Their Feathers Stained Crimson

~ 1

Ancient tree trunks blur together in my vision, fusing into a sea of dark brown wood. The basket I'm holding loosens from my grip, tumbling to the forest floor. My knees buckle and smack the ground, sending a splitting pain through my bony shins. I bury my hands amidst leaves and shrubs, my palms braced against the dirt. My head spins, and nausea roils in my gut.

Stay strong.

In the distance, Merla's voice rings through the forest.

"Girls, where are you?"

Footsteps pound in the distance, followed by squeals of laughter. The sound draws closer and closer, but I am too ill to stand, to run. I lift my gaze as the blurry figures of Lenore and Clementine crystallize, weaving between hazy brown stalks. Their laughter fades, and my pulse ticks up.

They come closer, closer, closer still.

I feel too weak to move, yet I feebly push myself backward. Bile pushes up my throat. I pause, panting, trying not to retch at the girls' feet like I have so many times before.

I blink, and the girls are in front of me, looking down at me.

Judging me. My eyes flutter, then open wide, catching the full strength of their glares.

"Elowen, the ugly."

"Elowen, the weak."

Elowen's too sickly. Why is Elowen living with us? She's going to spread her disease to us. Then we'll all look like her.

When will she just... disappear?

Voices slur in my head. I can't tell which are from the present moment and which are echoes from the past.

"Why are you even gathering herbs?"

The world spins back into focus, and I look at Clementine and Lenore's sneering faces.

"You're only going to make us sick with your disease." Clementine pulls back her foot and kicks my basket. It flies through the air, smacking into a tree trunk while herbs scatter across the forest floor. My vision blurs once more, this time with tears. I spent all morning scavenging the best plants for Merla's stew. And now, it's all... gone.

Clementine and Lenore off through the trees. Slowly, sensation returns to my limbs, and the cloud dissipates from my head. I take in deep gulps of oxygen, trying to ground myself. My fingers dig into the earth.

You need to get up.

I swallow. A single bead of sweat pricks my upper arm. My limbs are still weak, flimsy, unusable. I blink several more times before the spinning slows, and I'm faced with solid, unmoving ground. I test my weight against my arms, ensuring they're steady, before pushing myself upright.

Sweeping my gaze over trees and shrubs, I spot my basket, now lying on the ground with a split on the side where it struck the tree trunk. A few herbs lay beside it, and I stuff them inside the basket before trudging back to the cottage.

The afternoon sun breaks through the trees, growing in intensity as I approach the town. They part to reveal Merla's cottage, surrounded by honeysuckle and marigold bushes. Vines and flowers weave their way down from the wooden roof and encircle the rounded entrance in a yellow, pink, and green halo, beneath which Merla stands. Her lips press into the tiniest, sympathetic smile, an apology for her two daughters. The trees must've carried an echo of their taunts to her.

"Did you find the herbs?" Merla asks.

I hand her the basket with the small bundle of herbs I salvaged. "Would... would you like me to get more?"