The name Wirt was a degrading joke, thought up by Wirt's very creator himself, The Beast. As he had collected the unbeating heart from the chestof the dead human child (a small boy named Charlie, aged eight according to his gravestone), he laughed in the direction of the trembling Woodsman, sitting a few feet away from him, and said it was the perfect name for a functioning corpse, as it was a combination of "worms" and "dirt." The Woodsman had forced a laugh, but kept his eyes on his lantern.

The Beast tossed the rotting heart into the fireplace, and, sucking in a deep breath, gently plucked the glowing orb from the table next to the bed the deceased child was on. He spun it around in his fingers, and inserted it into the opening where the human heart was a minute ago.

Everything was warm and still, and the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace. The Beast and the Woodsman watched the child with anticipation.

When nothing happened, the Beast began to fumble around with the orb. He spun it in several directions, and although it seemed perfectly centered, nothing happened. Disappointment began to settle in; The Beast had pushed the thought to the back of his mind that this wouldn't work

He sighed and gave the orb two gentle taps, and on the second, he gasped and jumped back.

The child opened his eyes. But what used to be ordinary brown eyes, were glowing eyes with rings of blue, yellow, and orange.

The Beast regained himself and stood up. The chestnut haired boy's breathing was unsteady. He was twitching eratically as if unfamiliar with inhabiting a human body. It took him a few moments to understand the breathing function, and soon, he was still and his breath was steady.

The Beast grinned triumphantly. "Come here, Woodsman."

With reluctance, the Woodsman picked his lantern up from the floor and sided with the Beast, who beamed at the child.

Wirt resembled a zombie-alien hybrid. Blood surrounded the hole around his "heart", mud had hardened on his face, arms, and legs. He began speaking, but the Woodsman didn't understand a word of what he was saying.

"Mortigi...min...lasu min...la (1)"

He's just in pain right now," The Beast murmured. "Don't mind what he's saying."

"Well, I can't really mind it if I don't understand it."

The Beast waved his hand. "Don't worry about it, then." He turned to the grunting boy. "Mi bedaŭras (2), Wirt," he whispered, and picked up a fine needle and thread. After preparing what awaited the poor boy, the Beast pinched the boy's skin back together, earning a pained screech. The Beast proceeded with a visible cringe, sliding the needle and thread through Wirt's pale skin.

Wirt was laying stiffly, holding his breath and gritting his teeth, once his chest was done being stitched back together. The stitches were sloppy, but the wound remained closed, and that's all that mattered.

The Beast sighed and picked Wirt up in his arms. "Cover the poor thing up, and bring him home. Do something about his eyes." He handed the limp body off to the Woodsman and leaned in, so close that the Woodsman felt the threat radiating off of the Beast and instinctively held Wirt closer.

"And don't let anyone know what he is."

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1. "Kill me, let me die."

2. "I'm sorry."