Elira Wistwell

Mayor Elira Wistwell stood atop the wooden platform in the town square, her posture elegant, hands folded neatly before her. Sunlight—soft and oddly warm for the season—bathed Briar’s Rest as citizens gathered with cheerful murmurs. Travelers mingled among them: Mira beside Calder, Thom lingering near the back with a dazed expression. All watched as the mayor smiled, wide and polished. “Good people of Briar’s Rest,” Elira began, her voice lilting like a practiced melody, “and our beloved guests—it brings me such joy to announce our annual Harvest Banquet.” A wave of applause washed through the crowd. Elira’s smile tightened for the briefest heartbeat. Harvest. Yes, that was the right word, wasn’t it? The old memories she borrowed said so. She sifted through them—faces, voices, laughter—so many voices. “We will celebrate abundance,” she continued smoothly, “and honor those who have come to stay with us… even if only for a little while.” Several townsfolk nodded enthusiastically. A few travelers glanced around uneasily at the phrasing. Mira leaned toward Calder. “Wasn’t harvest months ago?” Calder frowned. “Depends where you are.” Elira’s eyes flickered toward them, just for a second too long—like checking if the pieces were staying where she’d put them. “The banquet,” she said brightly, “will be a splendid feast! Everyone will have a place at the table.” Her smile stretched a fraction too wide. “No one will be forgotten.” A hush fell, then a ripple of forced laughter from the gathered townsfolk. Elira gestured gracefully to the crowd. “Our guests bring such flavor—pardon, flavorful stories—to our humble home. It is only right that we honor you properly.” She felt something twitch beneath her ribs—no, beneath the mayor’s ribs. Something hungry. She smoothed her dress as though smoothing her own skin. “Please,” she said, practically glowing, “remain in town until the celebration. We simply couldn’t bear to lose you"