Clover sat down, resting her feet after a morning of collecting flowers. Suddenly she heard footsteps, heavy, male footsteps, crunching the dead autumn leaves underfoot. She got up and started running as the source of the footsteps came into view. A tall man in clad black, it wasn't Noah, and she didn't recognise him. She kept running, avoiding tree roots and bushes, looking ahead for the way out of the forest, the opening to the clearing where her gazebo was. The stranger was slowly closing the gap between them, all she could so was run. Clover kept running, she looked down at her feet and at that point she tripped over a tree root. She knew it was over and there was no where else she could go. There he was, the man in black, catching up to her, making sure she didn't get away, there was no way that she could get away now, he was too close, she was surely going to die.
As the man approached her she tried to back away, but she had injured herself when she tripped, he grabbed her by the waist, picked her up and then drew a knife; he would surely kill her now, she had no doubt. Clover screamed, startling her attacker, making him drop her, slashing her arm with his knife in the process. As she fell to the ground, the man stood over her, she yelled for help, but no one came. The man brought down the knife, first in her stomach, and then into her shoulder, then he took his knife and ran away.
YOU ARE READING
She Who Dares
RomantizmClover wants one thing, to be loved, to hold someone in her arms and say 'he's mine'. When Noah comes along, this is one thing she can say is true.
