The wind tugged at her hair, golden and wild, as she sprinted across the field. Four-year-old legs pumping harder than she thought possible as her tiny sneakers scuffed the soft grass.
Ahead, a white rabbit bounded effortlessly, ears twitching, its coat bright against the green.
"Wait!" she shouted, more playfully than any sort of demand. "Come onnn!"
Her fingers reached, grasping for the fleeting tail that darted just out of reach. The rabbit weaved through wildflowers, over fallen logs, under twisted branches, but she didn't slow.
Fear and caution were luxuries she didn't know yet.
The world around her blurred, the meadow opening wide beneath an impossibly blue sky. Bees hummed lazily, and the sun painted everything in warmth, but all she saw was the rabbit, and all she felt was the need to catch it.
Her chest burned, legs ached, but still she ran, jumping over a gnarled root and landing hard on the balls of her feet. The rabbit paused at the edge of the field, nose twitching, as if daring her to come closer.
She slowed for only a heartbeat, crouching low, her small hands ready to scoop. But the rabbit bolted again, faster than an arrow, and she launched after it once more, laughing until her breath came in short, bright bursts.
Somewhere in the distance, the faint sounds of the village drifted through the air, but she didn't hear them.
I mean, what four year old would?
The rabbit darted into the tall grass, vanishing like smoke, and she tumbled after it, arms outstretched... and for a moment she thought she had it, fingers brushing the very tips of the tail, but yet the creature was gone, leaving her clutching nothing but wildflowers.
She pouted, her cheeks puffing out before flopping back onto the grass, arms spread wide, laughing as she quickly forgot the disappointment.
The blades tickled her neck, the sky stretched forever above, and she could have stayed there until the stars came out.
"Artoria."
The voice cut through the meadow, stern and firm. The girl froze, then slowly turned her head towards the sound.
A woman was standing just beyond the hill, hands on her hips. Her hair was the same spun gold, tumbling free down her shoulders, and her eyes, a deep clear blue, watched on with both affection and well deserved exasperation.
She totally didn't lose this child for the Xth time in a row.
"Mum!" Artoria scrambled to her feet, grass sticking to her sleeves as she sprinted over.
Her mother bent down, scooping her up before she could trip over her own excitement. "You'll wear yourself out before supper," the woman sighed, though her lips betrayed her smile.
Artoria wriggled in her arms, her head tilting to the wide while her small hands gripped at the golden strands of her mother's hair. "Mum, I almost caught it this time! The rabbit was this close!"
Her mother chuckled softly, brushing dirt from her daughter's cheek with a thumb. "Rabbits don't like to be caught, little one"
"They belong to the field, just as you belong to me."
Artoria beamed at that, the thought of the rabbit already forgotten, her little head resting against her mother's shoulder.
The walk home was… quiet, to say the least.
From past the wheat fields, down the hill, and over the river, the two didn't see much… besides maybe a great hawk swooping down for a serpent near the old mill, but Mum unfortunately didn't let her run over to catch it, so that doesn't really count.
Love.
A curious thing, isn't it?
It creeps in softly, like morning rays through the curtains, and before you know it, everything is touched by its light.
The door creaked open, and sunlight spilled across the floor, catching in the golden strands of hair that mirrored her daughter's.
Her mother's hands were gentle, steady as she set her carefully onto the bed, tucking a stray curl behind a small ear.
We love the world around us, for the most part.
The little things... the sway of grass, the way the wind carries secrets, the laughter of a child who doesn't yet understand what sadness costs.
But loving someone… that's where it becomes dangerous.
Her mother stepped back into the sunlight, the door swinging closed behind her with a soft thud. The faint bleating of goats carried on the warm breeze, and she called out to her husband, her voice piercing through the afternoon lull.
Together, they moved among the herd, guiding the animals with gentle tugs and brazen kisses that all but erred on the side of distraction.
Because love, once given, demands to be fed.
It grows teeth.
It hungers.
It becomes the reason you wake, the ache when you sleep, and the ghost that lingers long after both.
