Tale 89- The Terror of the Hands

 Arriving in another area of the city, the Traveler found a vendor who offered to tell stories in exchange for something, the girl trying to think what she could give. Luckily, her prayers were answered by the discovery of a lost coin, one that wasn’t worth much but it could still get her a tale. Handing it to the man, he stared at the younger girl and found himself wondering which of his many tales he could tell her, before finally settling on one. He took a breath and smiled, pushing open one of the many books on his table and showing her an illustration of a frightened girl pleading, eyes wide open and covered in four or five hands, all clutching and grabbing whilst she pleaded for them to stop. The Traveler already saw a similarity and became suspicious, but nevertheless opened her book, ready to write the tale of ‘the Terror of the Hands’

‘Once, there lived a young girl who was cursed with a cruel ailment. Everywhere she went, a group of disembodied hands would follow her. Nobody else could see them, but the girl knew they were there, and could feel them making various movements that caused her severe discomfort. They would crawl on her, clutch her, and touch her when she least desired it, the girl suffering each and every day with the constant hatred of contact due to this. The touches were cruel and sinful in intent, even despite not being connected to an actual person, and caused her to hate her own skin, wishing she were someone else and didn’t have to suffer such a terrifying and disturbing curse. As the years went by, the girl began searching for a way to dispel the hands, and eventually decided she wanted to fight them head on, actively tearing them away from her skin and stamping on them until they were no longer capable of movement. And when the last one finally died, they all disappeared, and the girl was left free and comfortable in her own skin once more, now free of unwanted touches and the fear of violation, and able to live her own life without fear.’

The man smiled up at the Traveler, who found hope in the tale as she transcribed, drawing the illustration in her own style and wondering if Marcielle’s death had led to the same thing. No longer did the Traveler have to fear violation or groping, and could move on and live her life in any way she pleased, even if she only had few goals left to achieve and many past failures still weighed on her shoulders. Thanking the man, she departed, and decided to head to the city centre.