The moons chased her, casting their eerie glow across the forest as if they were hunting her along with the night.
The leafless trees loomed, their horrifying shapes laughing at her fear.
Branches reached out like claws, scratching her flesh and grazing her knees. She stumbled, tumbling down a patch of leaves, realizing even the night itself seemed alive in its pursuit.
When she stood, her shadows twisted and laughed mockingly.
Her breath hitched as his voice echoed through the darkness, smooth and taunting: "Come out, come out, wherever you are, my sweet little Peace."
A cruel cackle followed, and she bolted, her footsteps pounding against the earth. The silence of the night was broken by his deliberate footsteps behind her, steady and unhurried.
Owls hooted from the trees, their glowing eyes tracking her every move. She reached a river, halting abruptly. She couldn't swim.
As she hesitated, his voice slithered into her ears: "Ah, ah, ah... don't do that, my sweet little Peace. I'd hate to get wet again—these shoes are snake leather."
Her frustration flared, and she sprinted toward the water, only to feel as if the river stretched farther away with every step.
"What's the matter, Peace?" he drawled, the sound of a twig snapping nearby sending a jolt of terror through her.
"Are you terrified?"
Ignoring him, she veered toward the other side of the forest, plunging into the shadowy depths where no moonlight reached. Only the glinting eyes of owls pierced the suffocating darkness.
"It's much too dark there, my darling," his voice snarled, ominous and amused. Massive hands materialized from the shadows, clawing toward her. "Crawl back to me."
She screamed and scrambled up a nearby tree. The branches tore at her dress, leaving it in shreds. From the high perch, she looked down, her breath ragged, her heart racing. His menacing eyes glinted below, dark as the void.
The tree was tall, its branches thin and brittle.
If she let go now, she'd die.
That wouldn't be so bad.
Would it?
But what if he was in hell? Could she escape him even there? Maybe the fires would keep him occupied long enough for her to disappear.
Standing on the narrow branch, she steadied herself, chest heaving.
"What are you doing, darling?" he called from below, his voice dripping with feigned concern.
"Not what you want," she said, her voice trembling but defiant.
Her breath came in shallow gasps. Closing her eyes, she released her grip.
The air rushed past her, cold and weightless. Death was... lifeless, empty, boring.
And in that fleeting moment, she wished—hoped—he would catch her.
When her eyes fluttered open, the moons and leaves seemed to move with her, swirling toward him. She didn't hit the ground.
Instead, she floated, feather-light, into his arms.
Her heart flipped with a sick thrill as his lips curled into a sharp smile, revealing deadly, gleaming teeth.
"I've got you, darling," he whispered.