“Oh lord, I’ve had enough of these people out here,” Sylvie groaned as she buried her face in her hands. She hoped that when she lifted her head again, all of her problems would have vanished. Unfortunately for Sylvie, her prayers went unanswered; and she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Slowly, she picked her head up and glared at the tired-looking man sitting beside her.

“Calm yourself, Sylvie,” Anthony tried his best to sound comforting. He wasn’t very good at it. His eyes seemed far too dark for the lighting of the storeroom as Sylvie met his gaze.

Sylvie pushed his hand away, and the soft light of the gaslamp above them made the silver ring on Anthony’s hand glint. She stood, brushed the dust off of her gingham apron, and stepped over to the workstation in the corner. The stale smell of cheap wood polish greeted her as she sat down in a rickety chair. There were a handful of unfinished projects dotted around the space; half-carved wooden toys, decorated envelopes, and unpainted ceramics. It was clear even to Sylvie that her business was failing, but she didn’t have the heart to admit it out loud. Instead, she picked up her carving knife and continued chipping away at her products.

“I don’t know why you bother carving those things.” Anthony crossed his arms while he watched Sylvie work.

“Because nobody is selling toys anymore! It’s all work boots, hunting knives, and shoddy blankets!” Sylvie replied, exasperated. She turned to face Anthony while she spoke, waving the carving knife around as if it validated her point. “All the kids you see nowadays are running about, stealing what they can, and getting into trouble.”

“Nobody sells toys because nobody’s buying them.” Anthony pointed out. It felt like he had to explain something different to Sylvie every week at this point.

Sylvie didn’t respond. She knew the state of their town well enough to understand. Everyone could sense it, from the old women who gathered in the park to knit to the schoolchildren up the hill. Nobody had managed to properly put it into words, instead they stayed silent and privately feared for their futures. Sylvie was convinced even the songbirds knew something was wrong; she hadn’t heard them singing in weeks. Regardless, Sylvie tried her best not to notice it. Even when customers stopped knocking on her door and the mayor hid himself away in his nicely maintained house, far away from the townsfolk who relied on his governance.

“Miss Reid ordered a quilt last week, and I almost have it finished.” Sylvie continued carving, seemingly disregarding the previous topic of conversation. “I picked up some nice fabric from the general store, and I even managed to lower the price on it!”

Anthony rolled his eyes as Sylvie continued to ramble on about her projects. He wondered if she was aware of how stupid she sounded. Making toys? These days? Perhaps it wasn’t as obvious to her, as she was always at home selling what she could. Anthony, on the other hand, had witnessed entire families pack up their belongings into old wagons and leave. They were headed South, to the promised safety of a city by the shoreline. Anthony didn’t buy it. He thought anything claiming to be ‘perfectly safe’ while being accessible only by traveling through the vast forests of the South had to be some sort of scam. At the very least, it wasn’t worth the journey. Still, the townsfolk were scared. They reminded Anthony of the sheep on the edge of town when threatened by wolves at night; helpless and looking for someone to save them. And like sheep, they were incredibly easy to herd.

“I’m off to work now, then,” Anthony said as he stood and grabbed his coat and guards hat off the wooden coatrack. Sylvie paused her carving and turned to look at him. Anthony forced a smile as he fumbled with the zipper until Sylvie returned to her work. His smile faded once he turned away to leave.

Once Sylvie heard their front door shut, she slammed her fist onto her worktable, sending wood shavings flying. She was growing restless. Something about being stuck here, forced to pick up the slack from her husband’s lousy job, was getting to her. She longed for some sense of escape. She wanted to be back home, picking wildflowers with her best friend and biking along winding dirt paths. She wanted to feel free again. She needed somewhere to go, somewhere new and safe, somewhere she could start over.

Sylvie grinned. She abandoned her carving and began to throw the bare necessities into an old handsewn bag from her closet. Clothes, her whittling tools, the little money she had saved up, and a couple of books to keep her entertained were soon packed neatly inside the bag. Sylvie stepped out into her living room, taking one last look at the plain furniture and dusty shelves. She took her woven purse from its spot beside the table and tucked it into her makeshift suitcase. She opened the door, shutting it quietly behind her in case the neighbors were feeling particularly nosy, and began to run. Sylvie ran down the pathetic dirt road of her neighborhood, taking a shortcut through the park and keeping her head low. Her heart pounded with anticipation as she reached the wrought iron gate. With one final glance over her shoulder to the life she was leaving behind, Sylvie set her sights on catching up with the last group of townsfolk to make the perilous journey South.