SKYESTONE

A modern take

on the Tale of Little Red Riding Hood

By Adriana M. Giovanni

SKYESTONE

First published: September 15th, 2024

© 2024 Adriana M. Giovanni

© 2024 Hamley Books Publishing

Cover design by Designs by Lotte

Interior design by Design by Lotte

ISBN 9789464945270

NUR 285

Theme Code: YFCB 15+

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For Grandma

Whenever I come to visit, your wonderful garden

is the place I look forward to playing in the most

If I could, I would stay there day and night

I would hide away in your green hedges forever

and save every chick that might fall down

from their mother’s nest

I would never feel lonely or discarded

because I would always be surrounded by the flowerbeds

and all the animals lurking in the trees

and I know for sure

that it would fulfill

all of my wildest fantasies

THE HUNTERS

In the twilight, at the end of a lonely winding road, an enormous brown oak rises from the depts of the earth. It stands out in the middle of all the pine trees surrounding it, like it doesn’t quite belong there. Its leaves are freakishly still, for not even the wind dares to touch them.

It wants to appear invisible to the unwelcome visitor lurking in the shadows of the sacred path, but as hard as it may try, it’s impossible to remain unseen.

The creature is creeping closer, leaving no trace nor sound, but its dark aura alerts its environment. The tiny animals whirling beneath the dirt are aware that they are not alone. The ends of the grass dare to take a peek at the intruder and now serve as sensors to detect their footsteps, merely touching them from above.

Another sudden movement is brought to their attention. The creature is not alone; it came with three more, all equally silent, almost gliding across the ground.

The tree vines start to pulse, as if they foreknow danger is coming. Hopefully, the unwelcome ones won’t hear the beating heart. But when they reach the oak, they merely watch and wait. The tree stays alert for the four intruders and makes an attempt to communicate with the others on the inside by sending them strings of magic through its core.

***

Meanwhile, behind all the layers of wood, deep inside the very center of the oak, eight figures are gathered in a circle surrounding a single throne. It’s firmly planted in the middle of a shallow pool of water, connecting each of the eight people like the branches of the tree where they have found their home.

The throne is magnificent and made of glistening glass. It belongs to Irène, the eldest of the Huntresses and truly the most intimidating of them all.

Like every other day, her long golden hair is curled up in a complicated knot and held together by a silver pin. The hair that isn’t tied up falls in loose curls over her bare shoulders. Around her neck, a sparkling necklace of frozen water drops accentuates her luminous skin. Her mint-green dress is nearly see-through and appears to be made of such a soft fabric, it almost seems weightless. It fits her like a glove and flows all the way down her body until it merges with the water at her feet. Her arms are covered, but the fabric only goes up to underneath her shoulders, leaving her collarbones and neck bare. And then there’s her impressive mahogany-brown feathered wings, bobbing up behind her like the sails of a ship, protecting her from the wind and everything else that would want to harm her.

Her hazel eyes are set on the eight Hunters and Huntresses standing in front of her. As if they coordinated it, they each bow for her simultaneously.

First in the half circle, all the way on the far west side of the throne, stands the youngest Huntress of the family. Her name is Eleonor, the Huntress of Song and Beauty. She looks like her mother the most, only her hair is a bright silver color instead of gold. The Hunter to her left, is James. He is the Hunter of Seasons and Snow.

In the middle of the circle, hand in hand, are the two elder sisters. They are twins. Clothed in earth tones is Morgana, the Huntress of Flowers and Rivers. The other one is called Ramona; she takes care of the Woods and the Animals within.

The fifth sibling is called Samuel. He is the Hunter of the Sun and Light.

His task is to wake up the light in the morning and to hum it to sleep again by nightfall.

Next to Samuel are Nick and Phillip. Nick, the Hunter of Health and Protection, is the tallest of the family. He’s the only one sharing the same golden brown hair color as their mother. Phillip, on the other hand, has waist-long, raven hair, and his eyes are a very uncommon ice green. He is the Hunter of the Northern Lights, and he is the second-born son.

