Tears streamed down her face as she ran along the road. Whether they were sadness, grief, or anger, even she did not know.
What was certain was that she was growing exhausted, the sobbing making it hard to breathe normally. But whenever she tried to calm down, the image of the scene she had just witnessed replayed in her mind. Bringing her back to tears and giving her fresh strength to keep running.
She had no doubt she would never forget the image of Wonter, naked on top of the equally unclothed Sina, as the two of them lay in the ever-warm waters of the Forgotten Lagoon.
The memory only deepened her emotions as she tried to understand how they could have done this to her. Even if Sina was not her closest friend, they had known each other all their lives...
And Wonter—his parents and hers had, only two days ago, agreed on the union between the two of them. And now he did this to her!!!
In a rare pause from her flight—from running away from that… from the shocked look on their faces… from the blank expression of her betrothed as he muttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”—
She looked around, seeing the forest stretching on both sides of the road, dimly lit by the moonlight.
Stopping nearly sent her collapsing to the ground. Still, the need to tell… to end this ill-fated relationship… imposed itself, giving her the strength to continue.
When she started walking again, this time no longer running—after all, why should she run? She had no reason to run; she had done nothing wrong—she thought she heard something.
Turning toward the side of the road from which she thought the sound had come, she peered into the shadows of the trees and undergrowth but saw nothing unusual. With effort, however, she realized there did indeed seem to be a faint murmur carried by the breeze.
Studying the direction of the sound again, she could see the faint traces of a trail through the trees. Taking a hesitant step down that path, she heard the sound more clearly and could finally make it out. It was a weak, faint “Help...”
Even understanding the risk of leaving the road and plunging into the woods, the possibility that someone truly needed help drove her forward.
Of course, she was no fool—she moved cautiously, eyes scanning her surroundings, always ready to flee. Yet even though the oppressive atmosphere of the dark forest weighed on her, the faint plea compelled her onward.
After what felt like a long moment, she finally saw something ahead: a figure leaning against the trunk of a tree. The shadows prevented her from making out many details, but the dark clothes and size made her think it was Old Widow Grapton. When the figure noticed her approach, it extended a hand and spoke in a frail, trembling voice:
“Dear... help.”
The voice was almost unrecognizable, which could only mean the woman was in terrible condition. That made her call out, carefully addressing her as she preferred:
“Grandma Grapton!?”
Widow Grapton’s hand dropped, making the girl nearly jump as she rushed toward her in anxious concern:
“Grandma Grapton, what happened?”
But before she could hear an answer—or perhaps because there was none—she quickened her pace to reach the old woman.
Then a bush to her left, halfway between her and the woman, began to move, forcing her to stop. What could it be? Perhaps some wild animal that had attacked the widow?
In principle, there should not be any truly dangerous animals so close to the village; any would have been hunted long ago. Still, even a slightly aggressive creature would be enough to frighten or wound someone as frail as Widow Grapton.
With that thought, she cautiously approached the bush, hoping it was something as simple as a fox she could scare off.
A more worrying detail was that the old woman had fallen silent and was now completely still. She could only hope it was fear and not something worse. But either way, the sense of urgency pressed harder upon her.
Even so, she crept closer carefully. Finally, beside the bush, she realized with relief that it was part of a long, thick hedge. Meaning that whatever was moving within must be small; anything larger would never be able to push through.
Breathing out in relief, she crouched to peer more closely in the dark, trying to see what small creature was causing the disturbance.
Then something broke through the bush, right at head level. What she saw—before it slipped back inside—was something no smaller than her arm.
The shock made her fall to the ground, just in time to see it reappear further up, slicing down through the hedge. That was when she realized: it was a long, dark blade cutting its way through the bush.
Who would do such a thing? Cutting through a hedge like this was slow, methodical, hard work—trying to force one’s way through in such a manner was pure madness.
Yet after only a few more cuts, whoever was doing it seemed satisfied and began to push through. Once more, she thought whoever it was must be insane, for the gap was far too narrow; anyone trying to pass through would be scratched all over.
At least, that’s what she thought—until something white slipped through and landed on the ground. For a moment, she thought it was some kind of shoe. But attached to it was what looked like a leg. White. Thin. Like a long bone.
She could hardly believe what her mind was telling her. But as more of it emerged, the truth became undeniable. Before her stood a skeleton, its white bones gleaming in the moonlight, armed with a long dark sword and a shield that seemed made of wood.
Still seated on the ground, she could only stare. Shock held her paralyzed. And even when she realized it, she still could not move.
The skeleton stepped free of the hedge and looked around, then fixed its gaze on her. Where its eyes should have been were empty sockets in which faint blue lights glimmered—subtle, almost unnoticed, until one looked directly into them.
She could not help but sense a kind of intelligence there—something that recognized her in some way, but without the slightest hint of feeling. To it, seeing her or a stone would be no different. She could not explain why she had this impression, but she did not doubt the truth of it.
