I continue to survey my surroundings as I hike my dress up and relieve myself, feeling unbearably exposed to the elements. I snatch my undergarments back up in a hurry. The witch’s careful combing of the land, as if he was expecting something to emerge, fills me with a sharp sense of unease.
Paranoia has me breaking into a slow jog back the way I came. The crack of a snapping twig, closer this time, stops me in my tracks. The hair on the back of my neck comes to a point.
In the distance, I hear awail. Like that of a screaming child. I whip around, heart dropping out of my chest when I discover something…someonelooming there.
It’s a child.
Standing on the other side of the dip in the land and covered in a thick layer of leaves and dirt. He remains motionless as three more children appear from behind the trees. Small children. None of them can be a day over the age of five. Three boys and one girl, only distinguished by the differences in the states of their tattered clothing.
“Hello?” I call out weakly.
“Have you seen our Mother?”
“Your…Mother?” My eyes flicker over them, searching for the one that’s spoken. They’re in such a state of disarray, filthy with tangles making nests of their hair. I peer around the wild greenery. No sign of civilization remotely close to here. They must’ve been lost…or abandoned out here for a long time.
“Please, help us,” one calls.
“Hungry.” This time, it’s the girl who speaks, her voice so small and mellifluous that a deep pang of sympathy twists my insides.
“Oh.” I peer back in the direction I came from. “I think we have some food we could share…”
“Help us,” one of the boys pleads, his voice just as delicate and lilting as the little girls.
If I tell the prince…would he be willing to help them? We can’t just leave them out here. But we only have the one horse. I don’t know how we’d possibly fit them all. I suppose we’re going to have to do something because they’re advancing on me, steadily making their way down the hill. I very well could be the only person they’ve seen in days…weeks?
“I’ll…I’ll go get help,” I promise. Get the…witch to help these children? A tale I’ve known since I was a child springs to mind about a little boy and girl lost in the woods who come upon a witch who promises to help them only to, in turn, try to stick them in her furnace. The irony isn’t lost on me.
Just as I’m turning on my heel there’s a flash of movement, a gleam of light, and the child closest to me falls to his knees. I start forward in concern, but the image in front of me morphs. I blink rapidly, hoping the vision in front of me will clear. His head suddenly becoming dislodged from his body will be some sort of mistake.
The lifeless husk left behind sways, hitting the soil at the same time the head hits the ground with a thump. It rolls across the grass until it comes to a halt face down against the stump of a tree, baring the cleanly cauterized sinew of his neck. Time seems to hang suspended there as blood gushes and puddles below.
I stumble back, a shriek lodged in my throat. I suck in a sharp breath, preparing to scream for the prince. When I look up, he’s already there, face stony in concentration.
Blood drips down a faint, almost invisible outline of an axe in his hand. He makes a throwing motion, and I cringe as the small girl’s forehead splits right down the middle, the sheen outline of the invisible axe embedded deep. She sways for a long moment, time still moving in a sluggish crawl to show me every beat of the horrors in front of me before she topples to the ground.
The other two children begin to cry, horrible wailing noises that curdle my blood. All I can do is clap a hand over my mouth andwatch.
He’s…killing them.He’s killing them. Why…is he killing them?
The daemon fires to life with my fear, rising up like sparking embers.
The two children left scatter, their panicked pleas filling the Wood. The witch flicks his hand. I flinch, a hoarse whimper scraping out my throat as one erupts into flames. His screams turn even more shrill as the fire devours him alive. The last child has managed to get some distance away before the witch’s head snaps in his direction.
He falls face forward, body dragging across the forest floor directly into the witch’s outstretched hands. Breaking his neck with a snap, he disposes of him like someone would if they were doing something as simple as collecting kindling for a fire. “Ugh,” he complains, wiping his hands on his trousers in disgust as if this is all just a mere inconvenience to his day.
I stare at the witch I’ve been bound to as he casually cracks his neck and knuckles, not at all looking like he’s demolished four small children. He adjusts his sleeves, waving a hand over a spot of blood that swiftly dissipates.
A witch through and through, just like the stories.
I need to go.
Flee.
Get out of here.
Run.
The daemon pulses white, hot, and sharp. I can barely breathe. I wrap one hand around my side, nails puncturing my ribs. I can scarcely think, eyes flitting around the clearing--over what’s left of the children’s bodies.
