Page 11 of Once Upon a Fable

Previously, I wouldn’t have believed myself.

These days, I’d learned to trust my instincts.

Slowly, I relaxed.

The room was empty. Just me, a few cockroaches, and the resident raccoons who’d set up home in the attic above.

But why is the window open?

Pushing it further, I glanced down to the roof of the ten-car garage. To the small overhang where the bottom level spread out wider than the second story above.

There, on the dusty metal, were footprints.

Myfootprints.

My shoulders crumpled in relief.

I hadn’t gone out the door. I’d used the window. The trap I’d set to alert me if anyone tried to break in had been disarmed. The string attached to the ladle that would crash to the floor had been simply ripped off the handle and set aside.

It should probably worry me that I could do something like that when I had no memory of where else I’d been, but this was an old habit.

A habit I’d outgrown...or so I thought.

Where did I go?

Find out.

Nodding, even though I didn’t truly want to know where I’d gone last night, I left the dormitory. I traveled naked with my back still prickling with warning, stalked down the narrow servant stairs, cut through the kitchen, and barged out the back door.

Sparrows took wing with insulted squawks. Vines shuddered, dropping a few leaves onto my shoulders as I ducked under the overgrown arch that led to the woods and away from the chef garden.

It was warmer than usual today. Muggy and heavy, living up to the stifling summer so far. The ground was dry after being damp from the thunderstorm only a few days ago, and a couple of fallen leaves rested beside dusty indents of my journey last night.

I was skilled at tracking. I’d hunted for years. I’d read game books and how to preserve caught meat.

It was strange to be hunting my own footfalls, but I did it because I had to know.

Had to see if I’d regressed.

My hands balled into fists as I followed the trail into the forest. It wasn’t too far from the house. I’d needed it to be close enough back then, but now, it seemed as if darkness had claimed it as its own.

Nothing grew here. No grasses, no berries, no trees.

A blank scar in the dirt.

A blank scar with nail marks on the perimeter and handfuls of fresh earth piled on top.

I backpedaled.

Fuck.

Grabbing my hair, I yanked at the roots, wishing I could rip out the memories that continued to swarm inside me.

Why had I come here?

What was I trying to do last night?

The answer to that question almost made me vomit all over my recent claw marks.