Five mosquitos hummed in the humid night air surrounding her. There had been ten. The other five must have given up and moved on to find a creature that did not share their diet.
Bella frowned and went back to watching the delicate patterns on their wings as they flew. At least the mosquitos did not fear her.
The quietness of her isolation weighed on her like a winter blanket on a frosty morning. She no longer needed to run. Never again would she be forced to relive her past through her dreams. Never again could her unconscious resurrect horrors that woke her in screams and cold sweats. Already, her human memories were fading like the stars at dawn.
A box of warm pizza. The sound of a televised home run. The smell of blood. Three corpses strewn in pieces across the living room floor. The night she lost her world, her life, her reasons to live. Her feet hit the pavement and never stopped running. She had some memories she would not miss.
She wouldn't miss sleeping, or the constant sleep deprivation. She wouldn't miss eating, or the constant hunger. She could live forever in this hut, staring at the thatched grass, and basking in the peaceful stillness.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
It rained. The water poured out of the sky in a torrential downpour that seeped and dribbled through the unkempt roof. She didn't mind. She heeded neither the heat nor the cold. Flashes of lightning momentarily lit the inside of her home while the answering thunder shook the ground beneath her.
Home. This was now her home. Had she been here one month or three? She lost count some weeks back, before the rains began.
She heard the footsteps first, then she smelled the rich, pungent scent of human blood again. A flash of lightning illuminated a dark figure entering her doorway. She saw his cat-like mask before the room was once again wrapped in a dim, stormy gray.
"You are still here," a deep voice uttered.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I have nowhere else to go."
T'Challa crouched on the floor across from her and slowly took off his mask. Bella saw a flash of coffee-colored cheeks before black eyes met hers, piercing her with a quiet intensity. She met his gaze before dropping her eyes to the mask in his hand.
"Do you always dress like a cat?"
T'Challa looked at her in surprise, a laugh quietly slipping into the tremulous shadows.
"No," he replied, placed the mask on the ground, and leaned against the dirt wall. "My father wishes to speak with you. Will you come?"