The Forest is always watching.
That was the warning spun by our mothers’ tongues as they laid their babes to sleep. Their optimistic conviction upheld that a vigilance of the Forest would be enough to keep branches from snaking across the overgrown fields and plunging through the cracks of our neglected floorboards.
It was said that village girls who were impure of heart heard the Forest’s call and met gnarled arms halfway, never to be heard from again.
If the Forest was affronted for symbolizing this foreboding omen, she did not show it. Her trunks were curved but narrow, stretching for, but never quite reaching, the overcast sky. The wide leaves that had shrouded her like deep brown fur had fallen discarded to the overgrown floor, revealing naked limbs that unfurled seductively and tangled with neighboring boughs like a lover’s embrace. A sheen of snow had laid itself at her feet, covering her roots like a delicate lace. In midwinter, you could always see deeper into the heart of the woods, catching a glimpse of the secrets she kept; her vulnerability was laid bare, beckoning travelers onward.
That was how the Forest greeted me as I stood at the birches’ parted lips, preparing to be swallowed. Mother had roused me at dawn, giving me a handful more hours to find my way to Grandmother’s house, nestled deep within these trees, before dusk snuffed the last dregs of sunlight and the monotony of snowflakes clouded the way.
I clasped my cloak tighter as snow gathered on the ruby red fabric. Winter had settled in the town like an unwelcome visitor, disrupting our village’s natural balance.
“Your Grandmother is dying,” Mother had stated, the bite of vexation in her words. Her spoon dangerously close to spilling the boiling soup out of the pot as she whipped the broth. “You will need to care for her until the inevitable happens. I am preparing you to leave at first light.”
“But Mother,” I had gasped. “I’ve never traveled through the forest. How will I know the way?”
Mother had raised her spoon and shaken it at me, boiling droplets raining across my bare arm like spittle. “Marlena, you are a young woman now. I don’t have time for your childish quibbles. Stay on the path, and you will eventually come across her bungalow by the river. It should only take you a day’s walk.”
There had been no opportunity to protest and, in the middle of the night, more wet flakes of white fell like ash from the sky, as if Father Winter was mocking my plight.
I shifted the cumbersome picnic basket from one hand to the other; the rough wooden handles dug into the flesh of my fingers, splinters already burrowing into my skin. In my rush to leave, I had forgotten my gloves, and the bitter air took notice, seeping into my pores. But I couldn’t return and risk Mother’s ire.
I took a feeble step forward, the snow crunching delicately underfoot, like a bird’s bones in the mouth of a barnyard cat. There was no reason to delay any further and, in front of me, the Forest was splayed in invitation, as though she had long anticipated my arrival.
* * *
Enveloped by the groves, I was struck by the crisp silence that had taken root in the Forest. It was as if Father Winter himself acted as a cursed lullaby, lulling the woods into a pensive stillness broken only by the erratic thumping of my heart.
The knotted boughs above limited the flakes of snow from passing through, keeping the Forest floor soft. Her ground trampled into submission by a century of travelers’ weary footsteps. Even the twigs didn’t snap, rather embedding further in the snow-dusted soil, cementing their place in the terrain. My ears strained for the caws of distant crows or a rustle in the undergrowth—any signal that another form of life was with me.
But there was nothing, only the unending sprawl of trees.
I stepped tentatively, careful not to further disrupt the pristine blanket, and foolishly hoped that perhaps, if I left little sign of disturbance, the Forest would maintain its eerie slumber. I strayed toward the center of the path, avoiding briars reaching for me like serrated claws—a reminder that, even on the safety of the trail, this was her domain.
There was no way to know how much time had passed as I tread further into the line of trees, their trunks leaning closer conspiratorially, as if whispering secrets as I passed. Gray clouded the sun’s position, trapping me in a murky mist that weighed heavy on my shoulders, damping my spirits.
My knuckles groaned as I adjusted my grip on the basket, and I risked a look around before halting and lowering it to the ground. I crouched, cloak billowing around me like a drop of blood on white satin, and rubbed at the bones, my fingertips prickling with lack of sensation.
It was dangerous to stop and rest. We heard stories of exhausted travelers pausing their journey and losing track of time—the sun’s rays trickling away like sand in an hourglass. But I only needed a moment, a respite from the responsibility that I knew I couldn’t escape.
A sharp prick punctured my leg and I lifted my skirts to see a vine had crawled from somewhere beyond the copse and ensnared me. Panic slithered up my spine as I tried to detach myself from the barb.
