Author's Note: PLEASE REVIEW. I determine whether or not to do sequels based on reader feedback!

It was a bright spring morning. The little girl, having done her best to escape her tutor, now ventured out into the woods on the southernmost part of the property.

She was a lonely child doubly cursed with busy, inattentive parents and a sharp mind. These two handicaps both alienated her from other children, and cultured a strange sense of compassion in the girl, protected her from the otherwise toxic influence of her parents, and gave her a propensity to spend her time alone in quiet, isolated places.

Solitude always made his job easier, but her innocence...look there. She's the kind of child that would worry about fallen birds. The kind of child that didn't throw rocks at cats or put baby rabbits, defenseless and pink, on top of anthills. He'd seen those types of children. There were a dozen of them for every one of her.

He noticed the details. She had a wild mane of curly red hair, green eyes, but no freckles. She had a dimple on one cheek when she laughed. She had an imaginary playmate called Ninna, and she stuttered occasionally on words that started with 't'. She didn't seem to have problems with 'm'.
She would be pretty some day, but she would grow up to be a rather no-nonsense type of woman. The kind who thought that something as impractical as romance happened to other people. She would probably have cats named after Greek philosophers, and serve them milk out of the good china, to the shock of the neighbors. She would be the kind of person that you could picture living in an old Victorian atop a steep hill.

He stopped his observations for a moment, and tried to clear his mind. Moping wasn't helping matters. He was Expected after all, and shuddered to think what would happen if he was late. He looked down to discover that he had been spotted. He wondered if he should explain to her the service she would be performing, how she would save so many—how he didn't want to—he wondered if she could understand that this would secure the safety of the unwanted ones (like him) but knew before opening his mouth to do so would be pointless and selfish.

The little girl—he only knew her last name, he realized—walked towards him. Cold seeped up from his stomach, spreading slowly, curling through his vital organs like poison. Any other spoiled brat would have screamed and ran away at the sight of him, but not this one. You could almost laugh.

He wondered who would find her. The parents, who hardly knew her? He doubted they would even know her favorite color, if asked, or her first words, if they had been present for them. He wondered if they would weep, and decided they had no right as he climbed back into the leafy oak, blending back into the scenery.

Footsteps echoed down to him from the back of the house, sounding loud—obscene, even—in the vacant silence, the vacuum that had replaced the spring chorus. These steps were followed by a voice tinged with genuine worry. A voice calling a name. It was the governess' voice. He realized in a detached way that she would be blamed for the incident. She would be lucky to escape a hefty prison sentence if she didn't have an 'accident' before entering custody. The father worked like that. Not out of love, but on principle.

He was upset when he realized this would happen with the only one with the right to weep. He may be a monster, but it was a small comfort to know he wasn't the worst.