For circe_tigana's 882 ways to appease the heathen gods challenge.
The Face in the Window
Just for an instant, a man's face is at the window, skin coarse and dark over once-handsome features. My sister is singing in the kitchen as she ladles turtle soup into wooden bowls. I cannot draw breath to scream.
“What can this be?,” cries my sister. There is a bright ringing sound, as of gold dropped upon the floor. “There is a gold coin in the soup!” And then there is a crashing of wood as of the door being thrust ajar.
I leap to my feet- too late, and the warmth fades from her skin as I reach her.