Finally, all the way in the east, there’s Emanuel. He is the eldest and the Hunter of Air and Clouds. Today, his head is down, counting the countless tree vines swirling beneath his feet as if he senses something unpleasant is coming.

“Arise, children,” Irène, the Elder Huntress, begins. “I have assembled you here because I wish to announce something.”

The Hunters stay silent while she curls her hand around the Scepter next to her. It’s a long wooden staff with green ranks entangling it all the way to the top. There, they emerge to hold what is known as one of the most precious stones to ever exist. They call it the “Skyestone.” Hunters of the Between have been chosen by the Mighty Oak to guard the Skyestone with their lives, as it is a talisman to travel between worlds and holds the power to restore and end all life.

“The Mighty Oak has informed me that he’s had a vision. A new Werewolf has been created,” the Elder Huntress continues.

Werewolves are one of the eldest magical creatures in history and probably the most successful ones to this day. Since Werewolves are half human, half beast, they are the only creatures of the Underworld with enough power to live on any part of the earth without having to use magic to disguise their form. For a new Werewolf to arise, another one must die. Every time a new wolf is created, it is even stronger than the one before. Werewolves have no control when it comes to phasing form, making it even more precarious for Hunters to chase them down. Fortunately for them, the last one they encountered wasn’t so careful. About a fortnight ago, the Hunters caught a creature in the act. It was outside a small village in Canada. They almost managed to defeat it, but it escaped at the very last moment, injuring one of their own.

“The prophecy doesn’t show what killed the previous one after our attempt, only that the disease has been spread again,” she says.

The Hunters tentatively wait for the rest of the news, afraid to hear what will come next.

“We cannot take any risks.” She abandons her throne and moves closer to the circle, her feet never touching the ground.

“This new creature lives in the same village, which means the people are still in danger. We must be smarter, more cunning. Act before it’s too late.” She looks every single one of her descendants in the eye, carefully choosing a candidate in her mind. “I need one of you to relocate there for as long as it takes. Get to know the villagers, look out for anything suspicious, and most importantly, find the wolf.”

The Hunters nod but don’t dare to look directly at her. They all hold their breath in fear, dreading the possibility of being chosen for this perilous task.

“Who is willing to take this task upon them?”

Even though she makes it sound like a general question, her gaze wanders toward her eldest son Emanuel. He is the one who almost died the last time. Maybe she sees this as a second chance, or maybe she wants him to prove his worth; he doesn’t know for sure. Being the eldest born, he knows it is expected of him. And although he is scared for his life, being barely recovered from his injuries, he also feels a little responsible.

After a minute or so debating his options, he dares to look up. His eyes lock with the faces of his younger siblings, and that’s all it takes for him to make up his mind. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself should anything happen to any of them, even if it would cost him his own life. He must do it. There is no other option.

He comes forward and curtsies in front of her. Only when the Elder Huntress lifts up his face to meet hers, does he manage to formulate the binding words, “I am willing to take this task upon me.”

Despite the fact she almost forced him to make this decision, a sly smile tugs at her lips when she says, “Very well then, that wasn’t hard.”

In a quick movement, she slices off the left sleeve of his tunic and takes hold of his forearm. There is a shift in the air around them and when she speaks again, it’s as if she is fixated on something else—something beyond the canopy of green leaves. Somewhere where the others can’t reach.

“You will leave here tomorrow at dawn,” she says, her voice penetrating his soul. And for a moment, it’s almost as if it’s not her speaking, but the oath itself.

“You have one day to gather your things and say your goodbyes. From that day on, you will never show your true identity to anyone. You will live among the humans and act like you belong.”

That sounded like a reasonable deal. He is about to tell her that he is prepared when she speaks her final words.

“Unless we know for sure that the village is safe again, you aren’t allowed to use your powers and your wings will be taken away. You will not be able to contact us except if there is no other choice. From the moment you leave, you will need to act fully human.”

Emmanuel should have known that there would be some kind of malice attached to it. He almost died last time. How can he be expected to do this again with no help at all?