“Don’t pull, it will only make it worse.” A voice as smooth as rustling leaves advised from behind me.
I looked up to see a young woman around my age holding a small hatchet. Her black hair curled like blackberry brambles against sepia skin. She held my gaze with lonely, hungry evergreen eyes as a honeyed smile tugged at full lips chapped by the kiss of Father Winter.
I froze like a rabbit ensnared in a wolf’s jaws. Her eyes scoured my features, and I realized too late she was looking for my response. “I wasn’t expecting to come across another traveler,” I murmured.
“Not many choose to voyage in mid-winter,” the girl agreed, stepping forward and raising the cleaver.
A noise, somewhere between a whimper and a gasp, burbled in the back of my throat until the girl knelt by my feet and placed a hand against my shin, hacking the thistle in one fluid motion. The spurs fell lifeless, the stinging sensation replaced by the warmth of the girl’s touch, like the heat a stone hearth emanated long after the fire had gone out.
“Oh.” The words stumbled from my ill-prepared mouth. “Thank you.”
She dropped her hand and immediately any heat I had obtained was replaced with the Forest’s icy breath. The girl stood, willowy frame rooted in front of me, close enough that I could smell fresh dirt clinging to her skin.
“My name’s Marlena,” I found myself telling her, her proximity sending goosebumps down my arms.
“Ardennes.”
“Ardennes,” I repeated, the word like bark against my tongue as her gaze raked over me.
Her eyes landed on my hands, the shriveled tissue a brighter hue than my cloak. “You’re without gloves.”
I stiffened at the directness of her tone, and a splinter of guilt wedged itself under my uncovered nails as I thought of my gloves abandoned on the dining table. “I’m only passing through.”
Her brow furrowed. “The frostbite will settle in soon.”
“Then I should be on my way.” I made no effort to move, however, as her stare pinned me; the attention needled me with an unease that made me shiver.
Ardennes turned to the depth of mangled birches that loomed off the path. “I have a pair I can spare.” Her eyes found mine. “But you’ll have to follow me.”
I shrunk back against the trees pressing in on us, mother’s astringent words bitter on my tongue. “I have to stay on the path. I’m expected at my grandmother’s house; she’s ill.”
“Your hands will be hard and black by the time you arrive.” Ardennes had already stepped closer to the eavesdropping woods. “You will be useless.”
I knew she was right. Numbness had already laid its crystalized bed within the confines of my muscles. I had no idea how much longer it would take to reach Grandmother’s, and I couldn’t arrive with ruined hands. She required diligent care, and my childish, careless mistake would make her death all the more painful.
I stepped towards Ardennes. “Let’s move quickly then.”
She nodded, her boots making a new path through the underbrush. She held out her hand and I took it, ignoring the cries of my throbbing flesh as it pressed against the heat of her touch. Above us, the Forest’s boughs bent covetously, obscuring us from Father Winter’s grasp.
* * *
Most people don’t choose to live in the Forest. I was ten when Grandmother informed us of her desire to leave the village after Grandfather died; Mother was bereft.
“I’ve bowed to the village’s wishes for long enough,” Grandmother said. “I will not give it the remaining years of my life.”
A vein in Mother’s forehead I hadn’t known existed pulsed, as her face contorted and turned the shade of a fresh bruise. “And where, pray tell, will you live?”
Grandmother had returned her look with a trying patience that Mother had never once granted me. “I know how to use a hammer, Elke.”
Mother was struck silent. I had never witnessed her speechless, and the vision lodged itself in my mind with obscene delight. Even though I knew I would never have the gall to speak to her that way, gratification satiated my spirit.
It was spring when Grandmother left. Before she did, she pressed a kiss to my forehead and wiped away my confused, frightened tears.
“The Forest is always watching, Marlena. She will look after me.”
In rebuke of my grandmother’s choices, Mother never allowed me to visit. All I knew was that Grandmother did complete the bungalow by a creek bed and, if I followed the path long enough, I would eventually find it.
I was a long way from the path now, with my hand held tight by Ardennes and little understanding as to why she and my grandmother had made the Forest their home.
“It is only a little further,” Ardennes told me, as if sensing my apprehension.
I murmured an acknowledgement, although I couldn’t fathom how she could find her way through the labyrinth of trees. Eventually, she slowed. “We are here.”
It took me a moment to spot the jagged edges of the makeshift shack built into the looming trees and surrounded by saplings.
I approached carefully, all too aware that I was entering Ardennes’ private domain, but she was unconcerned by my presence and set to work stacking wood in the hearth.
