It was a poor idea for the young girl to travel alone.

Still, she donned her raiment (an over-sized ragged hoodie), made a sandwich (ham, cheese, and pickle), and took her book (a dusty leather-bound tome), then slipped out unnoticed. She shut the front door behind her with grim determination as the sun crested the eastern horizon.

The journey was long, the subway line, old. The stations grew dingy and littered the further north she traveled. Commuters and travelers of all stripes boarded, departed, and paid the girl little heed.

The last terminal deposited her at the foot of a bus station shortly after noon. She searched the schedule for the route that would carry her the furthest from her current location. She wordlessly purchased her ticket with the last of her money and boarded a bus due west.

At dusk, the bus arrived at its final stop on the outskirts of a decaying commuter town. The waning crescent moon hung low in the sky as it guided the girl's steps down a long, poorly lit street, lined with menacing shadows. She raised her hood and pressed on.

The moon disappeared behind an abandoned building at the end of the road, and she hurried towards its crumbling entryway. The girl took a deep breath, then opened the heavy wooden double doors with a shuddering groan.

Inside, a lone staircase reached up into the darkness. Its guardian stank of filth. He leered at her as he growled, “Go, girl. You should not be here.”

The girl offered her sandwich. The man consumed it messily, then hunkered down with a shiver and waved her off. “Go, girl. Leave me to my peace.”

The girl took off her hoodie. He stared, then slid the garment over his head. He took the girl by the shoulders and pled, “Go, girl. They do not wish to see you. Run!”

The girl offered him the book, and his eyes flew wide at the sigil on the cover. He took it with trembling hands, then silently stepped aside.

The top floor was empty, save for a single door at the end of the hall. The girl approached it, hope and dread at war within her heart.

The door opened as her hand approached to knock. A beautiful young lady, not so different in years from the girl, was framed by the threshold. “Come in, dear,” she said, her words and lips tinged with a soft smile, “we’ve been waiting.”

A matronly woman, buxom and full of health, entered from a room to the left and stood behind an old and patched sofa. “Sit down, child,” she said as she gestured to the overstuffed chair across the room, “you must be tired.”

The girl sat as her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. Already, the words of the book rang uncannily true in her head. The crescent moon caught her eye through the window on the far wall.

An elderly hag, bent and wretched, clad in what looked for all the world to be an afghan with a hole cut for her head, hobbled her way through the doorway to the right. She sat in the middle of the sofa and leaned heavily on her cane. The matron hovered over her left shoulder. The young lady moved to stand to her right.

“Right then, girl,” the old woman spat as she beckoned with her hand, “out with it. Don’t waste our time.”

The girl spoke for the first time that day. “My father killed my mother and brother. I seek your aid-”

The young lady raised an eyebrow. “How odd, that you would come here.”

The girl’s voice began to quaver. “H-he thinks himself untouchable-”

The middle-aged woman shook her head. “No, girl, those thoughts are your own.”

The girl’s gaze fell to the floor. “I- I had nowhere else to turn-”

The moon was tinged a dull red as the old hag leapt to her feet. “Nowhere else to turn? Nowhere else to turn? With all your options laid in front of you, you’ve skipped straight to the end of the story!” Her voice echoed with distant thunder, and the girl knew in the depths of her soul that she had erred.

The maiden’s eyes shone with light. “You were right to seek us out.”

The mother’s eyes filled with blood. “You were wrong to ask for help.”

The crone’s eyes turned to pitch. “But it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”