Yam opened her eyes, wondering where on earth she was. She vaguely remembered what had happened just before: something about a strangely-sized axe and a dagger in her throat. She also remembered the taste of the blood as it filled her mouth and lungs. She could taste it all too clearly.

She got to her paws, not knowing why she’d been lying down before, and glanced around at her surroundings.

What was this place?

Why was she here?

And why did it all feel so familiar despite it being so strange?

The blood taste was still in her mouth. It was on her tongue, on her teeth, it was apparent in every breath she took. She spat at the ground and saw the red-ringed saliva next to her paw. What… was going on?

Suddenly, a bright light, almost like a spotlight, appeared, its white glow illuminating a small wooden table. Upon the table was a box, which Yam glanced down at.

Inside the box was one singular die. Yam picked up the tiny stone object and spun it around her fingers. It had the familiar feeling of the touch of her sickle handle, a pint of beer and Bread’s soft fur all rolled into one. All things that made her feel peaceful and at home.

As soon as she picked up the die a loud rushing filled her ears. It was identical to the sound of the river beside her home. It was soon followed by the smell of cooking fish to perfection, something she prided herself greatly on. Then the sound of her sickle slicing through puffball stems replaced the rushing water and finally, she felt the all-too-familiar presence of Bread. She could feel his silky soft fur darting around her ankles, hear his gentle and excitable chirping in her ears and feel the comforting warmth of his body wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked down at the dice. Plain and unassuming, a gray orb with engraved numbers. Turning it around in her paw, she saw the total number of sides. Twenty. The other carvings were almost unreadable, the gray surface around them worn down by many hands over the ages. It had gotten to the point where really only half of each number was visible, and Yam cringed as she looked over all the sides again.

Something about the die was calling her. Something was urging her to throw it into the box. Even as she was surrounded by the things she loved the most, there was something distant about all of it. Something cold.

All her feelings of pain and betrayal and agony were spiralling up from the paw that held the die. She had to throw it or they would soon envelop her whole body and chase away everything that she loved.

So she took a deep breath and tossed it.

Instantly, as the die landed with one unreadable side directly face-up, a screech sounded in Yam’s ears. It was horribly similar to the yowl of pain Bread had given when he’d been attacked by Riya just the other day. As Yam stared down at the die in the box, the comforting sound of rushing water faded away, leaving only white noise in its place.

Unable to think clearly, Yam shook her head and picked up the die again. The negative feelings immediately reappeared but this time she was quicker. She threw the die again and another heart-breaking noise sounded. It was the shared laughter of her and another girl as they ran away from their old lives to start new ones. In the same instant the smell of cooking fish disappeared, instead to be replaced by the smell of the beer she had drunk after being betrayed by her best friend. It had been stronger than what she took now- much stronger- and had left her incapacitated for a few days afterward.

Almost crying from the pain of everything, Yam took up the die again. With one swift flick of her paw, the stony orb rolled into the box and landed with an edge facing up, leaning towards one side ever so slightly. Yam almost screeched out loud as Bread’s familiar, comforting presence began to slip away from her, the warmth of his fur giving way to cold death and nothingness. She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to scream in agony, trying her hardest to keep the tears from pricking at the corners of her eyes. She had thought, all her life, that she was ready for death, but apparently not. She still had things to live for, did she not? The humble wooden house on the outskirts of the forest, the unopened bottles of beer in the cabinet under the sink. And Bread. Her poor baby Bread who she had saved all those years ago. Only for it to end like this.

I- I’m sorry, Bread, that I can’t be with you. I’m sorry.

She closed her eyes, ready for the worst.

And then the die began to flip.

Yam felt Bread stop fading, felt the rushing water and the smell of cooking come back, felt her sickle in her hand and the clock around her neck even if neither were there anymore. She opened her eyes to see the die finally roll onto a distinctive side and she knew from the light that erupted from within that it had landed on the only readable number on the whole die.

20.

The die almost seemed to explode in a burst of blinding light, so bright that Yam had to shy away from it lest she go properly blind. But her paws seemed cemented to the ground and she couldn’t move so she instead opted to shut her eyes tightly.

A warm feeling erupted in her chest and she opened her eyes again, wondering what on earth it was. The burst of white light had transformed into a long, thin tube that had pounced at Yam and surrounded her in its comforting warmth. It punctured her throat exactly where Riya’s dagger had done the same and the heat grew from there.

The warmth in her chest was getting so hot it was almost burning her. Right when she thought she would die from the heat alone it disappeared, leaving a strange emptiness where a fire had once blazed. Yam felt her eyelids grow heavy and she closed them again, feeling light and weightless.

The last thing she remembered was Bread’s bright orange fur wreathing around her figure as the light grew so intense it completely blinded her.