Hello, hello. This is something that struck me suddenly, and I hope it'll tide y'all over while I get my health sorted out. This is a lot darker than anything I've written in the past, so if body horror freaks you out, I suggest you don't read this. I'll explain more at the bottom, so enjoy.
Weiss awoke suddenly, her heart pounding violently as she jolted upward. She was not in her bed, but rather in a forest, its trees absent of leaves or foliage of any kind. Every single tree dead, the wood faded with time, their forms twisted and mangled in grotesque manners, lurching and reaching for something unknown.
She glanced downward, noticing the fog that covered the dirt like a carpet, obscuring the forest floor from her eyes. It permeated everything, slinking through roots and along the trunks, dampening everything it touched, soaking it in its smoke-like covering.
Her clothes were not her pajamas; her ice-blue nightgown traded for some sort of white robes, their form loose on her tiny frame. They ruffled with a breeze that passed through and chilled her, leaving her shivering. Curiously, her hair was still down, just as it had been when she had laid down for the night.
Nothing was making sense. She was sure she had gone to sleep in her bed that night, turning off the bedside lamp as she had done every night for years now. And yet, here she was, wearing clothes that she was sure she didn't own in a forest that she knew was nowhere in Atlas.
Another whistle of wind cut through the thin robes, wracking her entire form with another violent shiver.
Perhaps it was time to move; if only to find shelter.
She rose, and took note of a lack of fatigue as she did so. She felt awake, or to be more precise, she felt no tiredness, nor energy. She simply was. It was an odd feeling –one that she couldn't ever recall experiencing—and yet it was something she could get used to; to simply have the energy to be; nothing more, nothing less.
When she moved to brush off her new clothes, she was surprised to find that not a single speck of dirt had attached to them, or even to her hair for that matter.
The circumstances were certainly far from normal, and thus the most logical assumption to be made was that she was dreaming. She pinched the skin of her wrist, surprising herself when she felt pain blossom in the abused flesh.
So she was awake then.
She took a deep breath, willing herself not to panic, to not let fear of the unknown take her as it creeped toward her pounding heart. She was a Schnee, and Schnees always conducted themselves in a proper manner; it would be shameful to panic over a trifle such as this. She woke up in unfamiliar woods in clothes that weren't her own, but so what? She felt no pain beyond where she had pinched, and she was in no immediate danger as far as she could tell. Thus, she had no reason to panic.
Instead, her eyes caught a patch of the fog lifting, fading away like the night at dawn, revealing a cobbled path. Certainly, it was oddly convenient that a path would be revealed at that precise moment, but it was nothing to complain about. She would take the opportunity presented to her –as a Schnee always should—and would find her way.
She strode toward the path, her feet sinking slightly into the dampened earth, until the feeling was replaced by the smooth, slick cobblestones of the road laid out before her. It was odd though; that her feet would be bare given that she had clothes on was strange to her. She had always worn shoes outside –lest she be scolded for acting like the common rabble—so the new sensations that her feet encountered were both foreign, yet enjoyable.
She cast her gaze to them then, intent to take in the world her sense of touch was acquainting her with.
And she screamed.
The sound echoed through the barren trees, a chorus resounding through the forest that startled her when it shouted back. Not a single thing stirred as her scream pierced the silence like a needle through a balloon.
She had no feet.
There was nothing there.
Nothing.
Her legs simply ended halfway down her calves, seeming to dissipate like the fog. They faded away into nothingness, yet the feeling was still there. She could feel her feet touching the stones of the path; could process the sensory information of them touching the moss that seemed to sprout up from the gaps. She could feel her toes moving as she attempted to wiggle them. And yet.
Nothing.
Her breath was ragged as she tried to calm herself, the air sharp as it raked against her raw throat. She had no feet. Yet she was still walking. She could still feel what her feet touched. But they weren't there. They were gone. Where had they gone?
