09. 𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋

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𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋

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The path faded as it lead her into the darkness of the woods. From the trees to the insects and birds, she could feel her spirit weave itself into the gloom nature. Pushing past branches and bushes, she paused in the middle, breathing heavily and her eyes scanning around, trying to find a source of light as a way out but all she could sense was the wind whistling and the air almost tangible.

She screamed as figures appeared, circling around her, waiting to harm her. She didn't know who or what they were but they had been constantly appearing in her nightmares.

Darkness. That's all she was surrounded by.

A sound so familiar echoed in the woods. A male. A voice that was filled with dominance and confidence, and seemed to be getting closer and closer.

Defeated, she trembled waiting for them to hurt her like they always did.

But there were muffled cries and she opened her eyes to see that they were all gone.

Gasping, Evelyn whirled around. "Who– who is it?" There was no one there, just the sound of small rain drops falling from the damp leaves and into the brown soil which her feet were firmly resting on.

A twig snapped nearby and she turned again only to bump into someone's chest. She shrieked and tried to run, but the person took her arm gently, fingers under her chin and lifting her head up but all she could behold was his dark silhouette.

She moved back, her voice trembling, "Please leave me alone."

"Don't be afraid. I won't harm you," he said softly, extending a hand towards her and she could sense the movement. "I promise."

She relaxed by the tone of his voice and for some odd reason, an unknown emotion course through her body. He made her feel safe.

"What– what do you want from me?" She stammered as his hand held hers and pulled her back in his arms.

She shivered when she felt sparks. Good ones.

"To protect you, my love," he murmured with one hand rubbing the side of her hip and the other resting on her back.

She found herself craving for more of his touch. This was wrong but felt right at the same time.

𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒, 𝗄𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗄𝖺𝖾𝗅𝗌𝗈𝗇Where stories live. Discover now