“You mustn't bother yourself with a fire,” I assured her, despite the throbbing ache in my muscles as they constricted from the chill. “I won’t inconvenience you for much longer.”
Ardennes paused, mid match strike, and I held my breath, waiting for her to release the pent-up energy. “You’re not an inconvenience.” Her voice was tender as the flame sputtered to life in her hand. “And you are here already. It would do you good to be out of the cold.” She rose and motioned to a stool. “Please sit, and I will make you tea. The gloves will only take a moment to find.”
I relented, my body melting into the seat. I set my basket on the ground and my fingers twitched at the sudden release of the weight, as if they knew that our mission was not yet complete, and the minutes were trickling away.
I bit my lip. It was hard to know how much time had passed since Ardennes had found me. The overcast sky had obscured the sun, making it impossible to track. I tried to put myself at ease by examining the sparse hut, but there was little to look at. The only thing of note was a hand-sewn leather blanket and pillows on a lumpy bed in the corner.
How different Ardennes lived from Mother and I, and the thought filled me with shame. Who was I to take anything from her, when she had to forage for her livelihood all alone?
“Marlena?” I looked up to see Ardennes had removed her cloak, revealing a necklace of long cylindrical, bleached beads. She carried two cups carved from bone.
I took one and cradled it, palms prickling as they thawed against the steaming brew. I inhaled the roasted chicory root vapor as Ardennes took a delicate sip, her gaze still fixed on me.
My stomach fluttered at her intensity, and I forced my eyes downward. The tea loosened my tongue enough to ask the questions that had been building on its tip. “Why do you live alone in the Forest? The village would take you in.”
Ardennes mulled over the question and, as she sat beside me, I was entranced by her features, lit by the dancing flame. “The village could never be a home to me.”
“Grandmother said the same.” I confided, knowing I was betraying Mother by speaking to a stranger about our family’s disgrace, but the words only emboldened me. “It’s why she moved into the woods after Grandfather died.”
A scornful smile tugged at her lips. “And what did your village have to say about that?”
I chewed on my lip. After Grandmother’s departure, our neighbors had stopped talking to my Mother. She had always been rude to them, making snide comments behind their backs after they left, but when their eyes skimmed over us, I caught the fear in Mother’s eyes. “I wouldn’t know. They stopped talking to us.”
A strange expression crossed Ardennes’ countenance and my gut twisted at the hardness of her brow. “Even you?”
I nodded, although truth be told the girls in the village had always stayed away from me. They existed in their own world, filled with dreams of handsome princes, that I was unable to reach. They didn’t want anything to do with me.
I leaned closer to the hearth, trying to escape a sudden chill sweeping over me. “Don’t you get lonely?” I found myself asking as flames licked soot-covered stone.
Ardennes looked down, and I noticed how her lashes graced the tops of her cheeks. “I suppose I do,” she murmured, rubbing the beads of her necklace.
I sighed. “Loneliness finds us all it seems.”
Her head snapped up and her stare bore into mine with such intense longing that it took my breath away. “It doesn’t have to be that way though. You could stay here with me, Marlena.”
My heart skipped a beat, thumping so loud I was worried she could hear it over the crackle of the fire. “I-I can’t.” Saying the words tore something within me, a wound that I hadn’t known was there, the lacerations hemorrhaging as I tried to formulate some sort of explanation. “My grandmother needs me. . . she’s quite ill and not long for this world. I couldn’t.”
As an oppressive silence hung over us, I braced myself for Ardennes’ anger, for her to turn her kind words into knives and punish me for wasting her time. Instead, her face fell with a sorrow that broke me in two.
“I understand,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t want to stay.”
Before I could stop myself, I touched her wrist. “Want has nothing to do with it.”
Her moss green eyes penetrated mine with resignation. Wordlessly, she handed me a pair of gloves.
I took them, rubbing my thumb over the tanned leather held together by a thin opaque twine. The rows lined up like a perfect set of teeth, each deliberate stitch taken with great care.
“You’re a beautiful seamstress,” I told her, caressing the sutures before I slid my hand into it, each crook pressed snugly against the bends between my fingers. “Thank you.”
Ardennes smiled at the compliment, and it was enough warmth to sustain me for the rest of my journey. Fighting my weary feet, I forced myself upright. Stepping back into Father Winter’s embrace was the last thing I wanted to do, but a sinking feeling in my chest told me that, if I didn’t leave now, I wouldn’t. “I should go.”
I scanned the hut one final time as Ardennes doused the flame, immediately plunging the space back into darkness, Father Winter’s chill already sinking in.
