That night, I dreamt.
I dreamt of turning into a wolf. That night, in some cold nook of the forest, I was both the hunter and the prey. It was a bewildering feeling—bones crunching to satiate my hunger while I stood frozen in fear. Limbs detached, my blood pooling around me.
I died and felt alive in that same moment, the cold rush of winter air streaming through my fur.
How vulnerable, yet free I was… chasing after the moon. Into a brisk, cold jolt—
I was awake.
Remembering bits and pieces of whatever had happened to me. Blood. Dry, all over me. Gone was my chastity. I lay now in that dungeon, my crypt.
I was a woman now. A woman…
I screamed. A bone-chilling scream, my sanity boiling over into madness. My life had become a fever dream.
Slipping away... what little sense I had of time, gone. How long had I been here? Days? Weeks? In my delirium, I couldn't tell.
The only thing that could rip me out of my state was the sound of steps descending those dreaded stairs, approaching the dungeon door.
Darkness fled to the corners as the door swung open, revealing Pike. He stared at me, then approached slowly. I curled into a ball, making myself as small as possible, praying not to be touched.
But my prayers went unanswered.
He grabbed me. I fought back, scratching desperately, but he pulled my hair, forcing me upright.
"On your feet," Pike growled. "I have good news and bad for you. Remember my words. You must venture right, lioness..far as you can. Run into the forest. I cannot say more—there is no time. You must listen to me now and come with me."
Frozen in fear, my body went limp. This small, decrepit man helped me to my feet, unbuckling the chains from the wall. He dragged me from the dungeon, up the stairs, and into the blinding sun.
The cold air was the first thing that hit me, brushing harshly against my bare chest—a brutal reminder of the season. Outside, I stood next to other prisoners of war. Men with dark skin from lands unknown. Naked and freezing, just as I was.
"Take off her clothes, Pike! Now!" Raymon shouted from the balcony, the baroness and the Amlock beside him—gazes cold, stern, and lifeless.
"You heard him," Pike said urgently. "Don't make this difficult. Strip," he whispered.
Confused and humiliated, I hesitated, moving slowly to the demand, removing the ripped and tattered dress. Too slow. Impatiently, Pike ripped away what remained. Exposed and shivering, I stood among these prisoners.
Such was I now—a prisoner of war...
"You all have been given a chance at life," the Amlock announced with regal zeal. "Those who reach the shore win their freedom. For generations stretching back into antiquity, this was how the great and merciful nobility showed compassion for their prisoners. A hunt. The baroness's son, Raymon, and his hunting squad will hunt you. To make things interesting, weapons are scattered in the forest behind you. You best run... and challenge them, if you dare to live."
Live... Raymon said none will escape. I'm a good shot. He smirked.
Raymon then lifted a crossbow and pointed it directly at me. I stood frozen, closing my eyes.
Is this it?
The bolt fired.
It pierced the neck of the man beside me. I watched him collapse, choking on his blood, dying just inches away.
"Get your crossbows ready, boys," Raymon said. Behind him, his sycophants walked up to the balcony, each holding their own crossbow.
"Enjoy these weapons I bestow upon you all from the East. May they make your hunt truly one to remember," the Amlock boasted, hands held high.
"Oh, they will, my lord. I've never seen such well-made weapons—only heard rumors," said one of the men in Raymon's retinue.
"Be sure to kill them quickly. I wish to feast on your spoils by evening."
Did that mean us? I wondered.
"You best get moving now, meat," the Amlock said menacingly.
With that, we all scattered into the forest. Some were mowed down by the first volley of bolts. Some whizzed past my head. I ran past the treeline quickly, getting trees between me, breaking their line of sight.
Run right, Pike had said.
Do I obey him?
I had no plan. I obeyed blindly.
Winter's frost numbed my feet. Every step was agony. My wounds reopened Raymon's rage-filled whipping, even the one my Aunt Lysa had left had begun dripping pus in blood.
And just when I thought things couldn't get worse, dogs barking fiercely, closing in fast.
I stumbled behind a fallen tree to hide, gasping for breath. A shadow leapt over me an African man.
"If you stop here, the dogs will find you," he urged, extending his hand. "Come!"
I took it. He led me deeper into the forest. Conveniently, he was going in the same direction, right. We kept moving. My eyes were glued to his back, scarred in layers—some old, some fresh. I couldn't wonder why or how.
All I could do was breathe.
Until I tripped, nearly bashing my head on a tree branch.
"You're lucky, miss," he panted. "Look there."
I turned and saw it: a rusted saber. I had tripped over the dull edge. If it had been the tip, it would've gone through my foot. He grabbed it, hope flashing in his eyes.
"We can fight the dogs with this," he said, smiling briefly.
But our luck turned.
A bolt embedded itself in his arm. He dropped the saber, screaming. Agony and fear mixed in his voice. I seized the blade and ran. Behind me, the dogs closed in. I heard their growls. Heard them tear into him.
His cries faded.
Then Raymon's voice echoed through the trees.
"Justine! I know you're here!"
Fear gripped me. My legs locked as I look back, not looking where I was going.
I tumbled down a hill, striking my head on a rock. Dizzy and numb, I clutched the now broken saber. The blade had snapped in the fall. Still, I forced myself to crawl.
Don't stop. If I stop, I die.
A bolt launched, plunging deep into my calf.
I screamed.
Raymon approached slowly.
"There you are. No more running for you," he said. "It wasn't my idea—all this. But it was entertaining. The Amlock has an interesting way of showing mercy."
He smirked. "I'd rather have killed you quickly. But what chance do you have now?"
"Stay back!" I screamed weakly, waving the broken blade.
Raymon ignored me. He unsheathed his dagger.
"It's a real shame. You couldn't just bow down and be my wife. Now look at you, mangled and broken. I think I'll enjoy what comes next."
Rage filled my heart. I couldn't think. The pain was background noise. Only anger remained.
Come, then, devil. Claim your prize the only way you can, I said, pointing the blade, bracing my back against a massive tree root.
He kept coming.
But then—
A figure emerged silently behind him. Raymon noticed...
"Oh? You're done with the others already? Fine then, come watch," Raymon said.
He turned. And in that instant, a man slashed across his face—from right eye to jaw. Raymon collapsed, screaming.
I tried to reach him, blade in hand, but strong arms held me back.
"We must leave now, Justine," the voice commanded.
"Reuben?" I gasped.
He whistled. A horse appeared—his loyal steed, kneeling low to accept my limp body as he helped me onto it.
Reuben mounted swiftly, guiding us away from this horror, deeper into the forest.
Until the snarling dogs and screams faded into distant echoes.