Hecate's POV
I'm walking along the dark paths, wandering as I have been doing for the past four hours. After I stormed out of school I didn't want to go back to Jonathan's and lie in bed without doing anything.
So I walked and walked, without paying any attention to where I was going. I got lost an hour ago, when I entered the woods, but I really don't care.
It's almost eight o'clock now and it's getting dark all around me. The trees are changing shape and the dormant forest is waking up. I hear all sorts of noises I couldn't before: the screeching of bats, the untimed singing of insects.
I think I hear a wolf howl once or twice, but it doesn't matter. I feel safe in the forest, protected. Just like I did back in the dream: I have a connection with nature and I just know it won't hurt me.
Any sane person would be scared out of their wits right now, trying to find the way back. Mind you, even if I wanted to there's no way I'd get out of here: my cell phone died. That means no calls, no GPS... just nature and I.
A smile creeps on my lips as I think of Jonathan. He must be looking for me right now, he probably already called the police or something. Still, I hope they don't find me: I'd rather stay in the woods than go back there. I fit in better here.
I check my electronic watch again, and it shows me that it's 22:27. Hm, later than I thought. I should really set up camp and get to sleep, if I want to get up early tomorrow and navigate my way out of here.
I have very little of use in my bag, since I wasn't expecting an overnight trip to the forest. Still, I adapt. I gather some dry wooden sticks and adjust them in a neat circle. I pick up some stones and make a circle around the wood.
I'm used to using street trash cans but, for some reason, there don't seem to be any in the forest. Who would have thought, right?
I smile at my own sarcasm. I know I look like a lunatic, but when you've had so much time alone you learn to keep yourself company. Others might not always be there, but you will.
For the first time in my life my smoking habit pays off. I take the lighter out of my bag and bend down to pick up a thin wooden stick. I press the tiny button, hoping for a flame, but all the lighter does is sputter a spark.
"Ugh, come on!" I try again and again but it doesn't work. I'm out of juice: great, just great.
I cuss loudly and pull at my hair in frustration. I kick some dirt before throwing the lighter as far away as I can.
I sigh deeply and sit down, holding my head in my hands. Being angry isn't going to help me, it never has. If you let anger and passion take charge, eventually you'll go blind. All you'll be able to see is red.
I don't want to see red anymore. It's been the predominant colour in my life. Anger, hate, blood. I can't stand the sight of it now.
I want to be able to see the colours of the world: the shades of blue that melt into the sky, the gold of the burning sun, the unexplainably both dark and light green of the forest trees. I want to see people's colours: the way the white light reflects off snow and into someone's eyes, the way someone's cheeks redden slightly in embarrassment, the shape of someone's full lips as they smile.
I sigh deeply. I've been blind all my life, and I didn't even know. I missed out on so much, all because other people led me to believe that red was all there is.
I feel regret, pouring from my heart. I feel it flow slowly into every part of me, until all I am left with is resignation.
I sigh again.
I'm a really messed up person.
I don't know who I am. I have a name, an age. But they're not enough to define me. I have to do that on my own. If I want to know who I am, I have to find out.
I thought I knew, until recently. I was who my past had made me, for better and, mostly, for worse. I was a hard headed girl, strictly lesbian, who would not take bullsht from anyone. But, maybe, that's not who I am. That's who life made me to be. Maybe the two things are the one and the same, yet I feel them to be completely separate.
I've always wondered who I would be if life had been kinder, more gentle with me. Who I would be if I had made different choices.
Then again, the choices I made might have looked like different paths, but they all lead to the same destination. You choose what you were meant to choose, and you are who you were meant to be. You can't change your fate, no one can.
But you can put up one hell of a fight. My subconscious jokes, and I try to smile, failing miserably.
I just feel so... empty. Life has filled me with emotions to the point that I can't feel them anymore. I'm numb to all of them.
One wet tear stains my cheek but I quickly go to wipe it away. I stare at my wet fingers, and silently think to myself. I hadn't cried in three years.
This thought breaks me a little. The emptiness soon changes into sadness. I'm sad because I want to feel something, to be someone. I'm sad because I want to change who I am. But most of all, I'm completely miserable because I know none of these hopes will ever come true.
A slight spark of pain spreads through me, and I look back at the unawaken fire. Out of nowhere, a soft whisper reaches my ears. I know what it will do, so I pick the stick back up from the ground. I look at it intently, before whispering the word out myself: "Fire."
The wooden stick instantly ignites, and a small flame appears. I blow into it, not letting it die out. It soon grows into a crackling fire, which I use to warm myself up.
I have no idea how I just did that, but I thank whoever is watching over me. It was probably just luck, but I still send out a prayer to whichever angel, or demon, lit that flame for me.