I followed her back into the wilderness, holding the memory of heat deep in the center of my heart. The sky was unchanged, and it perturbed me that it felt like no time had passed at all.
The way back to the main path was more convoluted, and I found myself nearly losing Ardennes among the frost-bitten timber. When she finally emerged onto the path, I was made breathless by the snowflakes caught in her curls, only to melt away immediately like she had forsaken Father Winter’s hold.
She was truly unlike any girl in our village.
It had become apparent that it was time to say our goodbyes, but we stood looking at each other instead. “Thank you,” I told her, before the gap of silence grew too wide for us to breach. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t happened across me. Is there anything I can offer you?” I reached for my basket, but Ardennes shook her head.
The air around us grew colder, and I longed for the cover that Ardennes’ hut provided.
“Are you sure you must leave?” she asked, a pleading note in her voice, as if she was thinking the same thing.
I ignored the pang in my chest echoing her hurt. “I’m afraid I must.”
A shadow crossed her features as she nodded. She stepped closer to me and gently pressed a kiss to each of my frozen cheeks, flushing them with warmth. When she pulled away, the absence seared a torrid mark I could feel to my bones, and I wished the heat would spread, consuming me whole until I succumbed to its feverish burn.
She disappeared into the underbrush, and I was left feeling that I had made the wrong choice.
* * *
All at once, the Forest was flooded in shadows as the threatening night made its abrupt appearance. The Forest watched as I scurried to Grandmother’s house, the frigid sting of winter air licking at my ears, and I trembled under Father Winter’s callous fondling.
Ardennes’ gloves, at least, offered my hands relief. Without the pain, I traversed the woods quicker, and it wasn’t much longer before I heard the gulping babbles of the brook Mother had foretold.
I pressed forward, arming myself with excuses as to why I was so late.
Grandmother, you would hardly believe it, but there was a wolf in the middle of the path! I had to hide until it passed.
There was something about my interaction with Ardennes that made me afraid to speak of it to anyone. She was a secret meant solely for me—a matchstick that kept my heart alight. It felt like a betrayal to share our time together with anyone.
I was so lost in my thoughts that only steps away from the bungalow did I realize something was terribly, irreversibly wrong.
The slender beams that made up the roof had fractured, caving in under the blanket of snow that had gathered. There was no light emanating from the cavity, and bile rose in my gullet.
In a trance-like state, my body took me through the battered doorway of Grandmother’s house. Snow littered the floor, invading the space like rats. The only light came from the last remaining embers that flickered against the charred wood.
“Grandmother?” I bleated. The sound carried, returning unanswered but for the delicate drips of fresh snow.
I crept through the wreckage. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold broke out at the base of my neck and crawled down my spine as I pushed deeper into the room.
I caught sight of an edge to a quilt in the corner, the fabric rigid. In the middle of the bed, a hulking beam buried its weight on Grandmother’s chest, bending her frame like an archer’s bow.
Frostbite had kissed her fingertips black in the shape of frozen claws, her nails torn and dripping red from ripping at the wood lodged concretely in the bed frame. Father Winter had ravaged her, draining the blood from her features and leaving her papery skin mottled purple. Her mouth was open in an anguished, silent cry for help, and her milky eyes were wide from gawking upwards, pleading for someone to save her.
While Grandmother had clung to each ragged breath, warring against the chill that smothered her, Ardennes was holding my hand, and I was warmer than I had ever been in my life. I had gleefully followed her from the path that would have led me to Grandmother’s hours ago.
My legs crumpled, impact rattling my kneecaps.
The snowflakes cascaded over my head like a funeral veil. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited, begging time to see this was all an honest mistake and Grandmother would wake and say my name. Tears escaped the corners of my eyes, freezing halfway down my face and biting my cheeks—cruel reminders of what Grandmother had experienced.
I could have saved her. Her death was blood on my hands, sheathed in Ardennes’ gloves. I lost track of time, rooted to the spot, head spinning and guilt gnawing my insides. Shameful thoughts sprung to mind as I considered my options—Grandmother was going to die anyway, how would it matter what the cause was? Would anyone even know? Who traveled this far into the woods anyhow?
Each selfish question spiraled me further into condemnation. Who was I to try to hide what I had done? How could I prioritize my own reputation as Grandmother’s preserved corpse solidified like a block of ice?
I wrapped my cloak around myself until all I could see was red and felt the sickening premonition that I was being dragged to the depths of hell.
