Badlands

4

As I crested the final rise, the doors came into sharp focus. And there, framed by the ornate doorway, stood Alberon. 

Tears streamed down my face, icy trails of fear that seemed to freeze upon my cheeks. I was before Alberon now, the sturdy doors of the manor at our backs, the night air thick with a menace that lingered just beyond sight. "There's something out there," I managed between sobs, the words catching in my throat like thorns. "Eyes—vast and terrible. And voices, whispering things."

Alberon's brow furrowed, his gaze piercing through the darkness as if he could discern the truth of my words in the very air. He reached out, his hand steady and warm against my shoulder, offering a silent anchor in the tumult of my panic.

The guards, who had been statuesque in their posts flanking the entrance, now shifted into motion, their previously impassive expressions turning to ones of acute awareness. They exchanged quick, terse glances, hands instinctively going to the hilts of their swords, each movement precise—a choreography born of training and the kind of understanding that needed no words. Their eyes, once scanning the horizon lazily, now darted from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of the beast that had driven me to such hysteric flight.

I tried to compose myself, drawing in shuddering breaths, each one a battle against terror that clung to me like a second skin. But tears would not be stanched—they were the last vestige of my encounter.

"Go to your chamber, Maude," Alberon commanded. 

I nodded, unable to find my voice, the lingering fear still clutching at my throat like a vice. I turned from the scene, away from the stern faces of the guards and their silent promises of protection, and made my way toward the grand staircase.

As I ascended, oak steps echoed my weight, amplifying my urgent retreat. My cheeks felt impossibly hot, puffed out with each heavy exhalation.

I choked back a sob, my knees nearly buckling as I forced them to carry me faster up the stairs. Each breath a staggered cry that I muffled behind clenched teeth.

I rounded the corner too sharply. My momentum carried me straight into a solid, unexpected barrier—a frigid presence that instantly sapped the heat from my veins.

"Maude." Her voice was an icicle formed from the frost of her own breath, sharp and perfectly clear.

Theana.

I froze, the collision sending a shock through me that stilled my trembling sobs. Her silhouette loomed over me.

I could feel the chill emanating from her, seeping into my bones. With each ragged inhale, I drew in the cold disdain she exuded. Theana stood there, immovable.

"Sorry," I managed to gasp out, though the word felt brittle on my tongue, like it might shatter from the mere act of passing through the frosty air she conjured around her.

Her silence was a verdict, her stillness a sentence. I knew moving past her would be like navigating through a thicket of ice-covered brambles—every step fraught with the potential of unseen barbs.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, and the corners of her lips curled upward in a grotesque mimicry of warmth.

"Did the savages play too rough with you tonight?" she cooed, the mockery in her voice like jagged edges scraping against an open wound. 

A fiery surge coursed through me, incinerating the last remnants of my tears. I locked onto her gaze, every muscle in my body tensing.

"You find this amusing?" I spat out, the words laced with venom. My disdain for her, for this moment, for everything she stood for, bubbled to the surface, scalding and uncontainable.