A Gentle, Well-Deserved Quiet || (Charlotte Deshayes x GN Reader)

1

For quite a few years, it's just been you, the animals, and the house left behind by your family. It can get rather lonely, but you would never dream of abandoning this place. It was built by your grandparents after they ran off together.

Your grandfather... When your grandmother fell for him, she was met with nothing but vitriol from her family and others. Everyone viewed him as a monster, but he was simply a man.

Fueled by an immense love for each other and fear for their safety, they vanished together in the dead of night. They found a place where others rarely trek and over time, built their home.

As the years passed, your uncle and mother were born.

Your mother met your father during one of your family's rare journeys to the nearest market. He noticed her stealing something they needed from one of the vendor's stalls.

Now, all this time later, you're here and everyone else is gone. Dead.

Things are quiet.

You try to go about your days like you used to.

They feel so much longer now, you think. Today especially. You head to bed earlier than usual.

Things are quiet.

But then, suddenly, they aren't.

The cries are loud. The screams are primal. You wake from slumber with a start, the noises rattling you to your core the moment you're awake enough to process them.

These are not the general sounds of nature that you are used to. These are human. And they are far too close.

You crack open one of your rickety shutters. In the darkness, almost nothing can be made out.

"Monster!"

You were taught to keep your head low. You do not want to draw attention to yourself.

...But there are always exceptions to that rule, and these are easily the most gut-wrenching sounds to have ever reached your ears.

"Leave us alone! Don't touch him!"

You throw on your weathered boots, seize your pitchfork, and step out into the night, following the noises into the forest.

A woman barrels out of the undergrowth and into a small clearing. You press yourself up against a tree.

A man chases after her, pausing to draw his bow.

An arrow slams into the back of the woman's calf. She collapses with a muted cry, her own weapon slipping from her grasp.

The man nocks another arrow and begins to close the distance between them. She scrambles to pick her blade back up.

You remain unnoticed.

There isn't much time to make a decision here.

You quickly step out from behind your hiding place. With your heart pounding in your ears, you raise your pitchfork and swing it with all your might.

The flat side of the iron prongs strike the man's head. He didn't even have the chance to turn and look at you.

He hits the ground roughly. After a moment, he begins to move again, so you panic and hit him once more. He stills completely, a big crimson spot staining the crown of his head.

You turn your attention towards the woman. Even ignoring the arrow sticking out of her leg, she appears to be badly injured. Her breathing is ragged. With half-lidded eyes, she stares up at you, an arm held protectively in front of the right side of her chest.