Page 60 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
A changeling. A beast. Some fae creature that had made it past the wards.
I ran.
Not Enough
Lungs searing, I didn’t know what direction I went, I just ran. I needed to put distance between myself and that thing.
What was it? How did it know things that I’d only ever thought?
Because it was right. I’d failed Mama and Papa. I’d let them die. I’d sewn my gift into their blankets, begging the gods not to take them away. I’d poured every ounce of strength I could into those stitches, and once my magic was used up, I’d bathed their feverish faces and trickled water into their mouths.
And none of it had been enough.
Because I was not enough.
I was weak, so the creeping death had worked its way through my body and pulled me into its fever dream even as I tried to save them, and when I’d woken…
It should’ve been me.
The tears came.
They burned my cheeks, choking, salting my tongue.
Trees tore at my hair, snagged in my gown, scratched my bare arms. I stumbled over rocks and roots, ducked under branches.
“Silly, silly girl,” the changeling’s voice whispered in my ear, “run all you like.” That tinkling laugh again. “You can’t escape yourself.”
I lost a shoe, but I didn’t miss a step, shoving leaves and twigs out of the way.
Then there were no more leaves or twigs, only the dark sky above.
I stumbled up an incline and fell to my hands and knees, breaths ripping through me.
Once I could hear past my own gasps, I angled my head. Nothing behind me. No whispers.
I dashed away the tears and peered over my shoulder. No sign of the changeling.
Either I’d outrun the thing or it had found someone else to bother.
Thank the gods.
My face tingled as I pushed myself upright, adrenaline still coursing through me as I tore my gaze from the dark forest.
Packed earth stretched left and right, a ditch lining the far side.
A road.
There were no roads on Lysander’s land except for the one leading up to the house.
The blank disc of the new moon mocked me.
My blood stilled.
The new moon.
That meant the Wild Hunt were abroad.
And if this wasn’t Lysander’s land, that meant I’d passed his wards.
