The Hollow One taps her foot. The sky is darkening, but the birds are still awake, pebbling the dark with their colours.

The Hollow One waits for dusk. She waits for the silence that comes with it. The dimming of colours, from loud to soft.

The Hollow One was a destroyer by day. She protected her children, whose shrines grew from the woodland floor like gnarled flowers. When the first light touched her bones, she listened for their voices. They told her of their suffering. The unhappiness they had to endure. They prayed for her forgiveness for succumbing to hatred and jealousy. She found the source of their suffering and snuffed it out.

A cobbler came to her once. She remembered him for his fear. It was strong. He was angry and hurt. He thought she would be disappointed in him.