seems helpful but subtly steers her away from the truth, his charm masking a darker agenda.
The air in Silas’s small workshop always smelled of wood shavings and something faintly metallic, like old coins. It was a comforting scent, usually, a stark contrast to the cloying sweetness that now clung to everything else in the world. Today, though, it felt a little too warm, a little too close. I sat on an overturned crate, my hands twisting in my lap, trying to find the right words. Elder Maeve’s hushed warnings about the parfaits still echoed in my ears, but the faces of the people I’d seen… the vacant stares, the way they’d reach for those layered desserts as if starved, as if needing them… it was too much.
“It’s the parfaits, Silas,” I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. “There’s something wrong with them. More than just… a bit off. They feel… hungry.”
Silas, who had been meticulously sanding a small wooden bird, paused. He turned, his brow furrowed in concern, his smile a gentle curve that always made me feel a little steadier. “Hungry, Anya? That’s a strange way to put it. They’re just blueberries and cream, aren’t they? A little bit of sugar, a bit of nostalgia.” He set the bird down and came to sit on a workbench opposite me, his movements easy and fluid. “What makes you say they’re hungry?”
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