Hiraeth

Chapter 3

Hands grasp her, pull her down until she cannot move. The villagers scream in outrage. One claimed by the dead dares to walk among them. The children cling to their mothers as Harlow is violently dragged from the hut. She is undressed right there, stripped bare before the fires burning within the middle of the village. They refuse to burn her. They have the time. She sees the hunger for violence in their beady eyes. First they brand her. To save her soul, they say. The red hot iron is pressed against the skin of her back. Harlow tries to swallow her screams, but the sound still tears itself from her throat, as her skin erupts into angry blisters. The villagers do not care, they see only the eternal light scorching a tainted being. Their symbol, a bleeding sun, will mark her for all to see. Even if she escapes them, all others will know that she is beyond hope.

After, they chop off her hair until there is nothing left of her ebony locks for them to throw in the fire. Harlow is dehumanized. She thinks they need it to wash their hands within the illusion of their innocence. There is no guilt to be felt if she is not human, but a monster instead. Her hands are yanked behind her back, rope wrapping around her slender wrists to bind her. They will prepare themselves for a proper hunt tonight and come morning light, they will chase and kill the devil that crept into their village.

They are foolish to think that she will die so easily. She survived the forest once. Harlow can survive the ones who fear it as well. Still, that night she dreams of red dahlias breaking through her rib cage, twisting around her neck until she grows limp.

They let her run first, watch her stumble and run through the dirt. Her feet are bloody after the first few steps. The hounds are released shortly after. She hears them, almost feels them snapping at her bloodied heels. Escaping seems impossible. They are always there, not far off her tracks. Harlow hides in ravines, covers herself in mud to mask her scent. She hopes it will be enough. Sometimes Harlow finds herself praying. The hunters do not find her within the first day, but the hounds do. They snap at her and she finds herself stumbling down a steep hill. Still, they follow, tearing at her skin. They fall and fall, disoriented once they stop. It gives her enough time to stagger to her feet. She refuses to die like this, hunted down like a filthy animal. The trees are tall, branches reaching towards the ones of others like hands desperately grasping at each other. She could try to climb them, try to find her way back without touching the ground for a while.

The forest has yet to see her as one of its own, but it still allows her to seek refugee within. The rough bark never dares to cut her skin and the birds do not dare to sing of her arrival. Her blood is spilled along the way. She cannot stop that, not now. It is possible that her wounds will heal throughout the days. If she is lucky, she reaches the mansion before they get infected. She tries to sleep as little as possible. Harlow fears being found, but she fears the dreams more. They leave an aftertaste she can never quite shake. She always dies in them, sometimes slower as one might think. She finds no peace in them, not anymore.

It takes her two more days to find her way back to the mansion. It is only by a stroke of luck. The building towers over her, casting long shadows. The hunters scream and take their aim, but they never pull the trigger when they see it. They let her go, terrified of what might happen if they kill her on such unholy ground. She almost cries out of relief. It is finally over. Upon reaching the door, she falls to her knees, hoping someone will hear the weak knocks echoing through the halls.

It is how Delphine finds her, naked and torn in a puddle of her own blood. The maid is careful as she lifts Harlow, carrying her back to the quarters they had readied for her all those weeks ago. The mistress appears shortly after, like a shark smelling blood in the water. She is denied entry. Harlow sees her blown pupils, the hunger that seems to tug at her soul. Delphine responds with righteous fury, sending her mistress away. The anger subsides and kind eyes are turned towards Harlow once more. Something is being said, but there is white noise in her ears and the harder she tries to listen, the louder it seems to become. The maid turns frantic in her movements, cleans her wounds and bandages them. The hurt is a dull throb and Harlow thinks this is possibly how dying feels like. You do not feel it, you just know.