* * *
My body was rigid when I awoke, and I could hear the ice crackle in my joints when I finally broke free of my entombment. Although I was technically lighter, my spirit was that of an anchor, sinking deeper into despair.
I stumbled to my feet, legs creaking in objection, and lumbered out into the winter night. The moon was overtaken by clouds drenching me in inky blackness. The leather of my boots crunched unceremoniously as I staggered back to the path, trying not to trip on my way.
I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t face Mother. She was expecting me to bring Grandmother back to her rightful place—buried in the village’s cemetery.
My thoughts drifted to Ardennes, and it sparked a glow within me I held onto with all my strength, as if the warmth of her memory would sustain me.
But the Forest was impenetrable—every tree the same as the next, tearing out of the soil like headstones in an abandoned graveyard. I grew weary as the temperature continued to drop.
Even Ardennes’ gloves couldn’t keep Father Winter’s skeletal fingers out. It felt like the gods’ punishment for the sins I had committed. A girl who deserved to make it out of the Forest midwinter wouldn’t have been led from the path so easily.
Father Winter deserved to take me. I knelt on the blanket of pure white, numbness spreading underneath my skin. I tore at my dress and cloak, my mind muddling as I gave into the urge to get out and escape from this frozen hell fighting to entomb me. The effort was futile, my weak fingers just pawing at the damp fabric. My desirous body had already betrayed me once, why should I be surprised that it let me down again?
“Marlena?” The sweet memory of a voice whispered through the air as wind whistled through the branches, playing games with my sanity. From my coffin, I saw Ardennes emerge from the tree line, her cloak billowing around her.
I tried to formulate words, but they all died on immobile lips. Ardennes bent down, and I focused on the greenness of her eyes, so alive with a thrumming force that it burned away Father Winter’s chokehold on my neck.
She lifted me with a strength I hadn’t expected, her limbs sturdy against my back as she held me to her bosom. Her curls fell over my face, engulfing me in a protective darkness, shielding me from the night’s unknown, and alighting my simmering heart.
* * *
Ardennes laid me carefully atop her quilt, wrapping the hide around me. My teeth chattered uncontrollably, my jaw aching from the pressure. I watched as she deftly reignited the fire, casting the hut in a protective orange glow.
We sat in silence as feeling slowly reclaimed my limbs and Ardennes handed me boiled tea. The cup burned as I held it, but I couldn’t bear to release the sensation tethering me to life.
“Thank you,” I told her when my mouth thawed, “for saving me…again.”
Ardennes’ brow furrowed. “Why were you in the woods so late? Father Winter almost took you.”
I bowed my head, hoping she couldn’t see the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I didn’t know how to explain what had happened—the way Grandmother’s sunken frame was paralyzed in an arctic crypt, and it was my irresponsibility that had brought her that fate.
Ardennes lightly placed a hand on my elbow, and I forced myself to meet her steady gaze. There was a wildness in her eyes, a hunger brimming underneath the surface, and I felt a compulsion to bare my soul to her.
“Grandmother’s dead,” I croaked. “I didn’t get to her in time.”
Anguish crossed Ardennes’ features and, for a moment, I feared she would pull away from me in disgust. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me, swaddling me in her oaky fragrance.
Her lips graced my ear. “I’m sorry for your loss. Father Winter reigns with an insidious wickedness. I feared the worst when you left. He already had his eyes set on you.”
Although every part of me protested, I untangled myself from her enough to look at her. “How do you mean?”
Ardennes pet my hair, the repetitive motion sinking me deeper into submission. She continued with the cadence of a mother rocking her children to sleep with a bedtime story. “Every year, Father Winter tries to take from me. As if the crumpled leaves scattered against the ground weren’t enough, he makes their branches brittle. He blights my trees with his caress, and I have to protect them. I have to keep them strong…
“But the trees aren’t enough for his greed. He covets the travelers passing through, weakening them before I can even…” she trailed off suddenly, and it was clear she was hiding something.
“Before you can what?” I prompted, uncertainty lacing my words. I was all too aware of my proximity to Ardennes, and the strength brimming underneath her hands.
“Save them,” she whispered, too lost in thought to notice I had backed away.
My movement broke through Ardennes’ reverie, and her attention was turned back on me with a desperate edge. “They needed saving because they were lost. Like you were lost, Marlena.” She reached out for me again, but I cowered away from her. Hurt flashed in her eyes as she dropped her hand. “I knew you the moment you set foot in my woods. Your heartbeat announced you to me with every step you took on my ground. I wanted to welcome you home.”
