Darcelle’s Point Of View
I ran.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the acrid sting of fear that filled my lungs with each breath I took. My legs burned, but I couldn’t stop—not now. I had to get to the other side of the village, to Mr. Ezio’s house, where he could help me. My father was sick again—worse than ever—and I was desperate.
The forest stretched before me, a vast sea of trees, their branches twisting like dark fingers reaching out to grab me as I ran past.
The moonlight barely broke through the canopy above, casting long, shadowed paths that seemed to curl and writhe in the night.
The air felt heavy, like it was pressing down on me, suffocating me.
I could see well enough, though. My werewolf’s eyes allowed me to navigate this dark world without hesitation. But there was something more, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I wasn’t alone.
The feeling of being watched—no, followed—was unmistakable. I tried to shake it off, pushing myself harder, my feet pounding the ground in a rhythm driven by both fear and urgency. But I couldn’t escape the sensation. The darkness seemed to close in tighter with every step I took.
My heart pounded in my chest, and I stopped, trying to steady my breathing. I stood still for a moment, straining my senses to pick up any sound, any sign of what was following me. The silence of the forest was oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of an owl. But then, I heard it—soft, almost inaudible at first. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and far too close for comfort.
I turned sharply, my eyes scanning the trees, searching the shadows. Nothing. The only movement was the swaying of the branches in the wind, but the feeling of being hunted didn’t fade.
“I have to keep moving,” I whispered to myself, my voice hoarse with anxiety. “I can’t stop here. Father needs me. Mr. Ezio has to help him.”
I forced myself to continue, pushing my legs to move faster, even as the sense of dread gnawed at me. It was like something was closing in, its presence suffocating the very air I breathed.
Then, out of nowhere, the sound of birds taking flight shattered the silence. The night’s stillness was broken by the frantic flapping of wings as a whole flock of birds erupted from their nests, scattering in every direction. Something had scared them. Something was in the air.
And then, from a distance, a wolf howled.
I froze. That howl—low, mournful—sent a chill down my spine. I knew wolves were common in these parts, but this one felt... different. As if it were calling to something. Or someone.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the fear threatening to consume me. I couldn’t afford to panic. Not now.
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"No, no. I can’t stop here," I murmured under my breath. "I have to keep running... just a little longer."
I pushed forward, and soon enough, the outline of the neighboring village came into view. Mr. Ezio’s cottage stood at the far end, nestled just beyond the trees. I quickened my pace, my legs moving with a new sense of urgency.
When I finally reached the door, I didn’t hesitate. I banged on it, the sound echoing through the quiet night. My heart was in my throat, and I barely recognized my own voice as I cried out for him.
"Mr. Ezio! Mr. Ezio, please open the door! Come with me! My father... he’s gotten sick again!" I pleaded, my hands trembling as I pounded against the wood.
But the door remained silent, unmoving. Mr. Ezio was never this late. He was always quick to answer, always there when needed. The unease in my gut turned into a full-fledged panic. I banged harder, again and again, but there was no reply.
Something was wrong.
I stepped back, breathing heavily, my mind racing. Why wasn’t he answering?
I tried the door handle, and to my surprise, it turned easily. The door wasn’t locked. That was even stranger—Mr. Ezio was a cautious man, always careful to keep his home secure.
Without thinking, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The cottage was dimly lit by a single flickering candle on the dining table. The scent of something rich and savory hung in the air, but there was no warmth in the room, no sound of life.
My gaze immediately fixed on him—Mr. Ezio, seated at the table, his head resting on his hand. A plate of untouched food lay before him, the steam long gone, but there was something wrong.
I took a step forward, my heart pounding as I called out again.
"Mr. Ezio?"
I moved closer, reaching out to touch his shoulder, hoping to snap him out of whatever deep thought he was lost in.
But as my hand made contact, his body collapsed forward, his face slamming into the table with a sickening thud.
I gasped, horrified, and froze in place.
He had been... dead.
And then, in the split second that my mind registered what I was seeing, his head—his severed head—rolled away from his body and came to a stop at my feet.
A scream tore itself from my throat, sharp and frantic. I stumbled backward, my breath coming in ragged gasps, the room spinning around me.
"Mr. Ezio!" I cried, my voice trembling, but there was no response. Only the silence of death.
And then, something moved in the corner of my vision.
I turned, my eyes drawn upward, and my blood ran cold.
From the ceiling, hanging upside down like some grotesque shadow of death, was a massive bat. Its red eyes gleamed in the dim light, and its wings fluttered in a slow, predatory rhythm.
I screamed again, a high-pitched, terrified cry that echoed through the cottage. Panic surged through my body, and I turned, desperate to escape. But as I reached the door, I slammed into something—no, someone.
I whirled around, my pulse racing, ready to fight whatever dark creature lurked in the shadows. But it wasn’t a monster.
A man.
He was beautiful—impossibly beautiful. His features were sharp and perfect, his hair dark and wild, and his eyes... they glowed, bright and intense. In one hand, he held a sword, its blade gleaming in the low light, and with his other hand, he grabbed me, steadying me as I stumbled back from the force of the bat’s blow.
I stared up at him, my heart still racing, confused and disoriented. My body trembled in his grasp, but something about his touch... his presence... was comforting.
He didn’t speak at first, just looked at me with an unreadable expression. But then, his lips parted, and in a voice as smooth as velvet, he spoke.
"Are you alright?"
But I couldn’t respond. I was too stunned. Too terrified.
The bat screeched, its wings flapping violently as it swooped down, but the man moved before I could blink, stepping between me and the creature, sword raised in defense.
"Stay behind me," he commanded.
And I did, too terrified to do anything else.