Sweet Innocence and Gentle Sin || 𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

Chapter 4: Show Me The Depths Of Your Mind

Trigger Warning: mentions of blood and gore at the beginning and end of the chapter

I'm just a child, but I'm not above violence.

~)(~

I tried not to breathe. If I did, I'd be dead in an instant. Through the trees, and the blue moonlight, eyes stared at me. Great, red eyes. Mist hung low on the moss covered floor, darkened with blood that slid between my toes and soaked through my clothes.

Red smeared across my face and hands. It covered my mouth under my hand, slid down my cheeks with tears. Silence filled the space with such a deafening sound of ringing that I couldn't hear my own thoughts.

Then... the cracking of bones.

Snapping and scraping against joints, slamming and sliding against the ground, popping after holding still for so long. The scent of its breath, like death. And the sight of it, enough to make me sick. 

It towered over me—consumed me. Ripped me apart in long lines. Shredding with each bite, each scratch. 

I couldn't scream, couldn't beg for it to stop. I could do nothing but wait, lie still, and wait until it was over. Until darkness found me. Until the night came in and flooded my vision with glittering stars and the gentle breeze that brought with it a crisp early morning air.

I woke up gasping, grabbing at my throat. The sheets were burning hot, and sweat slid down my arms and legs. Light came into the room from thin gaps between the wooden shutters. It was dawn—maybe earlier.

I looked over to see an empty bed opposite me. The sheets were tucked tight and there wasn't a single crooked line. I threw back the blankets and moved to sit on the bed. When my feet touched the ground, I instinctively pulled them back up from how cold the stone was.

There was a single change in this room that immediately caught my attention. At the end of my bed, folded in perfect squares, was a set of clothes and a hairbrush. I brought the stack over and moved the brush over to pick up the little note written in beautiful cursive that read,

The meeting will be held in the hall. I'm sure you remember the way. If not, remember to follow the red rugs.

A.

The missing last initial caught my interest. So, either disowned by his family, or left on his own terms. It wasn't difficult to see why a family would want to get rid of such a brute. Not a speck of manners, the temper of a thundercloud, and don't even get me started on that... that thing he does with his face whenever he catches me doing something wrong.

I crumpled up the paper and threw it aside.

I examined the clothes, and after coming to the decision that I desperately needed to change out of these dirt covered rags, grumbled a sigh. I went and locked the door, then made sure the shutters were closed enough so no one could see into the room. My clothes pealed away from my skin, cracking dried mud that got all over the floor. There was no salvaging them.

The brown leather pants were a little big, and definitely too long. I had to roll up the cuffs. The frilly shirt was obviously supposed to be worn by a male. I tucked it into the pants and went to grab my belt.

I hesitated. The belt buckle was looking at me—gleaming with my uncle's sigil. I couldn't help but wonder, what will he do when he finds out? I just... left. Without even leaving a trace behind me, without thinking it over or really planning it. If he found out I left on my own—I would be labeled a traitor.