I feel like it should bother me more, but it doesn't. Miracles happen and, when they do, you don't question them. You bend on your knees to the ground and thank whoever made them possible.
I decide not to dwell on it too much. I make a pillow out of my scarf and lay down on the ground which thankfully isn't so hard.
Sleep soon embraces me and I lose myself in the land of dreams or, in my case, nightmares.
***
The snapping of a twig wakes me, scaring me to death. It's still night time, the sun hasn't risen yet.
I scour my surroundings, trying to see. To my dismay the feeble circle of light provided by the fire doesn't reach far enough. I can see no immediate threat, yet I can feel it. There's something in the dark, something watching me carefully.
"Who's there?" I call out silently, just like an idiot. Fear slowly creeps its way into my head as I reminding me of all the paranormal things I fear. All the ghosts, the monsters, the demons.
I really hate my brain sometimes.
No answer comes from the dark, nothing except a deep growl. It's barely audible but my hairs stand up on my skin. I shiver at the mere sound. One thing's for sure: whatever it is, it's not human.
I feel someone grab me from behind and I try to scream. I try to scream my lungs out but the sounds are muffled for the piece of cloth pressed on my mouth.
When I realise what it is it's too late: a stinging sensation spreads down my throat and I feel my eyes get heavier and heavier. The last thing I see are a pair of deep blue eyes staring down at me.
***
I'm lying down on something extremely soft and I'm surrounded by warmth. I'm probably at Jonathan's house, in my bed. My head is drowsy, and it's begging me to sleep. It's begging me to forget and enjoy the darkness while I can, before... before I remember.
I sit up with a start and finally realise that I'm not at my uncle's house. In fact, it looks nothing like my room back at Jonathan's: this room is wider, brighter, bigger. The light shining through the windows is reflected all around: on the white walls, on the crystals of the chandelier hanging above me.
I slowly step out of the bed but feel suddenly chilly. I look down and my mouth drops open: I'm wearing a silk pyjama, complete of shirt and trousers, which clings to my body loosely. It's much too big for me, and from the baby blue colour I deduce it's probably a man's.
What the hell? Where are my clothes? But most importantly, who the hell put this on me?
Did they watch me? Did they touch me?
Not again. Not again. Not again.
I start slowly freaking out, panic rising. My breath hitches in my throat and I feel my legs give out from underneath me. I crawl into a ball at the foot of the bed, hugging my knees tightly.
Keep it under control, Hecate. Breathe. The rational part of my brain tells me. I latch on desperately to the thought, keeping all the memories from flooding in. I put the dam back up, keeping the river of pain from the past away. I will not let it drown me. I will not.
I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with fresh air. I keep breathing regularly for two or three minutes before I manage to calm down completely.
My scattered thoughts start to regain order, and I start thinking about what happened to me. Someone must have kidnapped me, taken me from the forest. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I've been a complete fool! I should have gone home sooner; I shouldn't have spent the night!
There's nothing you can do about it now, so calm down and try to find a way to get out of this place. I listen to my brain, following its instructions. I notice a big white door at end of the room and I head towards it, my bare feet sliding along the soft carpets.
I open the doors and find a long hall in front of me. The walls are littered with paintings, which cover them completely. They all look extremely old, maybe even centuries. I can't make out their stories exactly, but there's one particular detail which strikes me: in all of the paintings there's an angel with black wings.
In one he's wearing roman clothing and slaying a huge wolf, in the other he's leading an army with cannons by his side. He's always portrayed in different scenes with different clothing, but it's him.
My curiosity takes the best of me as I read the tag under the biggest painting of them all: it reads "The Dark Angel falls, as He decides he was not worthy of Heaven."
Jeez, sounds harsh. I examine the mysterious figure, recognising something in him. I feel like I've seen him before, somewhere... I just can't put my finger on it.
My eyes linger on the painting a few seconds longer before I continue making my way to reach the big marble staircase right at the far end of the hall.
When I reach it I shiver as my bare feet make contact with the cold floor. Dàmn, I really wish I had some clothes on right now. This house is really cold and I'm only wearing a silk thin pyjama.
Who even wears this kind of stuff anymore? It looks like it came right out of a 50's movie. It's comfortable, though. I can't argue there: the fabric is as soft and slides on my skin as if it belonged there.
"WHERE IS SHE?" A voice booms throughout the house and a whimper escapes my lips. Sht, they've noticed I was gone. I have to hurry up and find a way out of here.
I run down the rest of the stairs, almost breaking my ankles a couple of times in the hurry. Thank God I've had plenty of experience with running away, otherwise I'd already have broken my neck.
