Ending

Chapter 11 - Destruction's Grace

The small ticks of water dripping echoed softly in the silence, each drop hitting the ground in a steady rhythm that sent a dull ache through my temples.

I turned my head and saw a small puddle forming in the corner of my tent, the dampness a reminder of how quickly the world shifted from snow to slush as winter loosened its grip.

The water trickling into it was the source of my distraction, pulling me away from the troubling thoughts I had been avoiding.

With a quiet sigh, I reached for an old, tin cup from the corner of my tent, stuffing a rag into the bottom before placing it beneath the droplets to catch the steady drip.

Sitting back down on my blanket, I refocused my gaze on the doll. Its presence was like an anchor, holding me in place and demanding my attention in ways I couldn't explain. I almost didn't want to look away, fearing that if I did, it might disappear just as suddenly as it had reappeared.

Its face was still slightly damp from my earlier attempt to clean it in the river, and the soft fabric had dried unevenly, leaving patches that felt rougher than I remembered.

Yet, there was something comforting about holding it, like I was clinging to a fragment of the past that refused to let go of me.

I shifted, trying to get comfortable, but my bones felt heavy, weighed down by fatigue.

The night had fully settled in, the last remnants of daylight swallowed by the thick forest around me.

I could only guess how late it had become, and my body responded almost instantly with a deep, unbidden yawn.

Despite the overwhelming pull of sleep, I didn't want to give in. Not yet.

I stretched out on the blanket, pulling my tattered fur cloak tighter around me to block out the cold creeping in from the damp ground.

The tent had been hastily erected earlier that evening, the fabric stretched taut between two trees, creating just enough space for me to shelter from the elements. It wasn't much, but it kept the wind from biting at my skin.

Laying there, I could still hear the soft patter of water collecting in the tin cup, a steady rhythm that should have been soothing but only served to remind me how alone I was. I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them again, staring up at the ceiling of the tent as if it held the answers I was too afraid to ask.

The doll lay beside me now, nestled in the folds of the blanket. I reached out, brushing my fingers over its worn dress, still unsure of what to do with the strange sense of unease it brought me. It was a reminder, a tether to the life I'd left behind—one that I hadn't yet fully acknowledged.

A faint smell caught my attention, something sharp and earthy. I wrinkled my nose, but exhaustion made it easy to push the thought away. I turned onto my side, curling up against the chill, pulling the doll close to my chest as if it might protect me from the lingering nightmares of my past.

My limbs felt heavy, my body surrendering despite my resistance. The small aches and discomforts of the day began to blur, and my vision softened as the world grew distant. My mind wandered, thoughts flickering in and out like fading embers, until, finally, I gave in.

Sleep claimed me, the night wrapping me in its cold embrace as I drifted into uneasy dreams.

A violent cough tore through my chest, jolting me awake. My body convulsed with each breath as the spasms wracked my lungs, and the sound of my hacking filled the air, stretching on for what felt like minutes. I gasped, trying to pull in oxygen, but the air was thick, black, suffocating.