Angel of Death

Untitled Part 1

~Prologue~

Yellow eyes pierced through the mist of the stormy night; cutting everything they dare to look at, everything ‘it’ touched with its sharp talons. This creature of the night causes a symphony of screams to echo off the walls of anonymous houses. It was a cacophony of brutality; the screams of a dying person. Blood stained the paws of this merciless beast.

She ran down the cobble stone pathway, a clambering hand reached for the air in front of her. A single hand held up the skirts of her petticoat; she was cautious not to trip. She panted and her legs lurched lethargically. She had a head start and was running as fast as she could; but even she knew that she couldn’t stay ahead for long.

 Her eyes were unseeing in the iridescent light of a single street lamp. Her hair flopped in her face as she ran, but she wouldn’t let that stop her, she couldn’t let them get to her. She had one thing going for her and that was the darkness, she could hide in the shadows when she needed, but even she knew that wouldn’t stop them. She herd the constant patter of her boot heels slapping the cobble stones harshly and knew she had to be more silent.

 She was fast but soon came the time when they were upon her, a shrilling howl rang through her ears like a fork against a china plate. Stopping in her tracks, her eyes darted to the trees on her left, she saw a flash of brown fur. “They found me” she whispered to self. Bending down, hands shook to find the knife sheathed to her ankle. She pulled the knife out of its leather pouch and let its weightlessness give her a small sense of solace.

Then they came, surrounding her, closing her in like a caged animal. They growled, drool seeping from their grim muzzles. They stretched their heads to the sky and howled in unison. Her hands trembled as she gripped the knife. Slowly she reached an arm across her lower abdomen, she looped her finger in a silken loop on her skirt and pulled, dropping her petticoats to the floor. Underneath she wore a pair of cotton trousers. ‘‘Ladies don’t wear trousers ’’ her mother’s voice rang through her mind, but she shook it away. Her hand rested on a sword that was strapped to her waist. ‘Lugging this under my skirt was hell’ she thought.

The howling stopped, the beasts lowered their heads and glared at her. Yellow eyes on her. She put her best foot forward and stood in a protective stance. Then, the first one lunged at her. With a quick, swift slice she’d unsheathed the sabre on her hip and cut the beast in two. It fell to the floor and writhed about, using its front paws to try and reach its legs. She kicked the beast away from her and it yelped in protest. In some ways the beasts do hold a strong value of loyalty.

 As soon as they saw their brother’s body fall limp, all the other beasts attacked, she could almost hear their pain in the growls that emanated from their throats. She spun around and sliced the sword that rested heavily in her hand. Attacking and hacking at the teeth and claws that had set their sights on her. She kicked, fought and used all her skills to protect herself. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins and her breath was heavy and laboured. Lunge, swipe and recoil. This mantra was her only lifeline, over and over she uttered it to herself.

Before long they stopped, the attack was over. She stared down at the carnage around her. Most of the beasts had referred back to their original states. Their souls were free of the curse. It wasn’t their fault, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, leaving them to be taken over by the beast. She bent forward and shook a severed head off her blood soaked petticoat and tutted in dismay. “And I just got this cleaned” she moaned “Paŕee is going to kill me”. She looked around once more and laughed at the irony. She fastened her petticoat around her hips. Her ears twitched as she heard a sound behind her. She pivoted her body her adrenaline was steadily releasing into her blood stream again. That was until she saw a pale faced, wide eyed, man stood right on the edge of the tree line. He had a portable market stall in front of him. Even in the dark she could see his knuckles white as he clutched the cart. She knew what to do in situations like this. She let a soft moan escape her lips and feigned a faint. She hit the ground with force that knocked the breath from her lungs. ‘That’s going to leave a bruise’ she thought.

She herd everything that the French man said. But to even move a muscle would be giving up her cover of ‘the damsel in distress’. She didn’t even twitch when he lifted her limp body off the blood soaked cobblestone ground.  He groaned as he lifted me off the ground. Am I really that heavy? She thought.  She gulped slyly trying to mask her insecurity; also to hide the fact she was angry that he had his hand on her bottom. “Mademoiselle!” He shook her lightly. Her head hung limp and rolled side-to-side as he shook her. “Madame!” “Huh?” She opened her eyes limply and let a groan leave her throat. “What… what happened?” She mumbled in French. “Oh madam I saw nothing only the dead men and you faint, are you alright milady?” He replied. She didn’t want these men to not have the funeral they deserved, so she thought to give them all the credit for her safety. “They are my men monsieur, we were attacked by beasts of fur and teeth and big round yellow eyes…” she cut off her words and whimpered. She forced tears to spring in her eyes. Upon seeing her anguish he followed her into his arms. “It’s alright milady, your men are in a better place.” She sobbed tears into his shoulder and let the middle aged man lead her through the park. When she finally lifted her head from his shoulder she realised they were outside the police station. ‘Oh god Peŕee is not going to like this’ she gulped and took a deep breath. “It’s ok mademoiselle the police will find the beasts and get your men the justice they deserve.” All she could do was nod, as thoughts on how to get out of this mess swirled around her mind.

Finally, she Left the police office after an hour of explaining, in French, exactly what had happened. But of course it was all nothing but a concoction of lies, that seemed to fit in with the evidence. The man that had helped her placed a consoling hand on her lace clad shoulder. “Will you be alright to get home, Madame?” “Yes, sir thank you for your help” she gave a slight nod and bobbed a curtsey. Then turned her heel and walked gracefully down the street. Once she had turned the corner she broke into a sprint. “Damn, I’m dead for sure” she breathlessly mumbled to herself. She fled through the maze of streets and back roads.