Behind the two, a massive brute of a creature slowly crested the hill.
Twice the height of a man, it pressed into the earth with each step, the grass bending and snapping under its weight. Its head was a deer-like skull, long and narrow, jagged horns curling downwards.
Empty sockets glowed faintly, fixed on the pair below, unblinking and unyielding.
Now see, that's the problem.
Once love becomes common, expected, it loses its bite.
It's no longer a holy madness, but a chore.
The word becomes currency.
The feeling becomes fashion.
And the world, cruel in its subtlety, begins to mock anything less than grand.
Her mother's laugh rang out across the yard, light and warm, carrying the kind of joy that made the sun seem brighter. She turned on her heel, still smiling, and caught the brute's vicious gaze.
The smile vanished, replaced with panic as she alerted her husband to the danger.
In but a moment, he pointed towards the door with a hand calloused from years of work, then bent to lift the axe resting against the fence. The wooden handle groaned under his grip as he straightened, muscles tensing, eyes narrowing at the hill beyond the field.
But the truth?
Love isn't meant to be grand. It isn't the lightning strike or the sonnet.
It's the small things.
The dirt on a child's shoes, the sigh of a mother who loves too deeply to scold.
It's the warmth in the ordinary.
That is love.
She burst through the door, the wood slamming against the wall with a crack that rattled the windows. Her hands shot for the coat hanging on the far left peg... his coat, thick and rough, smelling faintly of hay and smoke. Fingers trembled as she tore it down and ran towards their daughters room.
"Artie," she whispered, barely a breath, but enough. Artoria stirred, blinking up in confusion before her mother was there scooping her up and wrapping her small body tight in the heavy coat.
The girl gave a sleepy protest that never found its voice.
*Shh," her mother hushed, voice cracking. "We're just going for a walk, alright?"
She practically left the room in three strides, her boots skidding across the wood as she shoved the window open with a free hand. Cold air rushed in, biting against the heat of her panic.
She didn't think, just climbed through, one arm clutching her daughter close, the other gripping the window frame.
The sound came before she hit the ground outside... a cry, raw and wordless, from the man she loved. Then came the crash of splintering wood, the unmistakable sound of something breaking that should never have broken.
Her boots hit the dirt. She ran. And behind her, his screams broke her down all but physically.
And though it may fade, though time will gnaw and memory will weather it down to dust,
love will remain.
A sliver will last through time, caught between worlds, waiting for the next soul to remember what it once was.
Branches whipped at her face as she ran, their claws raking through her hair and tearing at her sleeves.
Artoria whimpered against her chest, the sound muffled beneath the folds of the coat.
The forest loomed, tall, ancient, and endless, but the pounding behind her didn't fade.
Every heavy step cracked the ground like thunder.
Her lungs burned. She stumbled once, caught herself on a root, and kept going. The child's weight was nothing compared to the terror pressing down on her shoulders.
Then ahead, through the tangle of trees, a shadow moved.
Another.
She froze.
A second brute stepped into view between the trunks, its skull catching what little light crept through the canopy. The same empty sockets, the same twisted horns slick with dew... or blood. She couldn't tell.
Her pulse stuttered.
The creature turned toward her, slow and deliberate. Its chest rising with a sound like grinding stones.
She backed away a step, clutching Artoria tighter, then another, until her heel met the cold grip of a stream.
"Please," she breathed, though to what god, she didn't know.
The brute lowered its head. It was about to charge.
In a single desperate motion, she turned and crouched low by the stream. Her hands shook as she pulled open the coat, nestling the little girl beneath a hollow between roots and stones.
"Stay quiet, my heart," she whispered, brushing back a lock of gold hair. "Don't move until the sun wakes."
The child blinked up, uncomprehending, too young to know fear, too innocent to know she should.
Her mother smiled, a small, trembling thing, and rose.
Then she screamed.
With a rawness that ripped through the trees.
The brute turned.
And the last thing Artoria saw, before her mother vanished into the shadows, was the flash of her figure darting the other way, drawing the monster with her.