What do you expect to find deep in the virgin wetlands? Water. Mud. Frogs. Birds. What don't you expect? Maybe something, or someone, like Pickerelle. A nixie. Sometimes those tales of old have a smidge of truth in them. This old town used to be inhabited. Farmers and fishermen and weavers and spinners. Then one morning, panicked moos from the barn. One calf gone, no trace of it and no one admitted to being the thief. Another morning, a goat gone missing as if it vanished into thin air. Confusion and upset among the residents turned into fear when it was the cobbler's daughter who disappeared one night. They searched far and wide, torches in hand, but could not find an answer. Deeming the land cursed, they held a funeral for the girl in her absence and with great sorrow, they packed up their belongings and departed on a caravan far away, and everyone they met on the way heard their plaintive warnings.
Pickerelle watched them as they left. Such stupid people... but now she was alone. It's a shame, she would have liked the fun to go on a bit longer. She went from building to empty building, down the abandoned street, getting into as much as she could just to satiate her curiosity. The old water mill, she liked that one best. So that's where she lives now.
