On my way to hell

chapter 2

Alexandra Bariso

I never thought I'd be running for my life in a ball gown, my heart thundering in my chest as the cold air whipped through the trees.

The dark castle loomed behind me like a nightmare. Its jagged spires disappeared into the starless sky, and every step I took felt like I was pulling further from its dark shadow. My once-beautiful gown was now torn and muddied, clinging to my legs as I ran. I could feel the raw power building within me, barely contained, threatening to break free. The forest seemed to respond to it. The ancient trees, towering and wise, began to sway and bend as I passed, their thick branches pulling back to clear my path. The sensation was unnerving, as though the world itself knew I needed space to escape, yet it comforted me, too.

Then, through the gap in the trees, I felt him before I saw him. My oversight wasn't activated yet, but something in my gut told me to run faster. Behind me, the dense branches parted further, and through the darkness, I knew someone was watching me. I dared not look back, afraid of what I might see—yet I could feel his presence, powerful and still, as though the forest had bent to his will too.

I activated oversight, and my senses sharpened in an instant. My vision cut through the night, brightening even the faintest details, allowing me to sense what I couldn't see with my own eyes. The sounds of the forest were magnified—the creak of branches, the rustling of leaves, and something else, something distant. It was the sound of hooves.

He was behind me, sitting tall on his horse, watching me as I fled. Through my oversight, I could see him clearly even though I had not yet turned to face him. His presence loomed larger than life in my heightened senses. The horse he rode was jet-black, its muscular frame cutting an imposing silhouette against the night. The rhythmic pounding of its hooves was deliberate, controlled, as though its rider had no need to hurry. The horse moved with the same grace as the trees around me, as though the forest parted for him as it did for me.

Though I couldn't see his face fully, I caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye. His posture was perfect, regal even, sitting atop the beast like a conqueror surveying his domain. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his black coat blending into the shadows. The faintest glow of moonlight reflected off his dark hair, swept back from his face, giving him an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. His eyes—crimson like the dying embers of a fire—gleamed faintly through the shadows. Even without seeing them directly, I felt their weight on my back, like they were burning into me from the darkness.

I dared not slow down, but my power of oversight allowed me to see him in perfect detail. The scar just above his cheekbone, subtle but unmistakable, gave him a hardened, dangerous edge. His hands gripped the reins of his horse with the kind of control that spoke of immense power kept carefully in check. I could hear the quiet snorts of the horse as it breathed, its muscles flexing as it moved with an eerie calm. Everything about him was composed, controlled—like he was waiting for something. For me.

The trees continued to bend away from him as well, clearing a path behind me as though the forest itself obeyed his will. The way the branches pulled back, shifting like they had done for me, sent a new wave of fear rushing through me. He was more than just a man on horseback—he was something else, something powerful. And while I ran, he didn't chase. He only watched, as if this was all part of a game I wasn't yet aware of.

I fought the overwhelming urge to turn around, to face him and find out who—or what—he was. But the power inside me surged dangerously close to the surface, and I knew I couldn't afford to lose control. The more I used oversight, the more the flood of sensations threatened to drown me. I had to keep moving. He was behind me, always there, a shadow I couldn't shake.

As I ran, the trees whispered in the wind, and the moonlight barely touched the ground through their thick branches. The dark figure on the horse grew more distant in my heightened senses, but his presence lingered, heavy and constant, like the pull of gravity. I knew I wasn't safe yet. And I wasn't sure if I ever would be.

I ran and ran, my feet barely touching the ground as I made my way towards the one place that could calm the storm inside me—my cottage, my home away from home. The monster I was fleeing, the one whose rage haunted every corner of my mind, began to fade as the familiar sight of the small house came into view. It was always this way. No matter how fast I fled or how terrified I felt, the moment I saw my sanctuary, his anger seemed to dissolve into the background.

The scent of Elysian Orchids and Veilshade Lilies greeted me even before I reached the gate, their ethereal fragrance washing over me like a warm embrace. Those flowers had always been a comfort to me, their magical essence calming my nerves, reminding me of the peace I could still find in this world. My cottage was draped in greenery, just the way I liked it—ivy curling around the windows, ferns and vines weaving through the garden, creating a small oasis of life and color in an otherwise darkened world. The walls, painted in soft, muted tones, gave it a lightness that made the place feel like it existed in its own bubble, untouched by the chaos outside.

As I approached, I spotted my best friend standing just outside the front door, her face a mix of concern and determination. At her feet sat Ms. Zarathustra, my white cat, who blinked up at me with her usual calm, as though nothing in the world could disturb her. Her bright, piercing eyes followed me as I slowed to a stop.

My bestie wasted no time as she began the ritual—a delicate, ancient series of movements and incantations meant to keep him away. The air around us hummed with the soft glow of the protective spell. I could feel its energy wrapping around the cottage like an invisible shield, reinforcing the boundary between this safe haven and the darkness I had fled from.

Once the ritual was complete, I bent down and scooped up Ms. Zarathustra, her soft white fur brushing against my fingers as her purred contentedly in my arms. I stood for a moment, breathing in the tranquility that only this place could offer, the weight of everything that had happened lifting off my shoulders just a little.

With my cat nestled against me, I stepped inside, the warm air of the cottage greeting me like an old friend. I didn't need to say anything. My bestie understood. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and all I wanted was to sleep, to lose myself in dreams where the monster's shadow couldn't follow.

As I lay down, the scent of the flowers still lingering in the air, I held Ms. Zarathustra close and closed my eyes. Sleep came quickly, pulling me into the depths of my subconscious where the lines between reality and dreams blurred.

And there he was.

The man from the forest.

His crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, just like before, piercing through the shadows with an intensity that shook me to my core. He was atop his black horse again, watching me in silence, his posture calm but commanding. The way his hair fell in perfect waves, the scar that added a sharpness to his face, and those lashes framing eyes that seemed to see into my very soul—it all haunted me even in my sleep.

I could feel the pull again, the strange, magnetic connection that had stopped me in my tracks during my flight. Even in this dream, I couldn't escape him. He didn't speak, didn't move. But his presence was overwhelming, like gravity itself bending around him.

I reached for him, but he remained distant, just beyond my grasp, the darkness folding around him as if he was part of it. The trees whispered his name, though I couldn't make out the words, and the moonlight seemed to shine only on him. There was something about him I couldn't shake, a mystery that gnawed at me even as I slept.

I wanted to ask him who he was, what he wanted. But before I could, the dream began to dissolve like mist in the morning light, leaving me with more questions than answers.

As I slipped deeper into sleep, I clung to the faint memory of his eyes—the way they had looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

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