Good morning, Little Ones!
Thank you to Mel and Jill.
.: Nítján :.
Fear pushes me to run faster than I ever have in my life. I can hear Edvard running behind me, calling my name, but I don't slow down. How I could have fooled myself into believing this world was a good and safe place is beyond me. I should have known better; there is no such thing as a good place.
Edvard is far faster than me, and unlike me, he knows where he is out in these woods. It's only a matter of time before he's upon me.
His arms close around me, spinning me into his chest. My momentum makes me crash into him, and his arms secure around me, holding me tightly.
"Let go of me!" I cry, my emotions bubbling out of me in hot tears. "Please, just let me go."
He doesn't listen, of course, and instead hauls me closer. "Bella," he murmurs. "Smár Einn." He grunts as I struggle.
My heart is racing too hard to stop and listen to anything. My body is demanding that I run and run and don't stop.
"Please don't sacrifice me," I cry, trying to wiggle out of his arms. "Oh God, please don't let him use me for his Satanic practice." I'm hyperventilating, utterly panicked, and I can feel the edges of my vision start to blur.
I twist in his arms again, but my body is starting to weaken.
Approximately three seconds before it happens, I realize I'm going to pass out.
The world goes black as my final, "please" leaves my lips.
…
I wake to the scent of woodsmoke and fur. It's a comforting, familiar smell at this point, and I curl into the furs I'm sleeping on, wishing to avoid the world another moment longer.
My mind tries to piece together my last memories, and when they all come to me, I suck in a sharp breath, sitting up.
I'm back in the house, curled up beside Katla and Foli. It seems to be the middle of the night, and the sounds of snores from farther down the room steady me.
I have to know if Edvard is here.
Silently, I creep out of my bedroll, peeking behind the screens to look for him.
He's there, his long body stretched over several furs. He has one arm thrown over his eyes, his other resting over his chest. He looks restless, though the steadiness of his chest rising and falling tells me he's likely asleep.
I take a deep breath and turn toward the entry, wanting space from all of this. I stop by my bedroll, gathering a fur to drape around my shoulders before continuing toward the exit.
I slip outside, glaring up at the twilight. How I long for the darkness again.
It's chilly, despite the light, and I pull the fur around my shoulders.
How had I been able to feel just this morning that this place was like home? I don't know much about Satanism, but I'm not unfamiliar with it. The papers have reported truly horrific tales, and the rumors are so much worse.
It is a practice I've been raised to fear above all else, and that fear is now deeply rooted in me.
How can a man as kind as Edvard follow such evil?
I feel tears burn my eyes as I think about it, and I sink to the ground, pulling the fur tighter still. I have no business trying to stay here. If Edvard practices, it's likely the rest of his family does too. What if I'm only here to be their human sacrifice?
Fear grips my heart, and I have to work on my breathing to not hyperventilate again.
I have to get out of here.
I need to escape.