I’ve felt trapped more times than I can count. My whole life has been one unbreakable trap and I’ve never truly escaped it.
But this is something else.
This… this is the end.
6
I don’t have any other choice but to climb the wall severing the alley before the dark fae see me.
I see them. In the street, shrouded in a fiery red light. I see them throw fire-torches through windows and doors, shout and jeer as they bathe in the destruction they are causing. And all it will take is one glance up the alley for them to discover me.
I run. My legs struggle to carry me over to the wall. They’re starting to feel like jelly, as if the bones are disintegrating and my muscles are liquefying.
Still, I make it to the wall.
I skid to a stop a moment before I can slam into it. In the light from the street, I can see the insides of the alley better—I can see the window on the opposite wall, tucked neatly beside the stone wall I need to climb.
A breath of relief swells in my chest as I jump for the window. The toes of my boots tuck onto the windowsill and I reach for the tip of the stone wall. Just as I get a firm grip on the wall and hoist myself up, I hear a sudden shout from behind me.
Wide-eyed, I look over my shoulder. And my heart plummets to my gut.
The dark fae have spotted me. One of them at least. He stands, tall and looming, at the mouth of the alley and points at me with the tip of his sword. My stomach is churning with ice-cold fear at the sight of his feverish face. He is excited. He likes this, craves this. The hunt. The chase.
And that’s what I give him.
Dozens of wild fae eyes turn on me. I barely have a moment to look them back in the eye before I turn back to the stone wall. Their sudden outburst of war-cries spurs me forward, and I’m falling over the edge of the wall.
I land on cobblestone, hard. The knife falls from my grip.
My scream rises up with the roar of the dark fae. Their footfalls pound against the ground on the other side of the wall. They’re coming. Doesn’t matter if I broke a bone or have a concussion—I need to move.
I cry out as I flip onto my front, then push up to stand. Beneath me, my legs tremble and my ankle throbs angrily. Definitely twisted it at the least, if not fractured the bone. But that’s the last worry on my mind as I push down the dark alley to where gutters and streets end, and trees loom in the distance.
Massive thuds erupt behind me. The dark fae, jumping over the wall, landing on my side of the alley. They’re coming for me.
At the end of the alley, I realise I’m at the edge of the village. Beyond a hill, I face the edge of a forest that can save me from the dark fae, with places to run and hide, no fires in sight. But as I make it to the end of the alley, shadows stretch up the cobblestone, snaring at my ankles.
I race for the treeline ahead.
My bag slams against my back, hitting a sore spot where my tailbone is—it cries out with every thud, agony searing me beneath the flesh. Falling over that wall has wounded me all over.
I shove through the pain exploding under my skin, at my ankle and back, my burning shoulder—I push through the pain and run faster than I fear my legs can carry me. They’re wobbling beneath me, threatening to give way as I race up the hill.
I make it halfway before an arrow whirs by my face. I jerk back just in time. It grazes my nose a second before I throw myself back onto the grassy slope.
My bag breaks the fall as I slam down on the dirt. But it doesn’t stop me from rolling down the hill, faster than I can run. Everything whirls by me; grass, dirt, and darkness polluted by orange firelight. The spinning only stops when I land with a crunch on the cobblestone at the bottom of the hill.
With a grunt, I scramble to my feet and spin around.
The dark fae are pouring out from the alleys, all over the village, and from the woods comes another dozen of them, arrows notched and ready to release. And as I know from the tiny drop of blood swelling at the tip of my nose, their arrows are faithful.
I’m completely surrounded. I have nowhere to go.
They advance on me. Their movements are dulled now. They know they have me cornered. They advance, slow and steady, wearing wicked smiles on their faces or vicious scowls that ache of bloodlust.
I can’t believe, after this long of survival, this is how it ends. Behind some forgotten village, where I’ll be left to rot or be eaten by wild animals from the woods. Either way, I’ll be gone. Forgotten, just like the village.
I back up to the nearest building until the hard touch of its walls presses against my bag. My hands somehow found themselves held up, as if in surrender.
And I do surrender, don’t I? By not running or fighting,
