AN: A very old story idea that I lost interest in. Originally was going to be this fantasy AU with a twist at the end, but I only started and never got around to write it, and now it will be incomplete. But I guess that's okay because according to a friend, the entire plot is just one angst trip lol.
Written in Ivan's first-person perspective.
When the day is growing old and the hearth calls, the sun sinks down beneath the tops of the pines. The light streaks through the boughs in both brilliant and shadowy beams. In the summertime they are white gold, illuminating the greens into virescent riots; yet the gift of those warm days has passed for the season. On these wintry days the fogs cast those same beams of light into sepia tones and the woodland becomes the most beautiful of photographs. The trunks of fallen trees bare icicles longer than my hand, no two of them the same - more enchanting than any work of man. Every twig and blade of grass grows winter "leaves" of ice crystals, frost deeper than the fleece in my gloves. And never is the woodland silent, though it is quieter than any city street for sure. There are the birds above, calling, pecking for grubs. There is movement of mammals, mostly small, sometimes not.
However all sound diminishes into whispers of the wind. Then it is quiet.
As if the forest has discovered my unwelcomed presence.
I am the uninvited guest.
Leaning against the trunk of a tree, I slowly sink my body down the frost-covered floor. Waves of chill emitting through direct contact cause me to wince in pain. The dark is swiftly approaching, the remaining echoes of light become entangled with the brooding scent of what is to come. The serene forest that lay before me transforms from a fairy-tale into the veins of a creature whose breathing move the earthly floor up and down.
The bleeding won't stop.
Pressing my hand deeper onto the wound, I try to stay calm by breathing, and force my eyes to open, opposing the intense desire to fall asleep.
The sounds of a branch snapping in half made my eyes gravitate towards the source of the noise. My hand clutches tightly at the blood-soaked jacket. My eyes have to be playing tricks on me.
Out there, beyond the twisting trees stands a figure with a mask resembling a deer skull.
A beautiful nightmare or a peculiar children's tale, he tilts his head at me. Although he is wearing a mask, I am chilled by his piercing gaze.
I want to run, need to escape his demanding presence, but my injury prevents me from doing anything other than to stare right back at him. Even breathing becomes difficult.
No. Stop. Don't come any closer.
Another twig breaks as the figure steps forward. Then another step. Fear creeps in like spider webs enveloping me in its embrace. The earth shakes around me. And it is only after a moment when I realize I am the one trembling.
His shadow is cast over me, stealing away the little reminder of light and comfort. I don't know where the courage comes from, but my eyes are fixated on him. Like a prey anticipating its fall, I wait for his next move.
Judgment day has come a little too early.
His long hair tumbles down like dark willow, and his face, completely hidden by the remnant of a dead animal, is a display of macabre conundrum. His attire sparks a memory within me, a children's song that my sister used to sing.
The deer man who resides in the forest is the guardian who protects them all. Peace and harmony until the fire burned them all. Dust and ashes fall, fall and fall. The guardian stalks the forest until he too falls…
Standing right in front of me, he kneels slowly on his knee. I stagger backwards even though I am fully aware that there is nowhere to hide.
"A-are you here to kill me?"
The words tumble out without my acknowledgment.
He remains stoic, silent, unmoving. The deer skull stares solemnly at me.
Then he pulls his mask up, revealing the humanlike features. I almost wish he can put back his mask. Those blood red lips, and ashen complexion increase the blood rushing out of my body. Yet the pain becomes dulled.
His eyes. Oh his eyes! Like snake, they observe silently the highs and lows of my chest moving. Like wolf, they await the moment to strike. Like lion, they are eager to devour me.
Golden orbs.
You are already dying.
His voice is sounded without his lips ever moving.
Ivan. Remember where we are.
I chuckle humorlessly. "You know who I am…?"
Remember.
"What is there to remember?"
Inch by inch, his face advances closer. I wonder if he can feel my breath. Then a strange idea appears in my mind that makes me question if he is going to kiss me.
What is my name Ivan.
"I-I don't know," I whisper.
What is my name.
When he asks me again, for a split second I saw the future. Our future.
"Yao?"