Something cold and wet hit her face. Johanna groaned irritably and rolled over on her bed of straw, pulling the woolen blanket over her head. A few moments passed before another cold droplet of water hit the blanket. Johanna muttered a profanity under her breath and looked up at the roof of her small shack. Though her eyes were still bleary from sleep, she easily spotted the small hole in the thatch directly above her. Another drop hit her right in the eye. With a reluctant scowl, Johanna threw off her blanket and got up. She walked over to the window beside the door, lifted the leather curtain and looked out.

The shack was built at the edge of Heiligtum Forest, atop a hill overlooking the graveyard of the nearby village of Sirhalom. From her house Johanna had a clear view all the way to the mountains in the east, cast in silhouette by the light of the rising sun. The moist air and dripping grass were clear signs of the heavy rain the night before; the sky had cleared up a little, though light grey clouds still floated here and there.

Johanna yawned before letting out another weary groan as she picked her coat up from the floor, pulling it on over her dress before stepping into her boots and taking up her shovel. She pushed open the heavy door and stepped out into the chill morning air. The villagers would certainly be rejoicing at this weather after the recent dry-spell, right on time for their annual offerings to the Lady of the Rain. Just as the cunning bitch planned it every year.

Johanna walked around to the back of her house and strode into the vast, dark expanse of Heiligtum Forest. As she made her way through the thick trees and knotted undergrowth, she recalled the first time she had entered the woods to visit the Lady of the Rain; and her subsequent, unforgettable visit to the Orphan Keeper.

*   *   *

Johanna sat on a stool in the parlor of a lavish cottage, twiddling her fingers nervously. Across from her the fabled Lady of the Rain relaxed on a couch. She appeared to be in her forties and wore a simple but finely-made green dress. A gnarled wooden staff was propped up against the back of the couch, contrasting with the elegantly furnished room.

“So, what do you do?” the Lady asked, her long red hair falling about her face as she turned to look at Johanna.

“The Angel told me that I’m a gravedigger,” Johanna replied, trying her best to sound confident, “I protect the dead from necromancers.”

“Way to pull the short straw,” the Lady chuckled wryly. “And you’ve come to me for advice? On what?”

“Well, since you’re immortal too, I thought…”

“What can I say? Prepare yourself for a long life of dealing with morons.” The Lady sighed and took two peaches from the bowl on her lap, tossing one to Johanna.

“Case in point, do I still need to eat?” Johanna asked as she caught the fruit.

“No,” replied the Lady, her mouth full of peach, “we still feel pain, hunger, weariness, all the things that mortals feel, but we can’t die. It’ll be painful but you don’t need to eat, drink or sleep. I don’t recommend not sleeping, you start to lose the plot after a week or so of that.”

“So… I literally cannot die? I just keep living… forever?”

“Sweetie, I’ve been doing this job for two centuries already. Do I look dead to you?” The Lady finished the peach and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yes, you’re going to be here for a while. A long, long while.”

“That actually sounds pretty exciting.”

“Trust me, it isn’t,” the Lady replied flatly. She paused, then asked, “what did you say your name was?”

“Johanna.”

“I’m Orsalya. It might surprise you to know but, yes, we immortals have names just like normal people.”

“And… who is the Orphan Keeper?” Johanna asked curiously.

Orsalya’s face darkened and she gave a caustic chuckle. “Her name’s Verka. And she’s a psychopath.”