Born of a Nightmare - 1 Red Velvet

Prologue

The scent of blood hung thick in the night air. Fear tightening like a heavy noose around the throats of any living beings in the area, and sending them running for safety. Like there was any safety left to be found now. The blood scent was stifling and constricting like the malevolent mist cast by a witch – as it mingled with tendrils of acrid smoke that whispered into the chilly winter sky. It felt like the atmosphere itself had turned against all the life forms it had once held dear, and was trying to squeeze the very light out of anything and everything that was not already dead. The dusty earth was tinted red by the blood moon that seemed to hang within grabbing distance above – appearing as a grim testimony of what had happened here – silent and satisfied as a master, who had trained its pupil well and was now taking in what they were capable of with pride. The dying embers of several small fires flickered here and there across a clearing set beside a worn dirt road. This particular winding road that slithered deep and daunting into the thickest parts of the woods had.

long been forgotten and abandoned by any with a half sense of self-preservation. Leaving its surface cracked and uneven from years of being neglected. The long scars from heavy waggon wheels that were left unattended like festering wounds its only reminder of the greatness it once held.

The clearing had been a makeshift camp not too long ago – one could still detect the faint scents of alcohol, dried meat, half cooked and burnt sour-dough bread, mingled with the tell tail signs of many male humans. Sweat, bad breath and body odour all mashed together.

The men who had set up camp here had not even bothered to hide themselves away from being spotted by fellow travellers. For there were no fellow travellers in these parts. Especially not ones who could be a threat to the men who used to run this burnt down operation. Burnt down – and slaughtered.

Aside for the glowing red moon that hung above, like an angry wound, the clearing was lit by one large fire still raging in the middle of the bare torn earth. It was not as much the remains of a camp fire, but more the remains of what could have been a waggon of sorts. Maybe if it hadn't been so severely damaged and burnt to no more than a black brown mass of charred plank and fabric, one could better decern what it had once been. Not that anyone would bother sticking around to contemplate the damage done and wonder what had caused it. Not after they had had one mere glance at the massacre. There was no sign of horses and oxen – they had broken free before the storm hit – animals always knew when danger was coming. Bodies littered the ground – so torn apart and broken that they too were also nearly undiscernible. But there was no mistaking what they were – the blood was clear enough. Spilled and splattered over every surface in sight – painting cruel patterns on the nearly winter bare trees and covering the sides of the still standing tents – turning the ground into a muddy red bog in more places than not. No sane human would even come close enough to grasp that one glance. No one would risk it, whether they were from the nearby villages or from one far away, every collection of humans was one of superstition. No one would enter the circle of carnage even if you promised them the riches of the world – not under the blood moon and not within the hour of the witch and wolf. The scent of smoke, death and fresh spilled blood on the wind was enough to make even the toughest man spill his guts. Not even the chill wind seemed to want to dare make a move though, and the haze of carnage hung heavy as a storm cloud, even though the storm was clearly over.

A young girl sat to the side of the clearing, her back shrouded in night and features bathed in the orange glow from the still burning fire. Her body was bare, her clothes shredded and torn until there had been nothing left. It was hard to tell that she was bare though, blood splattered and bathed her clammy skin, making her look like a prophetic depiction of a harbinger of death – an angel child dawned in a gown of blood and destruction. To the passer-by she might have looked like just another one of the corpses, propped up strangely as she sat unmoving on the dusty patch of ground beside the worst of the bloodshed.