Heart racing and blood boiling, he almost fails at remaining composed. It takes a while before he is able to restore the chaos in his mind by making a list of what he knows. No use of powers, no wings, and no contact with his family. That last one would definitely be the most difficult to deal with. How long will he have to stay there? For all he knows, it could take him years to figure out who the Werewolf is, let alone kill him.

Defeated, he slowly nods his head.

He meets her hazel eyes, which embody the reflection of autumn-colored woods, without showing her any sign of emotion. He doesn’t want to disappoint her from the very start.

The Elder Huntress sends one last whirlwind of magic through their connection before it breaks, strings of smoke still billowing in the air. The moment Emmanuel’s arm drops from her grasp, a horrifying scream resounds through the room.

“No!”

Recognizing his youngest sister’s voice, he spins around to the sound, the echo of her cry still lingering in the air.

Emmanuel’s heart breaks at the sight of her.

“Shhh,” he says soothingly when he reaches her and slowly lowers himself to his knees to meet her height.

“It’s going to be alright, Eleonor. I will come back. I promise.”

“I promise,” he whispers again while hugging her tight for what could be the very last time.

She stops crying after a while and wipes her eyes with a tired sigh.

They hold each other for a little while longer and then turn to their other brothers and sisters, who all look equally defeated by their eldest brother’s departure.

***

The Hunters each take their turns saying goodbye, making the best of their final moments together as one. Right then, the water connecting the throne to the tree starts to tremble. It’s a warning from the Might Oak. It means intruders are here, coming to take what they’ve been wanting to grab a hold of ever since the Hunters were granted it a few years ago.

There isn’t much time, and because of the sudden attack, the unknown creatures can certainly smell their fear. They feed on it, and it attracts them like bees to honey. It won’t take much longer before they enter now. The tree’s pulse is already weakening, announcing that it’s almost out of strength. Flickers of sorrow and concern wash over the room. Even though they are well aware that nature always comes and goes, this has always been their only home. The only place where they could be free. It’s as if they’re unwillingly giving up a part of themselves. With each barely palpable beat, their energy flows out as well.

The Hunters move forward as if every step is a challenge. Only when they reach the brass wooden door, do they manage to get into a fighting position, balancing one foot in front of the other, ready to defend.

When the four monsters make their way in, knocking on the last piece of wood at the entrance, their exhaustion makes way for intense rage. Abandoning their home without a final fight isn’t an option.

The demonic creatures glide through the wood as if it’s soluble. Even when they’re fully inside, their poison still trails the tree bark where they touched.

They are the most despicable beings the Hunters have ever seen. The four of them are all alike; small with lanky limbs and dark circles surrounding their blood-shot eyes.

The Hunters withdraw their axes and bows in a synchronized movement, attacking first, but the demons don’t seem phased by their doubled numbers.

Soon enough the Hunters are defending themselves more than trying to harm, exhausted from the venom draining the strength out of them.

In the midst of it all, Emmanuel dares to take his eyes off his opponent for one split second, and watches how the Elder Huntress parries a nasty blow from one of the demons. Shaken by all the chaos around him, he looks around, trying to find a way to end the fight. The Hunters are on the winning hand again, but who knows for how long they’ll be able to hold out?

A shimmering of light by the throne catches his attention and that’s when he knows; if he leaves with the Skyestone, there is a chance they’ll follow him and leave his family alone. Taking the Skyestone with him may be his only chance to protect them. It took those demons months to find the Skyestone. This may hold them off for just a little while longer.

Making his way through the others to reach the Skyestone, he can barely escape a cut on his arm by a demon’s spear that he didn’t see coming. Rattled by the sudden ache surging through his flesh, he barely manages to release the arrow that was already charged onto his bow. Already anticipating Emmanuel’s action, the demon cuts the arrow in half right before it reaches his head.

Meanwhile, Emmanuel has almost reached the throne. When the demon realizes Emmanuel is headed toward the Scepter holding the Skyestone, it shrieks in a high-pitched sound to warn the others, causing each of the Hunters to cover their ears in agony.

Somehow managing to bite through the pain, Emmanuel quickly tears the Skyestone from the staff.

With a last look at his brothers and sisters, he whistles a bird’s song and then vanishes into thin air with no idea who’d eventually win the fight or if anyone was harmed.

