Monstrum

Chapter 6: The Chase

The forest coiled around Chante like a noose, its skeletal trees silent sentinels glaring from the shadows. Boniface's hooves sank deep into the sodden earth, each muffled thud swallowed by the mist that snaked up to tug at her ankles. The air was colder than autumn's breath had any right to be-an unnatural chill that gnawed at her skin, creeping beneath her cloak as though it meant to dig at her bones. She pulled the wool closer, but it did nothing to soften the bite. The path ahead narrowed, suffocated by brambles, as time staggered, unraveling like the pooling of candle wax- each moment a fragile exhale in the darkness.

Boniface snorted nervously, ears pinning back, his muscles taut and twitching beneath her. As though he could sense what she could not see. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint crunch of leaves beneath his hooves. Every sound felt stolen, swallowed by the fog. Too far. She was too far from home now. The world behind her had dissolved, swallowed by the mists and the tocsin of silence so profound it was as if the two of them were the only living things left in the world. It was then that the snow began to fall- soft, icy flakes drifting down like ghosts. Too early for snow. The seasons were wrong, twisted. Something in the pit of her soul recoiled. It was as if they had slipped through some invisible veil-into a place between seasons, between worlds, where autumn's fading gold rotted beneath a shroud of snow.

Something was watching.

Boniface slowed, ears swiveling towards the gaps in the fog and trees. Chante's heart hit her guts, her breath a shallow rasp that clouded the air before her. Her fingers, stiff and trembling, wrapped tighter around the reins as she scanned the forest-endless, consuming. The mist clung to the trunks like webbing, turning the shadows into grotesque figures. And then... something moved within. Just a flicker of movement that caught her eye. Low to the ground, eyes burning like embers in the gloom, watching with a stillness that made her stomach churn. The weight of that gaze pressed into her skin long before she saw the hulking shape of them-slipping through the mist like a nightmare given flesh.

Wolves.

Boniface whinnied, trembling beneath her. Chante's breath hitched as she fought to keep control. They hadn't moved yet. But they were there-lurking just at the edge of periphery, their eyes too bright, too intelligent. Too many.

A branch snapped.

She flinched, her head jerking toward the sound. Those massive shadows moving silently through the fog-large and deliberate. Watching. Waiting.

The first growl ripped through the darkness, low and menacing, rolling through the air like a clap of thunder. Her spine stiffened, dread clawing up her throat. Boniface tensed beneath her, waiting for her command as the wolves circled, too close now. Her heart ricocheted in her ears, the world narrowing to pulsing forms, the gleam of teeth, and the blur of fur.

They lunged.

"Go!" She drove her heels into Boniface's sides, and he leaped forward. Hooves pounded the earth as they flew through trees and bramble. The wind howled around them as they careened blindly, but the wolves were faster. Their snarls cut through the night like knives. Their hot breath was burning at her heels as their claws dug into the earth inches behind.

Boniface veered sharply left. The sudden turn wrenching her sideways in the saddle, the reins slipping from her hands. She clung to his mane, her body whipping through the underbrush as branches lashed against her skin. Red-hot fear pounded against her ribs, her breath coming in ragged gasps. They couldn't outrun them forever.

A wolf leaped for her, its teeth snapping just shy of her boot. She screamed, a sharp cry ripping from her throat, urging Boniface to go faster. Faster.

And then—just ahead—the mist began to part. Stone. Dark, jagged walls rose from the fog like sentries in the night, ancient and looming. Her heart leaped into her throat. A castle. Salvation.

"There!" her shredded voice gasped, barely audible over the wind. But Boniface heard. He surged forward, toward the castle's walls. The wolves howled, snapping at their heels, but the iron gates loomed closer.

They burst through the gates, Boniface's hooves clattering against the stone. Quiet closed in, the howls abruptly cut off. The wolves snarled from outside, pacing just beyond the iron barrier. They didn't try to cross. They stayed back, their glowing eyes still locked on her, filled with hunger and rage.

She slumped in the saddle, her chest heaving, heart thundering in her ears. Her body was still humming with the terror of the chase. Safe. For now.

With a trembling hand, Chante slid from Boniface's back. Her legs buckled beneath her, exhaustion threatening to pull her down, but she caught herself, leaning heavily against the horse's warm flank. She glanced up at the iron portcullis, its jagged edges gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

But then, something else caught her eye. Blue roses. They clung to the walls of the castle, their vines twisted and gnarled, choking everything in their path. The petals glowed faintly, like smoldering remains in the dark, casting an eerie light over the garden. She stared at them, mesmerized, her breath catching in her throat. The roses were beautiful, wrong—unnatural.

Chante left Boniface by the gate, her legs still shaky beneath her as she moved deeper into the garden. The snow crunched beneath her boots, the air thick with the scent of decay and roses. The further she went, the more the garden seemed to wither. The roses had overgrown everything, their vines twisting around statues and fountains, suffocating the life out of the once-beautiful grounds.

She wandered through the maze of vines and thorns until she came to a small stone gazebo. It stood at the heart of the garden, its roof half-collapsed, but there was something strangely peaceful about it. Inside, a wrought iron tea table and chair sat, untouched by time. A teapot and cup rested on the table, as if waiting for someone.

Chante stepped closer, her eyes drawn to the largest rose she had ever seen. It bloomed at the center of the gazebo, its petals deep blue and shimmering in the faint light. Her fingers trembled as they reached out. She knew she should pull back, but something about it beckoned her, drawing her closer. She brushed against the silken petals. They felt too soft, the veins like sinew under her touch. Too alive...

Without warning, a thorn shot out, stabbing deep into her flesh.She gasped, but the thorn burrowed deeper, twisting like a knife into her. She tried to pull away, but the thorn was relentless, sinking deep into her flesh like a viper's bite.

Pain shot through her hand, turning her blood to fire. She tried to scream, but the sound died in her throat as a wave of sickness washed over her. Her vision blurred, and it became harder and harder to breathe. The air was a thick slurry that her lungs demanded and drowned in as pain raged an inferno within.

She stumbled back, her knees giving way beneath her. The world around her spun, the roses and vines twisting in her vision. Just as the darkness closed in, she heard a voice—low, rumbling, soothing the writhing of her nerves. Her shattered mind scrambled, trying to make sense of the voice through the din of agony. Who had come so close without her knowing?

"Drink." Suddenly, there was something pressed to her lips—a vial. She tried turning her head away, to not drink what the voice offered, but her body betrayed her. Too far gone. The viscous liquid crawled into her mouth, stretching in gelatinous tendrils before burning down her throat. She tried to resist, but the world was slipping away from her too quickly. She drank, the taste a bitter, cloying weight coating her tongue and throat before her body went limp. Her vision swam, the world spinning and twisting in shades of blue and black. The world dimmed to an echo around her.

The last thing she felt was the thorn wriggling free.

And then, nothing.