Monster

17. The Woman in Red

1730 September 13th

The Woman In Red

A woman ran through the forest in a blur, her black dress billowing behind her like the shadow of a flame. Her shoes were scuffed to threads, her hair wind-swept. The moonlight broke in webs through the branches above, gnarled and broken like old skeletons. Behind the woman voices raged on, shouting after her, and as if to emphasize it, torches burned like stars in the distance, seeking where she might have gone. 

Her heart raced... her death was imminent; they would track her down and hang her, burn her, behead her... these thoughts made her cry out in fear, but she stifled it with her shaking hands. She tripped over an overgrown root to a crooked tree and tumbled forth, her dress piling over her like a sheet of black snow. She pushed herself to her hands and knees and looked over her shoulder, tumbles of black hair down the length of her back. 

Her copper-colored eyes watered. She wanted to scream for them to go away, leave her alone! But her voice was stuck in her throat, dry as paper. 

She heard a branch snap and quickly looked over, eyes wide with fear. Standing amid the brush, the rest of the forest black beyond, was a woman. Only her face was exposed, for the rest of her body was covered in a red cloak, the hood pulled atop her head. She was tall and pale, and her eyes either reflected the bobbing flames in the distance, or they were copper, like her own. 

"Don't be frightened, my darling," the woman said in a deep voice. "I won't harm you." 

"How can—can I trust you?" the young woman stuttered, hugging her own arms. 

"Because I know what you are, and I want to help you." The woman raised one hand out to the girl, her sleeve trailing low. "Let me help you." 

The girl started to shake her head, but the voices grew louder and the footsteps faster. The village people... they were among her. They would capture and kill her, then celebrate it. The girl cried out, but it was a silent one. The woman stared, eyes focused. 

"What other choice do you have?" she asked calmly, reaching her hand out still. 

The young woman swallowed, her throat dry as old firewood, and then reached up to clasp the woman's hand. Just as the villagers broke through the brush, she and the woman in the red cloak were gone, only dead leaves twirling in their wake remaining.

1832 February 26th

One O'clock in the morning

Elsa wandered the streets of Torun, Poland, her dress the color of dirty snow; pearly white. She roamed barefoot in the snow, her hair a river of brown down her back, curling just above her waist. She scanned her surroundings—her throat pulsed with thirst, but there were no humans around. 

She watched the windows, the doors, all locked. She knew that behind them were candles that had long since been snuffed out, books marked and waiting to be read the next day, and the possible spy, unable to sleep knowing, like Elsa had at one time, that monsters lurked just outside. Cats scurried away from her, hissing.

Deep in her memory she saw herself, human and fragile, ambling around with one of her fathers home-made weapons, convinced she would track down her mother's killer. 

Never did she ever imagine she'd be tracked down... and never did she ever imagine the constant pain in her throat, the constant thirst.... Never did she ever imagine she'd feel so empty and numb, she'd attack Ronan. 

But there was nothing she could do now; she was a predator of the night, and everyone locked their doors and windows because of her. She was a monster, and Ronan feared her. Never would he ever seek her window again.