Queen of Ash

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓃𝓉

The sun was long gone before Ashlyn was done with her chores. And with a hungry belly, she lit the small fireplace, hoping to warm the house up. Fire crackled in her veins as she lit the fire. This power, foreign magic ached to be freed, unleashed. But she couldn't risk it with her mother in the next room over.

Rubbing her hands together, Ashlyn made her way outside into a small abandoned shed. The door swung open revealing painting supplies. Pots of different colored paints were scattered on the floor before a big canvas. It was blank, for Ashlyn had never found the time to paint, especially when her mother ordered her around.

But somehow, she had managed to paint one wall of the small shed. She'd painted a starry night and rolling hills, hoping to imitate the town of Illyria. The place she'd always dreamed of going to.

Illyria was supposedly ruled by a Fae king. They called him the King of the Night for he could control darkness itself. Legend claims when the Dark Lord and his armies were fighting a rebelling territory, the king himself stopped in the midst of battle and saved a man.

They say the world dove into darkness as the king placed his hands on the wounded soldier's chest and his power surged. But as the soldier rose again, the world cleaved in half and thunder rolled across the blood stained hills. But that was just a lick of his power. They say he was the most powerful king, as powerful as a god. The humans feared him, feared that one day his armies would storm across the wall, destroying everything in their path.

She stared at the blank canvas, searching for inspiration. She could paint the cottage or the village. She could paint the snow-covered trees, or villager's smiles, but it didn't feel right. She didn't belong here anyways and the big canvas demanded something bigger, legendary. The girl picked up her brush and dipped it in several different colors.

While humming and old Face song, she made small and big strokes, painting the wild beast she'd heard about. She flicked the edge of her brush, white specks representing the stars that light up the night. The girl painted the forest floor, bushes and all. The snow covered trees, slowly appeared on her canvas, a smile spreading across the young girls face.

Finally she stepped back and stared at her art work, pride rising from within. The black wolf with pine green eyes stared back at her, his canines bared. But she hadn't painted blood dripping from his mouth like the men had described him. Instead of anger in his eyes, they were comforting and his bared teeth not threatening but rather protecting.

She sighed and pulled back her hair, rolled it into a bun, sticking paint brushes into her hair. Ashlyn made a move to sit down but a scream rippled through the dark night. With paint still wet on her hands, she rushed back to the cottage to find her mother sobbing hysterically at a body on the doorstep. Her father's body. Around her stood a dozen men, hunters.

Ashlyn looked down at the body, her stomach roiling. She took a step back, a sob caught in her throat. Her father's body was shredded in so many directions, clearly made by claws. Blood leaked from his stomach and limbs, his guts spilling over the floor.  Her father's eyes were open, still wide with fear. As if he's seen the Dark King himself. 

Ashlyn turned around and threw up in the snow, trying to wake up from this nightmare. Her father, the man who'd raised her, now lay dead on the floor. Ripped to shreds like a piece of clothing. She'd never been attached to him but no matter how mean or how much she hated him, he didn't deserve to die like that.

"What happened?" she asked, bile rising in her throat. "Who did this?" Her heart raced in her chest, fire aching to erupt from her hands.

"He did it." a brown hair hunter said. "The Fae warrior did it." he shoved his hands in his pockets.