My breath caught as every fiber of my being flushed in alarm. Ardennes’ eyes, like leaves cast in shadows, had new meaning. “You’re her,” I stammered. “The Forest.”
The Forest’s face was placid, as if she had expected me to know all along. “This winter has been cruel to me. There have been no gentle souls journeying through my woods, and I have been so lonely…until you came along with your ruby cloak and basket.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
The Forest drew closer, and I could see the porous edges of her beaded necklace, the creamy color not quite bleached white, gleaming in the fire’s light like bone—the same shade as the cup I immediately dropped.
The Forest was unbothered by the clammer, and I was still as she ran her fingers down my cheek, leaving a trail of tingles that left my conflicted stomach flipping in bewilderment.
“Stay with me.” This time, the words weren’t a question.
I broached the subject cautiously. “Girls have been missing from the village. Their bodies never found.” The Forest listened patiently, and I continued, “If they didn’t freeze to death then...”
“They stayed,” the Forest cooed. “They became one with me, rooted in my fertile soil.” The quilt buckled in her grip, and I lingered on how the hide matched the tawny leather of the gloves still covering my hands…
“Oh God!” I jumped off the bed and flung the cursed gloves at the Forest’s feet. The tips of my fingers were blue where Father Winter had left his mark, and I trembled as I pointed at her. “You killed them! You stole those girls and used pieces of them to clothe yourself?!”
The Forest’s eyes narrowed as she bent to retrieve the gloves, cradling them in her lap as though they were made from the finest material in the world. “They gave themselves to me willingly,” she snapped. “They had nowhere else to go, and I offered them more. I made them a part of me, so they didn’t have to live with the constraints that your village put on them.” She rose, chin raised and towering over me. “It’s Father Winter who kills them, freezing them when they’re just saplings sprouting.” Her voice rose an octave as tears streaked her cheeks. “I only wanted them to stay, like I want you to stay.”
“I don’t want to stay,” I hissed, ignoring the sting of betrayal—whether it was hers or mine I could not tell—that threatened to tear my body in two.
She looked at me blankly. “And where will you go?”
I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t come up with an answer. Outside, Father Winter waited and, if by some good fortune, I managed to make it back to the village, it would be impossible to confess to Mother that I had disobeyed her by following my own desires. I could envision the revulsion in her face and the rumors that would follow our family like a stain. Marlena, the girl who answered the Forest’s call and let her grandmother perish.
The walls were closing in, every breath I took tinged with frost and earth. My heart beat erratically, and I realized that my fate had been decided the moment I stepped into the woods.
As if she knew it too, the Forest stepped closer, her palms facing upwards. “Those who tell you that staying on the path will keep you from getting lost fail to recognize that sometimes the path you’re taking is leading you to the wrong destination.”
My feet stayed planted as the Forest approached me, radiating a tenderness that soothed the last remaining strands of doubt. I looked up at her with the same curious apprehension as I had that morning, taking in the grandeur of what the Forest had to offer.
“I will stay.”
A smile bloomed on Ardennes’ lips as she kissed me, the pressure that had built in my body releasing as I kissed her back, relaxing into her arms. My heart was engulfed, the sparks of kindling erupting into a bonfire burning me from the inside out. I fell limp, but still Ardennes held on, holding me closer as I let the inferno consume me until I was nothing but ash in Ardennes’ hands.
* * *
The Forest cradled Marlena’s heart, hot tears mixing with the blood and sinew coating her up to her wrists. Marlena’s body lay on the floor, eyes closed and a tranquil smile still hinting at her lips.
The Forest admired the muscle nestled in her palm before sinking her teeth into the rubbery flesh. The organ tore as easily as it always did, and blood dribbled down her chin onto her dress—another gift from a beloved. She chewed thoroughly, savoring the core essence of the girl she loved. Sucking the remaining viscous from her fingers, the Forest was finally sated and could set to work.
With nurturing and experienced care, the Forest processed Marlena’s body, ensuring that none of her would go to waste. The activity took the rest of the evening and into dawn, but the Forest was a patient undertaker, enjoying how close the ritual brought her to the Lost Girls she saved.
As the sun drained from the sky, and clouds rolled in with the promise of fresh snow, the Forest pulled the bright red cloak around herself and meandered out into the trees, unbothered by the trickling of snowflakes that Father Winter rained down on her. Cocooned in the fabric, she could still catch Marlena’s scent lingering in the folds. The snow fell harder as the Forest stalked her domain, a bloody droplet in an otherwise picturesque white setting.