There were not many healthy lives to feast on that day. Her bloodlust turned away, revolted by the sickness that plagued the villagers. She remembered the smell of them, pungent and harsh like meat that had been left to rot in the sun for days. The repulsion had sent her traveling west to Bone Lake, to the town on the other side, to feast on healthy flesh.
With a huff of resignation, Oriana unfolded herself from her bed and ventured outside, looking back at her small cottage now covered in the most vivid array of colors, magnificent flowers that only grew in the southern region of Svakland. A lush, flowing bouquet of yellow, pink, purple, and orange sprouted from every crack and crevice. In a dark existence, one must find beauty where they can. And so, Oriana had used her magic to create it around her. Whereas the forest was dark and ominous, a maze of looming emerald pines and twisting branches that moved, fabricating a labyrinth of nature, her small corner of it was filled with babbling brooks, lush gardens and clear blue skies. It was a bubble of paradise, a utopia of her own making. A small piece of heaven in her own living hell. It mocked her.
Oriana closed her eyes and listened to the trickle of water over rocks, the singsong chirping of birds overhead, and the soft rustle of her gardens as a fresh autumn breeze moved over them. But above the peaceful sounds of her enchantment was one that did not belong. One that was not hers.
Her eyes shot open at the sound of something stumbling its way through her forest. It sounded as if it was coming right for her and would soon invade her ring of bliss, but that couldn’t happen–it wasn’t possible. The enchantment was meant to deter any trespassers from her sanctuary. To lead them far away.
Suddenly, a large form came into view, pushing its way through the darkness of her forest. Her eyes widened and her heart picked up speed. What was it? She thought of only one person–Anthes. She took a shaking step back toward her cottage, but then a thick, tanned arm shot through into the light and an unrecognizable figure stumbled forward not long after, collapsing face down directly in front of her.
“What in the name of the Gods…” She bent down and gingerly poked his shoulder. He moaned in response. Kneeling, she placed two hands on his shoulder and pushed to roll him onto his back. He was large, with skin deeply tanned and covered in hard muscle. A thick beard stubbled his square face, his features lean and sharp. His dark hair was slick and dripping with sweat, curling down just below his ears in a shaggy mess of waves. Small wisps of silver mingled with what almost looked like blue-tinted locks. Curious, she thought, squinting her eyes to distinguish its true color.
He was young, possibly in his late twenties or early thirties. A large scar carved a jagged line along the side of his face, from his forehead down through his temple and toward the curved top of his ear, which looked to have a small chunk ripped from it. His breathing was shallow, chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. And he was covered in blood.
Oriana examined the wound at his side. She breathed in sharply at the sight of black tendrils snaking their way outward from the deep gash. The bleeding had stopped, but the entire wound was now black and swollen. It was hot to the touch.
“Poison,” she murmured. If not treated soon, he would surely die. As if sensing her thought, the man groaned and his eyes fluttered open, peering into hers. She pushed herself away from him. When in this place, she held no enchantment over her features but instead left her true self unmasked. Her white, flowing hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, as her green eyes glowed bright in the light of her paradise, a stark contrast to her pale skin.
He gripped her wrist weakly, pulling her back toward him with a manic look in his silver eyes.
“You’ve been poisoned,” she said, yanking her wrist from his grasp before bringing the back of her hand to rest on his forehead. He was burning with fever.
“You need a healer.” She pushed herself away from him once again.
“Could you bring one?” his voice rasped in return. “I don’t think I can stand.”
Oriana turned her head sharply, avoiding his intense gaze.
“I…I can’t go into the village,” she sputtered. The full moon was only a few hours away. But this man was poisoned. She knew he likely wouldn’t survive beyond the early hours of the morning, not without help. She glanced at the sky, assessing how long she had before sunset. She would most certainly not bring Haldis into the wood, especially not tonight. “I will get you as close as I can, but you will need to do the rest from there.”
He gave a barely perceptible nod. “Thank you.”
She crept her way closer, still wary, and reached to grab his outstretched arm. She gripped his forearm, his grasp already feeling considerably weaker than just moments before, and yanked to pull him upward. He growled, barely moving an inch. “Sorry,” he muttered.
She said nothing, only bent down to wrap her arms around him and pull him into a sitting position. “Sodded demon,” he grumbled. “What has it fucking done to me? I can’t feel my right arm.”
“Demon?” she asked, grabbing both arms and pulling hard, finally bringing him into a hunched standing position.
“I’m a demon hunter.” He gritted his teeth as his wound stretched, oozing putrid black liquid. “I killed one just before coming into the wood, but it wounded me.”
Oriana furrowed her brow. What sort of creatures was this man speaking of? As far as she was concerned, she was the only demon in this world. She didn’t question him further, only draped his arm over her shoulder and began to help him back into the forest from which he came.
She practically dragged him through her Phantom Wood, his legs barely moving in assistance. The gash on his side looked worse with each passing moment. They were almost to the clearing, and she could see the soft light of the village filtering through the trees up ahead.
Oriana stiffened, biting her lip anxiously as the evening only grew dimmer. She needed to be far away from Sardorf–before the full moon rose–far away from her people, her town.
In the past centuries, her demon had only escaped the Phantom Wood and fed on the innocent nine times–the same number of blood moons that had passed since the curse.
On the blood moon, the forest did nothing to imprison her in its maze. Instead, it somehow froze in time, the magic stuck as if iced over. A condition of the curse she knew Anthes had deliberately put in place, weaving it into his words masterfully. For he knew of her power of enchantment, knew she would attempt to bypass the effects of the curse any way she could.
“Bastard,” Oriana said through clenched teeth.
The man only groaned in response.
She remembered back to the first blood moon, when she realized its significance. She had secured herself within the forest per usual, making sure the beast would be locked within its cage of trees.
She had been far north when the moon rose, near the Mountain Pass that led to Frosborg. She remembered crossing the pass, seeing the sparkling spires of gold with tips of blue, green and purple that blossomed outward, giving the appearance of candied gum drops. As she drew closer to the snow-covered city, she could hear the beating of a thousand hearts which had only caused her bloodlust to pick up speed. With each step the beating grew louder until she was there, catching them unawares. The massacre that ensued far surpassed that of Sardorf.
The city of Frosborg had been celebrating the new year coming in the morning. It was a festival that went from dusk till dawn. But that eve when the snow turned red, not only from the moon shining high above, but from the blood of so many souls torn to shreds, it was the last eve that Frosborg had ever celebrated the coming of the new year.
