Frostbite

Prologue

1827

"DO not enter the wood after dark, child. For it is the home of something more powerful than you could even begin to comprehend. Something no man before your birth has ever dared to question or challenge. Our existence as a species depends only on their ability to remain hidden. There is a war coming, child. And they will kill us all."

Her grandmother's warning echoed in her head, but Violet Buchanan ignored it. Instead, she wandered deeper into the impending darkness, resisting the urge to turn around and run as dark shadows flickered in the corner of her eye. But then she remembered her reason for coming here and hatred replaced fear.

She treaded carefully through the snow burying tangled tree roots and sharp rocks that punctured the skin of her feet, drawing blood with each step she took. But that did not stop her. Nothing would ever be able to tear away the memory of her grandmother's decapitated body lying within her own home, soulless blue eyes staring through her and blood seeping into the floorboards, splinters embedded into her cold skin.

The knife in her hand glinted insidiously in the shards of remaining daylight creeping through the branches above. She clenched it tightly and moved forward hastily, following the trail of blood leading from the cottage into the deep dark wood. It was a promising sign that the beast would be easily traceable.

How could something so perfect become so twisted? It was only yesterday morning that she awoke to the sound of her grandmother's endless mutterings and the smell of freshly baked muffins. She and her grandmother would usually share them over breakfast and then Violet would go to the village to carry out her bidding as usual, only this time she left to return to a once peaceful home that was now marked as a place of death.

The forest grew darker and quieter as the branches grew thicker. She could hear nothing, only feel the sting of mud and blood and ice against the skin left uncovered by her dress. She couldn't allow herself to feel afraid anymore, because if she did she would never have revenge. It wasn't a matter of justice in a literature novel nor a knightly quest to redemption. She couldn't bring herself to care of what would happen to her when she found the beast. She had lost everyone she had ever loved in her short life and death would resemble a wonderful notion if it meant she would be reunited with her family where she belonged.

Living with an older woman outside of the village border raised suspicion among the religious folk of the community. Violet had long grown accustomed to their harsh stares and gossiping whispers. They criticised her grandmother's wild fables about mystical beasts roaming the village at midnight. Her scandalous decision to dress her granddaughter in a crimson cloak of the Devil and her endless dabbling in rare herbs was also a topic of discussion. It was only when the villagers came in want for herbal remedies to cure a nasty illness that they groveled in false interest. It was what kept them comfortable during harsh winters and endless frosty nights. While trades such as farming and market dwellers fell with the leaves during the colder months, there would always be sickness for her grandmother to cure at a high price.

If anyone could see her now, dressed in a torn white dress and bloodied bare feet with a knife in hand they would be dragging her to the nearest church to have her exorcised. And after endless reinforcements to cleanse her body of  any evil they deemed to be inside of her was gone, what was left of her soul would be swiftly swept away to a convent to live out her days.  She had removed the cloak she so dearly loved to fold it neatly on the edge of the ravine not far from the cottage so the more gullible villagers would believe she had jumped to her death.