That very thought only filled her with greater fear, leaving her frozen under the weight of its “gaze.” The certainty that she would die here grew with every passing moment.
Then, suddenly, the skeleton’s head snapped toward the place where Widow Grapton had been. When she found the strength to follow its gaze, she saw that the figure leaning against the tree was gone.
Realization struck just as the skeleton charged in that direction.
When she managed to think again, her face was wet with fresh tears—especially when she understood that the old woman’s flight had saved her life, distracting the creature.
But poor widow Grapton, especially in such a state, stood no chance at all. Remembering this, she knew she had to get up and run before the skeleton returned.
She could not let such a sacrifice go to waste. Rising to her feet, she fled toward the village. The people needed to be warned of this danger.
Her family, the village chief—they all had to know, to prepare to fight this threat that might endanger not just her but who knew how many others.
As she ran, Sina and Wonter came to mind. They had likely not yet returned to the village and could easily cross paths with the skeleton. But there was nothing she could do for them.
And once again, she was running. But this time, it was pure fear and the will to survive that drove her. Unlike before, when she had run along a clear road, now she stumbled through trees, bushes, and uneven ground. She tripped, scraped herself, and was scratched by branches, but still she forced herself onward.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally glimpsed the road ahead. From there, her way would be easier, faster. Tears once again filled her eyes, this time from relief at this small glimmer of hope.
When she bursts out from between the trees, she runs into a young man on the road. They collide and both fall to the ground. The impact makes a loud thud when she hits him, and the collision is painful. Earlier, she had brushed against a tree trunk, but that hadn’t felt nearly as solid as this boy.
The young man, dark-haired, wearing a good jacket but with well-worn trousers, is otherwise indistinguishable in the dark. He turns toward her, grumbling loudly, though not quite shouting:
“Damn it, girl, can’t you watch where you’re going!?”
Even in the darkness, his face clearly shows irritation. But his expression shifts as his eyes lift to look at her. He seems to soften, asking while getting back to his feet:
“What’s going on, kid?”
She, on the other hand, doesn’t even have the strength to stand. She tries to warn him with a broken:
“Monst… Mons…”
But the intensity of her breathing won’t allow her to speak properly, and the more she tries, the harder it becomes, until at last she can only manage a weak:
“Mmm…”
Already standing, the boy raises his palms toward her in a calming gesture and, in a serene voice, says:
“Easy, take it easy. You’re starting to hyperventilate—you’ve got to slow down. Just focus on breathing normally.”
She doesn’t even know what hyperventilate means. What matters now is warning him—warning everyone. She tries again, producing only another:
“Mmm…”
“Just breathe… If you don’t control your breathing, not only won’t you be able to say anything, but you might even faint,” the stranger explains in the same calm, soothing tone one might use to settle a baby.
The comparison irritates her slightly, but she begins to understand what he’s trying to tell her. He steps closer, making his own breathing more pronounced, as if urging her to match his pace.
Slowly, and with difficulty, she does.
“Good, good. Only try to speak when you feel capable. Whatever it is, it can wait a bit,” he says gently. Which makes her glance back in thought: If you only knew, you wouldn’t say that.
But in the end, she follows his advice, working hard to breathe slowly. As this goes on, he helps her to her feet. Once she’s standing too, she finally manages to say, with great effort in a controlled voice:
“Monster!!!”
As expected, that grabs his attention. He looks at her seriously before asking in a tense voice:
“What kind of monster?”
“A skeleton… armed with a sword,” she replies—only for him to seem… disappointed!?
When he notices her confusion at his reaction, he quickly adds:
“Ohh!! A skeleton. I see.”
That answer—along with the slight smile at the end—makes her think he doesn’t believe her. Driving her to grab the sleeve of his jacket, which she now notices looks a bit scorched, and desperately tries to make him see the truth.
“Yes, a skeleton…” she says, almost shouting, which makes him try to lean away slightly. But since she’s clutching his sleeve, he can’t step back much.
Finally, she fights to calm herself a little and explains in a steadier voice:
“Yes, a skeleton. I was trying to help Widow Grapton when one—”
That makes him react; he stares at her intently before cutting in:
“Widow Grapton!?”
“Yes, Widow Grapton!!” she snaps back, irritated—before remembering she doesn’t recognize this boy; he clearly isn’t from her village. He couldn’t possibly know who Widow Grapton is.
So, regaining her composure, she explains:
“Widow Grapton is an old lady from my village.”
He tilts his head slightly, as if considering something. Meanwhile, she begins to wonder who this boy is, and what he’s doing out here alone in the middle of the forest—especially at night.
“Are you sure the person you saw was that widow?” he suddenly asks.
Which makes her respond a bit sharply:
“Who else would it be?”
To which he smiles and says:
“Exactly! Who else would it be?”
With that, he looks back in the direction she had come from and starts walking that way. Her surprise at this reaction is so great that she lets go of his sleeve.
And as she watches this madman heading off the road, she hears him say:
“Well then. You go home and get out of here. This place might be a little dangerous.”
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