The Unseen Road

Chapter Eight

Beatrice ran. And ran. Only after having flown quite a long distance from the burning village had she realized what she was doing and finally became horrified with herself, so she landed as quickly as she could, taking no time to even stop- for her legs were already moving in a running motion before she hit the ground.

As she ran, her great burgundy wings, lined with blood-red on the inside, folded against her back in a grotesque sequence of stretching and then contracting themselves with a sensation that made Beatrice tingle with a combination of disgust and addictive pleasure.

She wanted to do it again. But she couldn't; she had to keep running.

She was responsible for the death of an innocent. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn't escape it. In that one glimpse, she had seen the other Woodland folk running to try and rescue the disabled man. And yet she knew that he was dead.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn't her fault over and over again. But then she kept remembering how people had looked at her; they saw her as a killer, a monster.

So maybe that was what she really was.

Over endless hills she seemed to glide even on foot, and she thought of nothing until the smell of burning finally left her nose.

Finally, breathing in a breath of fresh air, she slackened down her pace, pulled her hood over her head and drew the cloak's ends closer together as she resorted to a fast walk, looking surreptitiously from side to side.

That is, until her eyes at last trained upon an almost industrial ember glow in the distance, despite the fact that it was still hardly evening; the shadows of night were yet waiting on the edge of the horizon, purging forth a rosy hue over the land.

Her first instinct was to turn away, to avoid all signs of civilization. But then a feeling of loneliness, a need for a distraction, crept into her and she decided to approach it.

As she got closer, she saw that the source of the ember glow were tents, presumably burning some kind of material to produce a thick layer of smoke into the atmosphere. This, however, did not detain Beatrice. In fact, it spawned an ambition to draw nearer.

Stealthily, she slipped past the peripheries of the site and amongst the tents, blending in as much as she could. Nobody approached her; she dared not make contact with those who passed by her nor tried to discern what kind of people they were.

Until, at last, a deep voice said firmly behind her: "Are you lost? Come now. Take down that hood."

Beatrice froze, reluctant to turn around. Finally, she braced herself and turned around, though she did not take down her hood but rather kept it over her eyes, so she couldn't see the man who had addressed her.

"Do as I say."

Beatrice did not flinch with the cold tone she was confronted with. Her mind, however, was beginning to panic; quickly she quieted it.

At last she took down her hood and looked at the ground.

"Look at me, Succubus," demanded the authoritative voice. "I do not care to play this game for long. Before I rip your throat out— try to see if I am joking."

Beatrice raised her eyes and met them with the figure in front of her.

The first thing that stood out to Beatrice was that the man had blood-red eyes. If not for them, his features seemed almost human, although incredibly dark- black hair and stubble, with a squared, cunning yet merciless face. He would have been handsome had his features not begged for the intimidation of others.