With nothing else in her mind, she reached down, tentatively tracing her fingers down her legs until they reached the ends. They hovered there, the urge to continue her investigation crashing against the fear of feeling nothing in a battle of wills.
She swallowed, her throat constricting at the action. She was terrified; terrified of her missing limbs that somehow still felt like they were there. She was terrified of the unknown here, of that which she had yet to encounter in these barren woods.
Fear.
The feeling primal and vicious, clawing its way through the rational part of her mind like a beast on the hunt. Schnee or not, no amount of discipline could combat her instincts. Such a base feeling was beyond anything that could be taught; it was all-consuming, a poison that seeped into her blood, filling her with an urge to cry and scream, to wail like a child. It was taking over rational thought.
She felt her breathing labor, the air ragged and cumbersome as it emptied and filled her lungs. She was losing control, and that was not permitted.
She forced herself to breathe in accordance with her will –in for four counts, held for seven, and out for eight. She repeated it, forcing her body's adrenaline to bow to her technique, until she felt herself in control again.
She swallowed, the lump that had constricted her throat now shrunk in size. Carefully, tentatively, she slid her fingers past the invisible threshold, her eyes shut tight as she did so.
There was something.
She felt something.
She opened her eyes then, watching with tears clouding her vision as her fingers caressed her invisible feet. She could feel their forms, yet she couldn't see them. It still left her shaking, but it was something. She still had her feet.
She breathed a shaky exhale of relief, wiping the unshed tears that settled on her lashes. She was whole, and that was enough for now. She would need to fix them, but at least they were still there.
But it raised a question; what was going on?
The longer she remained, the more questions she had. Each element that was different from the known set her on edge, gooseflesh raising along her arms. The unease thrummed through her veins like blood, reaching every inch of her.
Nothing was normal.
Nothing was as she knew it.
She was alone in a forest that only seemed to exist to frighten her.
But it wouldn't work. She sucked in another deep breath, paying far less attention to the grace of the action than she normally would have. She was Weiss Schnee, and she would not allow herself to be bested by bunch of dead trees. She would persevere as she always did, and she would survive this.
She continued onward, her destination unknown but her determination unwavering. The darkness of the moonless night would not frighten her. The fog seemed to glow, lighting her path just enough that she could walk without the risk of tripping over something unseen; it was enough.
A rustle.
She whipped around, feeling a twinge in her neck at the speed of the action.
Nothing.
It was the first noise she had heard beyond the wind and her own screams. And yet there was nothing there.
She exhaled heavily, willing her heart to slow itself after the jump in its pace, and turned around.
She screamed.
She fell backwards, landing harshly on the cobblestone but ignoring the pain. She scrambled away, her eyes wide as they took in the monstrosity before them.
A raven.
A raven the size of a bear stared at her, tilting its head curiously as it watched her. Its red eyes never strayed, following her as it would follow its prey. She was an insect, a meal. A meal for this monstrous bird.
"When they cry, there will be no return."
Weiss gaped, her jaw slack as she attempted to reconcile the beast's speech. It was an ethereal voice, echoing in her mind rather than aloud. The timbre was deep, yet distinctly feminine, and the beak never opened, yet she heard its words; its incomprehensible words.
"When… when who cries?" she croaked, her throat dry and raw. She herself would be crying if she wasn't so terribly paralyzed. But the raven's speech implied there was something else here. Perhaps someone else.
The raven looked to the sky, and Weiss's own gaze followed. Clouds rolled in, their forms black like soot as they covered the ink-stained expanse.
A sound then.
A chirping.
A screeching.
A sound that only grew; a chorus of screeching that reverberated throughout the forest. It was a tidal wave of sound, the pitch grating on her eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, the volume assailing her senses and drowning her thoughts.
Then silence.
As quick as the sound had come, it ceased, not even an echo to prove its existance.
The raven looked to her then, blinking once.
"When they cry, there will be no return."
