Frogs in the Rain (Stardew Valley // Sebastian)

The Afterward: I'll Never Be Like You

Mama always warned against the sewers. Everyone told Daisy Holt it was because a horrifying monster who preyed on careless children lived there. They said the monster was beastly, had fangs the lengths of swords, and bore eyes that could drive even the toughest men insane. Mama, however, told a brighter tale. According to her, the monster simply didn't want to be bothered, and preferred to spend his time drinking tea and tending to his thoughts. Still, Daisy couldn't help her curiosity. So, every afternoon, she'd sneak away from her pastured home, Capricorn Grove, and make her way to the laude sewer that overlooked the cliffs in Cindersap Forest. Well, every afternoon except for those that fell on Sundays. Sundays were reserved for Uncle Sam, who would oftentimes take her and her cousin Oliver to the beach or drive them to Calico Desert.

On this day, a breezy summer Thursday, Daisy stood at the barred gate of the sewers, her boots standing in the rancid slush that oozed onto the eroding dirt as her fingers ran across the cold, steel bars separating her from the source of her wonders. A chain and padlock were strung over the steel, and though they hung loosely, they were impossible to pry away. Daisy poked at the lock, which now sported a thick twig stuck in its keyhole. She had tried to unlock it the week before, and she feared it would never unlock again; wherever the key was, it certainly wouldn't fit now.

To her right, the dull crunching of footsteps grappled with her attention.

"Do you need help? You come here every day," the smooth voice of an older man asked.

Daisy jumped, glancing up and letting her vision focus on the owner of the call. He was tall and lanky, with a ruby-red long-sleeve shirt pulled over his torso and faded jeans trailing over his legs. His skin was snow-white, and his messy bangs were dark and mossy like hers. He smiled with his eyes, which shown like two little suns sitting in his skull.

Daisy gasped. "You look just like Mama!"

His lips completed the smile. "Do I now?"

Daisy nodded. Dad told her to never talk to strangers– advice that sputtered and screamed at her while she spoke. However, no one looked like Mama. No one except for herself and this man. So... how much of a stranger could he really be?

The man knelt down. "That's actually why I'm here. Your mother and I know one another. Could you take me to her?"

Daisy bobbed her head vehemently before bounding past him. A spring in her step, she practically bounced as she galloped away. "Mama might be with the chickens, so we gotta hurry! If we wait too long, she might go horse-riding!"

The man chuckled as he jogged after her. "Chickens and horses, you say?"

"Yep!" Daisy beamed. "And Dad is making dinner today!"

His smile faded slightly, his lips lightly agape. "...Dad?"

Daisy didn't answer, for her feet were already ambling across the forest. The man kept up well, following the rosy-faced child as she scurried and skipped across stone paths and around fallen trees. The forest morphed into a field, and he noticed a towering barn in the distance. Behind that barn, an oak house stood against the clouded sky. The home looked so old, and yet so very new and refurbished at the same time. Beneath his feet, gravel crunched and crackled. Daisy ran to the front door, tugging on the doorknob until it gave way.

"Dad! Dad!" She cheered excitedly, hopping on the balls of her feet. "Mama's got a visitor, Dad!"

Dad. Out of all the girl's strange and wonderful words, that one stuck to the man, Carhel, like a burr.

Carhel walked inside, almost ducking as he moved through the doorway. His throat felt hot now, almost as though the hands that he so clearly kept at his side were actually snaked around his jugulars. He glanced around the quaint home, taking in the wooden furniture and the plush couch tucked against the wall.  On the straw rug in front of that couch, an old German shepherd with a greying snout snored noisily. He glanced toward the kitchen, his eyes catching a table littered with newspapers. On top of the pile, a headline that subtly caught his eyes read: "Career criminal murderered behind bars: what Rick Santorez's ex-wife wishes she could forget."