Demon Girlfriend: Demeter (special preview)

(Starting with this story I wanted to show how sometimes I may not write what the commissioner wants, and I will have to go back and fix it. So for this week the first two parts are what I originally wrote, then the next three are how I fixed it! They're both different and very similar so I thought I'd share the process with you. Enjoy!)

Sheep have been going missing all over this land. Considering that most of my village makes their money off of livestock and their produce, it’s a very big deal. Even if it wasn’t, missing sheep is usually a sign of something worse, something evil lurking in the woods. For years now, my family has been to blame for this evil. The stress of it killed my mother, and my father is barely hanging on as it is. I’ve been taking care of things as much as possible, but even I suffer from debilitating anguish.

The Peep Farm has been in my family for generations, and before all the ugliness occurred, we had once been known far and wide as having the best sheep and goats in the world. Our sheep had the whitest and fluffiest pelts, our goats produced sublime cheeses and milks. Our lambs and kids were the cutest in the world, and would sell faster than chicks during Spring Festival. Then, it all came crashing down around us when my brother- No. I refuse to talk about it.

In any case, since then, our family’s reputation has fallen to the wayside. We no longer are known for our product, but rather malicious rumors and hatred. People have come wanting to buy our farm from us, but my father refuses. This is all we know, it’s all we have, and even if we did sell, we would get pennies compared to what this farm is worth.

I try my hardest to keep things going, to keep even the meager money we get flowing. I take care of our sheep, but due to everything, the flock is small and few. People keep stealing them from us, even before sheep started vanishing en masse around the whole countryside. Even still, we were the ones to blame for it. But I swear, our family has nothing to do with this. The Peeps’ good name is innocent, this time.

I was making yarn these days, it was about all I could do, and the only thing that seemed to sell from us. The only reason I think it sells, is because I’ve taken the time to dye it, and I have been able to create unique colors. This keeps the farm running, and father and I fed, at least. Even if it stains my hands and arms, and makes my fingers feel brittle, at least we have that.

I take the sheep out first thing, so they can stretch and run and eat until they are content. I’ve had to take them out farther and between the rocky slopes of the mountains as of late. Around lunch I’ll take them back home, hoping I do not pass anyone along the way. On this day, though, something odd occurred. I had left with my twenty sheep, but when we returned, there were twenty-one, and the extra was one I know was not mine. This extra ewe was pitch black and completely overgrown, her coat looked as though it hadn’t been sheered in ages. I had no idea where she came from or when she might have joined my sheep. It seemed as though she had just appeared out of nowhere.

I wasn’t sure what to do; if she belonged to one of the neighboring farms and they found out, it could spell even more trouble for us. But the poor thing looked abandoned, so I decided to give her a sheer and a wash, and feed her some oats. The black wool she gave would make excellent yarn. I had not been able to find anything to dye the yarn this exquisite of a black, and the color had been requested. The poor ewe was quite small without all that wool, so I gave her the oats to eat while I washed her.

“That one won’t bring us any luck,” my father tells me. “I never wanted black sheep here, nor black goats. They’re a sign of wickedness.”

“Who says?” I scold. “We never had black sheep before and look what has become of us! Sin doesn’t come in through color or breed, Father. Sin exists despite it.” I was going to keep that sheep unless I found out it belonged to somebody. In fact, I was becoming quite attached to her already. She followed me around the farm happily, trotting right beside me as I went about my chores. Even when I took the other sheep out to graze, she stayed close to me.

It takes a long time to prepare the wool to make yarn. The skirting of it is my least favorite part as it takes so long. Once I have the black wool skirted, I begin the process of cleaning it, which ever since the press broke, has been quite arduous. I’ve been washing it twice and hanging it out to drip dry to get it as clean as I like it. And since this new wool is so black, I don’t have to dye it at all, and I can move straight to the carding.

It’s during this step I am noticing something a little strange with the black wool. As I am combing it out, I notice that some of the fluffier strands are becoming almost shiny, even metallic, they glimmer in the sunlight. While it does feel like a trick of the eye sometimes, I do notice it more and more as the carding process goes on.

My comb breaks one day while working, which rents my gut apart. I have no other combs to use aside from my hairbrush, and it is not good enough for the wool. I will have to go into town, which frightens me. It means I will also have to use some of the money that my father and I have been trying to save so we can repair some of the broken equipment on the farm like the press and others.

My gut is heavy as I take money from the box, all I need is a comb, and I need it to be able to make yarn. I just hate going into town, people stare and say things under their breath. They also say things out loud, but they don’t bother me as much as the whispers and snarls I cannot hear.