Belladonna

right. A service way ran between the buildings. Not wide enough for wagons or carriages, it still provided a cut-through for delivery boys on bicycles and for people who didn't want to go the long way round in order to reach the main street to do their shopping and such.
    Donovan's Pub wasn't far from there. She'd go in and ask Torry to walk her home. She didn't care if he thought she'd come to check up on him. She didn't care if he thought she was foolish to be afraid of the dark when she'd never been afraid before. Tonight, she was afraid of the dark.
    Taking a deep breath that shuddered out of her in something close to a sob, she entered the service way and hurried toward the light at the other end, whispering, "Ladies of the White Isle, hold me in the Light. Ladies of the White Isle, hold me in the Light."
    Halfway through the service way, just beyond the lamplight's reach, she heard something move. Before she could run, before she could scream, something grabbed her, swung her around, and pinned her against the brick wall of the building. A hand clamped over her mouth.
    A fast movement. A ripping sound followed by the feel of chilly air where the coat had suddenly parted. Followed by an odd, shivery feeling as the skin and muscles in her side opened up.
    Lady of Light, protect me. Help me.
    In the few seconds it took for her body to recognize pain, the knife had moved. Was now resting on her cheekbone, its tip pricking just beneath her left eye.
    "Scream," a smooth voice whispered, "and I'll take your eye. Tell me what I want to know, and I'll let you keep your pretty face."
    The hand clamped over her mouth moved. Curled around her throat.
    "Please don't hurt me," Erinn said, too afraid to do more than whisper.
    A man. She could tell that much, but there wasn't enough light for her to see his face.
    "Tell me what you whispered," he said. "About the White Isle. About the Light."
    "Please let me go. Please don't —"
    "Tell me."
    "T-the White Isle is the Light's haven. All the Light that keeps Elandar safe from the Dark has its roots there."
    "And where is the White Isle?"
    She hesitated a moment — and felt the knife prick the tender skin beneath her eye. "N-north. It's an island off the eastern coast. Up north."
    The hand around her throat loosened. The knife caressed her cheek but didn't cut her as he took a step back.

    "Who are you?" Foolish question. The less she could tell anyone about him, the safer she would be.
    He smiled. She still couldn't see his face, but she knew he smiled.
    "The Eater of the World."
    So he wasn't going to tell her. That was good. He would go away, and she would be safe. She was hurt bad. She knew that.
    But it was only one step, maybe two, and she'd be in the light, the glorious light. Her legs felt cold and weak, but she could get to the end of the service way, could get to the main street. Someone would see her and help her. Someone would fetch Torry, and everything would be all right. They would be married at the end of harvest and —
    She saw him raise the knife. And she screamed.
    Then he rammed the knife into her chest, cutting off the scream. Cutting off hope. Cutting off life.
    Voices shouted and boots pounded the cobblestones as men ran toward the service way.
    The Eater of the World shifted to Its natural form and flowed beneath the stones, nothing more than a rippling shadow moving toward the main street. One man stumbled as It flowed beneath his feet, and It left a stain on his heart as It passed.
    Then It paused as the first man to reach the girl screamed, "Erinn! No!"
    Following the channel cut deep into the man's heart by grief and the shock of seeing his hands covered in the girl's blood, It stretched out a mental tentacle, slipped into the man's mind, and whispered, She was here in the service way because of you. This happened because of you.
    "No!" But there was something — a tiny seed of doubt, a hint of innocent guilt. Just enough soil for the planting.
    Yes, It whispered, putting all of Its dark conviction into the word. This happened because of you.
    It retreated, certain Its words would take root and fester, dimming the man's Light, maybe curdling that Light enough that it would never fully bloom again, scarring the heart enough that the man would never fully love again.
    And the Dark currents that flowed in this village would become a little stronger because of that — just as the Dark currents had grown stronger every day since those two boys