The stairs end into a huge hall and my heart jumps when I see it: a door.
"She's here!" A familiar voice calls from the top of the stairs. I don't even look to see who it belongs to: I just run for my life.
I leg it, running as fast as I can towards the exit. Imagine being in a maze, completely lost and in the dark with things chasing you. This is exactly what I imagine it would feel like if you suddenly saw a neon sign with the word EXIT spelled out in huge characters.
I reach out for the handle and my freedom is so close I can taste it. I slow down a second, trying to get the darn thing open, but someone grabs me from behind.
I kick and scream, trying to wriggle my way out of the man's grasp. No matter how hard I try, he won't let go. I don't give up though: I'm not going down without a fight.
"Just calm down, will you?" A hand is placed on my mouth, but I just bite it with all I have. The bitter taste of blood fills my mouth but I don't concentrate on that.
My captor lets go of me: I don't know if I actually hurt him or if he was just surprised. Some of Delphi's training comes back to me and I manage to elbow him in the ribs, making him bend down on himself. The man crumbles to the ground groaning.
I bring my knee up on his temple, completely knocking the guy out.
I smile wickedly at my small accomplishment, but I can't indulge in my pride for long.
My legs activate again, almost against my will. Adrenaline is pumping through me, giving me exactly the push I need. It quickens my heart beat, my lungs are rising and falling quicker than usual. All the blood has been directed towards my legs, making me ready to pounce at the first sing of danger.
Thank-you evolution.
I run towards the door again and the path seems to be cleared. But then, out of the blue, a man is standing in front of me.
I shouldn't say man, he looks more like a boy. He might be in his early twenties, maximum. His blonde hair has a red streak marking it, but that's not what worries me. It's his scarlet red eyes that freak the hell out of me.
Please let it be contacts. Please. Somehow I have the feeling this is not the case.
I slowly walk towards him, trying to see his reaction. He doesn't move an inch, he doesn't even flinch. He just observes me, his eyes scanning me, trying to figure out what I'll do next.
I've never fought against someone this calculating. Usually, whoever was after me just went for it. But this guy... he's really putting me off.
Okay, if he's trying to figure out my moves, I'll surprise him. He doesn't look to tough: one well-set blow and I might be able to take him.
I leap forward and attack, trying to catch him off guard. My balled fist flies forwards, headed right for his throat. That's the quickest way to get him: it won't kill him, I'm not strong enough for that. I'm just hoping it'll buy me enough time to reach the door.
Just when I prepare myself for the impact, my fist meets thin air. I'm standing right where he was, just a second ago. I can't wrap my head around it: where did he go?
I turn around and jump back when I see him. How did he get behind me so quickly? What in God's name is going on?
I lunge forwards again, but same result as before: the guy vanishes into thin air only to reappear behind me. I curse at the stranger. How is he doing that?
I want him to stop moving around, to stop playing with me. Cause that's exactly what he's doing: having his fun. He looks like a feline playing with its meal, ready to devour its prey.
I'm the prey, and there's nothing I can do. I've always been the prey, the hunted one. I've had to run for the fear of being caught and, when I was, all that came was pain.
And now it's happening all over again. The past is repeating itself, and there's nothing I can do about it.
My blood freezes in my veins. It spreads from my heart and through my chest, reaching every corner of my being. It feels like fear, yet it's a thousand times more powerful. I try to keep it in check, but it spreads through me like a bitter wildfire.
I can't think, I can't move. All I can do is try to breathe, but I'm struggling to do even that.
Suddenly, faint echo of a word reaches my ear, not sure from where. I instantly understand its meaning and the power it holds.
A picture paints itself in my mind: the boy is sleeping peacefully on the floor, unable to wake up.
"Sleep!" I shout, my voice trembling. He looks confused for a second, tilting his head to the side, confused. Nothing happens to him, he stays wide awake, staring at me.
Then his laugh sounds clear and loud through the hall. The sound would have been a pleasant one, had it not been so full of malevolence.
At this, I lose it. He's one of my captors and he's mocking me? A whole new wave of heat spreads through me, but this time it isn't fear: it's pure, unattained hatred.
I lift my hand up in the air slowly. I don't even doubt myself anymore: this will work, I know it.
"Sleep." This time I say it calmly, without a hint of fear in my voice.
I can feel the waves of fear and hate pour out, rolling from my fingers and into the boy. I can feel the sheer strength of the tidal wave and, for a second, it scares me.
I look into the boy's red eyes, which have widened in shock. He whimpers, as if feeling pain, then stiffens. The boy's eyes stare at me, just before they roll back in their sockets and he falls to the floor unconscious.