Blood, Snow, Butterflies | Once Upon A December

2 | Retribution.

Detecting an intruder, the laughter trailed off into uneasy silence. The group turned toward the approaching silhouette, their hackles raised and teeth bared. Everyone sprang to their feet, puffing their chests and assuming threatening stances. Guttural sounds filled the air, growing in volume and intensity until Iliana stepped into the small clearing.

She stood amidst the hostile assembly with a steady composure, her eyes darting from one menacing figure to another. One brow lifted as she assessed their numbers, sizes, and potential. Up close, they appeared even filthier and their stench overwhelmed her senses. Her face betrayed the disgust she felt. Triggered by her blatant disrespect, they bristled.

"Who are you?" demanded a man, his voice strained, hinting at an imminent transformation that most were on the verge of. It was evident they weren't accustomed to questioning their prey. kill first, ask later...or never. As expected of heartless killing machines. Their instincts had always favored brutality. Yet, curiosity had sunk its claws, momentarily halting their violent nature and stirring an unfamiliar, rudimentary sense of sagacity.

After all, an enigma stood before them, devoid of any discernible aura or scent. Iliana's identity, powers, and intentions remained shrouded in mystery, and the rogues, unable to decipher the riddle before them, were left treading with cautious rage.

Was she a supernatural like them or a foolish human with a death wish? Her scent distinctly resembled the latter, yet her demeanor and actions suggested otherwise. No mortal would dare approach a band of rogues the way she did.

The unknown in her identity fueled their uncertainty.

In a world where every creature and species flaunted their lineage and powerful bloodline, Iliana was but a mere orphan, spared by the cruel twist of fate and condemned to grapple with the torment of her inner demons. She cared not about such trivial matters. She was merely a ghost clinging to life by the thin thread of vengeance.

Her confidence and nonchalance irked them, however. Rogues weren't very bright anyway. They could hardly restrain their inherent bloodthirsty and aggressive nature, no matter their species.

Iliana discarded her cloak, swiftly extracting her weapons—a sword and a dagger. Her voice cut through the charged atmosphere. "I am the echo of your past, the revenant of a wintry night stained by your deeds."

A few snorts slipped out before raucous laughter erupted. Some slapped their knees. Others wiped their tears.

"You hear this squeaky tiny thing, wolves?" The leader smirked, addressing his men before facing her. "Arrogance doesn't look good on pretty ladies like you, dear." He took a few steps forward. Her gaze remained unwavering while his shamefully roamed over her feminine figure. "You know what does?" His mouth stretched into a sinister grin as he stopped before her. "Nothing."

Everyone cackled, tension leaving their bodies after their leader's mocking display. Bile burned her throat. Her blood boiled.

"You know," Iliana started, her voice low and promising. "Your head doesn't look good on you either."

Just as he'd opened his mouth, the blade gleamed in a swift and quiet swing. A thud. His head rolled on the ground. Silence. A heartbeat. Two. Three. Then, numerous growls exploded into primal howls as the rogues shifted into their wolf form and bounded her way. Undeterred, Iliana steeled herself to face the oncoming tide of fur and fangs.

The air crackled with anticipation, the outcome uncertain but the resolve unwavering. The night, once a serene winter sanctuary, became the haunting backdrop for Iliana's quest for closure.

The clash unfolded like a symphony of chaos, a dance between claws, fangs, and metal.

Iliana moved with calculated precision. The first wolf lunged at her with primal fury, jaws snapping. In a swift and fluid arc of her sword, she cut off his muzzle, and, without missing a beat, pivoted, her dagger finding its mark in the belly of another in mid-air.