Being thrown to the wolves is a death sentence.
Adalia knows that all too well, since she witnessed her own father being slaughtered in that same unmerciful way.
Living life as a meek slave in a kingdom full of royals, Adalia has no rights and is tr...
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The long, drawn out call of the wolves caused Adalia to whimper. Their song was a beautiful melody that was played on repeat for several moments. It sounded like the beasts of the dark were in mourning, which chilled Adalia to the bone.
They would soon approach her.
Perhaps, they have already picked up her scent and are hunting her at this very moment.
She tried not to fear too much. The sound of the wind howled in her ears, which seemed to only add to the chorus of haunting howls. Nature was on display, holding a grand symphony as it flaunted its beauty for all who were willing to seek it.
Grey masses flocked the sky once more, gathering to watch the ancient story of the witch unfold. Adalia turned her face to the sky, studying the darkened, thick clouds. She believed that clouds were eyes. They were eyes that cried down to the earth when they looked upon the evil that spreads around humanity like the Black Plague.
And right now, they were crying. Only, their tears have frozen in the frigid mist of the great lands of tundra. They fell upon her naked skin like bitter wounds, adding to the ache of her body as she shivered.
Things were beginning to fade, her hearing was dull, eyesight was darkening and becoming blurry. She could barely move, let alone breathe and each breath was a series of choked gasps. She felt dizzy and sick, but she could vomit nothing as her stomach was empty.
She felt like she was dying.
And maybe she was.
A voice stirred her from her thoughts, and she turned her eyes to look at her mother who stood there, grief-stricken and shaking.
She clutched a blanket in her hands - the very same blanket that Adalia herself had knitted. It was her first accomplishment as a young child, and she remembered being very proud of it.
It was made of wool - soft and warm.
Her mother was clothed in a thick, ragged dress with a scraggly shawl adorning her neck. Boots made of cheap, worn leather and rabbit's fur she wore on her feet and yet she still looked cold.
She took a step forwards.
And then another and another - until there were no more steps to take.
Until she sunk down on her knees, in front of her battered daughter who was on the brink of death. Her mother's mask had fallen away, revealing the ashen expression that weaved its way onto her features.
She embraced her daughter, hugging her tightly yet crying no tears. "Ahh!" Adalia cried out, finding pain in her mother's arms. They were supposed to be comforting - a mother's touch. But her touch brought pain to her deep, infected lacerations.
"I'm so sorry." Her mother whispered, pulling away as her heart swirled with pain of its own. "I brought you this." She says, offering up the small form of comfort. In her shaky hands, she draped the soft blanket over Adalia's shoulders.
