Faerie Trinkets

Let the River Run Dry

Blood.

That was all Rilla could see. Blood on the grimy dirt floor. Blood on the cold, mud walls. Blood seeping from what was left of that poor girl.

And blood on her brother's hands.

Myles looked up, tears trailing down his cheeks.

"What have you done?" she whispered.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the dead body. "It wasn't me. You must believe me. You know I'd never hurt her. Not our sister. I'd never..."

A sob choked him, and he broke down into tears. Rilla took a closer look at the body. He was right. It was their sister. Stepsister, to be precise. Though her face had been torn to bits, there was no mistaking those long, blonde braids and the locket around her neck, a gift from her long-dead father that she was never seen without.

"Myles, what happened?" Rilla asked.

"I don't know. I walked in and found her like this. I was chopping wood all afternoon while you were washing clothes by the river. I only just returned home." He looked up at her, desperation in his eyes. "You must believe me, Sister. If you don't believe me, I-"

Rilla knelt beside him and pulled him into her arms. He embraced her tightly, and she could feel the blood on his hands seep into the back of her dress. Swallowing down her revulsion, she looked at her stepsister's body.

"I believe you, Brother. Of course I believe you."

"What are we going to do? When Stepmother comes home..."

He didn't need to finish. Rilla knew. When their stepmother saw her beloved daughter torn to pieces and her blood all over her stepchildren, she would finally have an excuse to end them. Rilla could imagine the glee in her eyes as she gutted them or drowned them or strangled them. Perhaps all three. There were so many possibilities, and she knew no one would blame her when she told the tale of how her demonic stepchildren had murdered her lovely young daughter.

Death was a certainty.

"We run," Rilla said, pulling away from her brother.

"Run? But where to?"

Taking his hand, she dragged him towards the door. "Anywhere. We just need to be far away from here."

They ran to the door just as it flew open. There stood their stepmother, her eyes like morning frost. With a single gaze, she stopped them in their tracks. Rilla's heart raced as she watched her eyes travel from them to the mutilated body of her daughter. But rather than being overcome with horror at seeing her child torn to bits, a satisfied smile crept across her face. She caught sight of Myles' stained hands and chuckled.

"I should have known it would be you who would try to revive her. Foolish boy." She looked at Rilla and scowled. "But your hands are clean. I suppose I'll have to take care of that."

She reached for something at her belt. There was a hiss of metal, and the pale moonlight illuminated the blade of a bloodstained dagger. Their stepmother gripped it tightly and moved towards them with a wicked smile on her lips.

Rilla's senses were swimming. The feel of her brother trembling. The glint of the metal blade. The heavy footsteps of her stepmother. The smell of her stepsister's blood. It confused her, sent her spinning in circles until she couldn't remember where she was. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, trying to find a way out.

And then a voice echoed in her head.

The river.

Her eyes shot open. Gripping Myles' hand, she stepped back and slipped off her boots, feeling for the blood that pooled from her stepsister. As the sticky liquid oozed between her toes, she turned her attention to her stepmother. Every ounce of strength, every bit of concentration was aimed at her.