Its wings unfurled, their expanse rivaling a bus's length, and with a great flap, the raven took off into the night, its obsidian form melding into the blackened sky.
Weiss collapsed, and she clutched her heart, the organ strained from the panic and fear that assailed her at every turn. She was alive somehow, and it seemed that the raven would not be returning to make a meal of her. She was alive, and that was what mattered.
She felt a drop splash against her nose, then to her cheek, and again to her hand before she was soaked in a deluge of rain. She felt her hair wet, but her clothes remained dry, even as the rain dripped down her face and traveled along the curves of her body.
She felt no chill, nothing that one would typically feel when caught in a downpour. In fact, as she closed her eyes, she could have sworn she felt warm instead. Very warm. Incredibly warm, in fact. Why was she so warm as rain splashed down on her?
She opened her eyes then, and watched as the rain turned red, watched as it turned to blood. It soaked her clothes, dying them crimson, and they stuck to her skin, coating her in sticky warmth.
A strangled sound escaped her lips as she stared in open horror. The smoke-like fog was dyed in the bloody deluge, coalescing into liquid and running through the forest like a river. It lapped at her ankles, the current swirling around her invisible legs, rushing onwards back from whence she had come.
Miin, miin.
The screeching returned.
The raven's warning echoed in her mind then, and she ran. Her feet splashed through the bloody river, the liquid unpleasantly warm as it covered her skin. It did little to slow her; the current was weak, so weak that it could hardly be called a current. She allowed her suppressed adrenaline to take over, to guide her, as she fled through the forest.
Miin, miin.
Miin, miin.
The screeching was louder now; it was closer. It was upon her. Her cheek stung suddenly, a sharp, white-hot pain bursting from a slice cut through the flesh.
She pressed her hand to it, gasping at the feeling of blood seeping from the fresh wound. Her blood. She was surrounded by blood, covered in it, and now her own blood was flowing from her.
Another sharp sting as her arm was cut this time.
And then another as her thigh was cut.
And another.
And another.
Miin, miin.
Miin, miin.
Miin, miin.
The screeches had reached their peak; no longer single, distinguishable screeches, but a constant noise that crescendoed in her eardrums with each cut.
Insects.
Insects were the culprits, their wings like blades as they flew past her in a swarm of bodies and sounds. Each one that cut her was dyed red with her blood, absorbing it before disappearing into the swarm. They would rob her of every drop that she bled. They would bleed her until she was a husk. Until she was a shell.
She screamed as they overwhelmed her, as her lungs burned with exertion. She screamed as new pain lanced through her with each cut. She was going to die; here in this cursed forest.
But she ran. She ran harder. She ran even as her legs screamed in protest. She continued to run down the path, with nothing behind her but the swarm. She ran forward into the unknown.
She would stop running when she could run no longer.
Miin, miin.
Miin, miin.
Miin, miin.
Miin, miin.
Each cry of the insects pushed her further, pushed her to keep going. Certain death awaited her should she try to return from whence she came, and thus there was only forward. There was only potential. The potential that she would find safety was enough to spur her forward.
Through the curtain of bloody rain, ahead stood a figure, their golden mane of hair shining like a beacon. It cut through the darkness like a knife, and Weiss reached out for it, grasping for her savior.
A chasm separated them, and Weiss leapt, her hand stretched forward.
The figure turned then, their amethyst eyes glowing, and they reached for Weiss's hand.
She caught it, tearing up in relief.
Before their hand shattered like glass.
She fell into the chasm, the remnants of the figure's arm outstretched towards her shrinking form.
I got the idea for this thanks to Amalee's rendition of "When They Cry" (Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni). The "miin, miin" is the onomatopoetic expression for the sounds cicadas make in Japanese. (I have no idea what the expression is in English so the Japanese will have to do) If you listen to the song, you'll probably be able to figure out what the whole chapter was about. It's my first time writing anything remotely horror-like, so please let me know what y'all thought. Until next time~!