Heir of Night

𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢 I

𝓥𝓲𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂𝓪

Heir of Night
All Rights Reserved
© 2018 L. C. Rose

~*~

It was silent. A hollow, horrid thing.

My lungs burn as they try to fill with air; and fail. The icy wind pricks at my skin violently as it whirls around me. The intricate curls of my hair get caught on blackened, withering brushwood, pulling at my scalp forcefully... but still, I don't look back.

My eyes are fixed on the path ahead as I dash hastily through the dense woods. The forest has become a labyrinth of snow and cold - Desolate, save for the greenery left behind to wither.

I pick up my pace, my heart slamming against my chest as it crescendos louder in my ears. I know what's coming and there's no escaping it.

The frost bitten trees tower over me like carefully placed sentinels, an ever present reminder that I am always trapped; even within this false sense of freedom. Thankfully, I only catch glimpses of the mocking shrubs as I break the wind with the sheer brute force of my speed. Winter is fast approaching but I will outrun it. I will not succumb to it. I refuse to welcome it.

The forest is quiet, deathly so, and only the screeching of the wind assures me I'm still alone. No one comes this far out; or at least, no one dares. No hunters, no scouts, no curious yet wandering souls. Silence has claimed this land as its own.

But the drumming of my heart drives me to move faster.

Faster.

Faster.

Until I can no longer hear it. And even then, I must keep running. Faster. Quicker. Never stopping.

I'm quick to scan over the layout of the land as I tear through, but I'm quicker still on my feet. I keep my steps light over the path, trying to avoid any harsh shrubbery or stones. Even so, in my frantic trot, I find myself feeling the unforgiving sting of something sharp pierce the tenderness of my ankles. My nostrils flare and my eyes dilate as the woods are suddenly filled with the welcoming, iron scent.

But still... I don't stop.

I don't stop, even as I know the crimson staining the matted veil of winter is my own.

More of that bleached canvas comes into view as I hurriedly come up to a pine tree that lays fallen among the winter hinted brush. Its bark is slowly turning brittle by the season ahead. I don't ricochet away and, instead, bend my legs in a swift jump. The eerie sensation of being in mid-air soon absorbs my senses. I soar, feeling nothing but careless wind beneath me.

And that's when I sense it. It knocks into me like a rampage and steals my breath away entirely. My heart stops.

The numbness overrides my senses and creates a wave of anguish through my limbs. My breathing halts and I'm sent plummeting down. My eyes don't glimpse what's happening, like a blanket has been pulled over me. The pile of yellowing foliage goes spiraling into the air as I hit the ground hard with a shriek.
I wince in agony as I flip onto my back, a few tears escaping my eyes, as I register the pain. I open my mouth but my voice fails me. I try to get up, but the searing pain restricts any effort.

After a second or two, I feel my heart thump back to life. The momentary absence leaves me reeling, my chest heaving up and down in jagged, erratic motions. My lungs expand in a severe effort as they fill with air hungrily, greedily.

Strength abandons my body, so I weakly turn on my belly and manage to crawl on to my knees. I bring a shaky hand to rub at my cheek, which will surely bruise come tomorrow... but then again, it probably won't. Death will claim before that.

Every minute I sit in this declining state, I fill with more and more hated misery.

After I hoist myself on to my feet, patting away the browning leaves that have clung to my gown, I feel the singe of soreness again. Looking over my shoulder, I warily check to see if anyone has followed me.

But like before, I see no one.

The surge of blood now pounding in my ears makes it impossible for me to hear anything. I initially hesitate but decide to keep moving before anyone catches sight of the bright dress in the dim woods.

I focus hard on slowing down my breathing, fearing the sound will give me away. I figure I'm lost but that doesn't bother me.

I scamper through a clearing in the forest, and realize then that I am alone in this. Truly alone. And all I'm able to do is run for my life. Fear makes me fast, and I am surprised by how well I avoid the undergrowth once I hit the tree line again. Thankful I don't worsen the gashes on my fair legs.

The ground is slippery, patched with the incoming chill. I vaguely feel my legs getting scratched and battered again under my dress, but I don't slow down to see the red streaks left behind. I don't stop to readjust my gown, which is now clinging to my chest uncomfortably because I'm sweating. I don't stop when I feel my shoes come undone and slip off.

Still, I run.

I don't know what I'm running to; but I know what I'm running from. And that's enough.

It's cooler in the woods now; and it's steadily getting darker but I can see my dress becoming rags as branches claw at it in my haste.

The pain in my chest soon subsides but a quiet memento still lingers. My lungs contract in agony and my legs throb. I bring a chilled hand over my exposed chest in horrified acceptance.

It has begun. My death is near.