To Matt Wilder:

The boy whose heart swells for his one true love

I

The world isn’t always what it seems; sometimes the only thing we can rely on are our senses. This is a reminder to always look out for the signs. Our bodies know more than we may think, and they also always acknowledge things far, far before we do.

SHANNON

I Fell In Love With The Devil

A shadow moves across the room in which I find myself. It stalks closer and slowly transforms into living matter.

It’s a boy with shoulder-length raven hair and gray-blue eyes. I recognize him immediately. He hasn’t come here in a while, and I wonder why he’s here.

He approaches me slowly, and alarm bells go off in my head. When he halts right in front of me, I watch in stunned horror as his shape begins to peel away, uncovering a thick, black fur. When he is fully transformed, he is almost as large as the ceiling. My chest tightens, and before I know it, he’s on my bed.

I want to scream as loud as I can, but my voice can’t seem to find its way out. I make the stupid mistake of looking up and stare straight into a pair of scary yellow eyes. My arm lies at an odd angle, and both of my legs are tied to the bed. I have nowhere to go. It’s only inches away from me, his breath hot and heavy on my face. When it reveals its gleaming, razor-sharp teeth, I finally find my voice and scream. But it’s too late. The beast has already started ripping into me with its fangs, silencing me once and for all.

***

I jolt awake and wipe the sweat off my forehead. After a few seconds, my eyes have adjusted to the moonlight creeping through the curtains. They are slightly opened, revealing the misty mountain landscape outside, and I wonder why. I recall closing them. This re-ignites my fear, but I make myself believe it’s probably the aftershocks of the nightmare I just had. When I realize I’m safely in my room with my parents next door, I slowly come back to my senses and finally allow myself to calm down.

Doing a little calculation, it’s the fifth consecutive nightmare I’ve had this week. As a child, the nightmares would interrupt my sleep almost every night. Up until last week, I hadn’t had any of them in a very long while. This one isn’t new to me, yet it’s still as haunting as it always was. I try to shake off the disturbing images and rub my arms to warm myself.

I have no idea why they’ve chosen to resurface after all this time. If I remember it correctly, it was so bad at times, I’d wake up screaming, sometimes three times a night.

At first, my parents would take me into their bed and hold my hand until I calmed down. This helped until I was about five. After that, they told me I was too old to crawl into bed with them. Over the years, they did come up with some other remedies, like hot milk with honey or a piece of lavender chocolate, which my grandmother makes from the lavender flowers in her garden. Though this soothed me for a little while, it could never fully keep away the chilling scenes that played before my eyes.

When I was twelve, they decided it was time to seek some professional help. They took me to meet someone who lived near the edge of our village. We passed by all the familiar medieval houses until we finally reached his door. The only way to tell it was the right place was an inscription on the wall that said “Doctor Greene—Therapist.” Besides that, all of the houses shared the same brownish-red stone frontage with tiny windows and white shutters in front of them. It always felt to me as if the people here were scared to look outside.

We rang the bell, and almost immediately, a tall, lean man with round glasses opened the door. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and the stubble on his face indicated he hadn’t shaved in a few days.

He shook our hands and then led us to his office, where he pointed to our seats. I sat down in the middle, directly in front of him. The doctor regarded me with an undecipherable expression and then said, “Please tell me everything from the start, young lady.”

I didn’t want my parents to hear what I saw every night, so I asked if we could talk privately. They left the room, and then it was just the two of us.

I wasn’t at ease. The chair was very large, and my feet couldn’t touch the ground. I wiggled back and forth a few times, trying to find a more comfortable position when the doctor asked me to explain what it was that brought me there.

I told him about my nightmares. Every night I get the same kind of nightmares chronologically following each other, though substantially, they are always slightly different than the one before.

Sometimes, I’d be in my room, other times somewhere else, but the concept would always be the same.

I would either be running away into the woods while being chased by something and then get trapped by the trees. Or I would dream of being stuck to my bed and watch how the monster would creep into my room to come and kill me.

And then I’d wake up.

While I was telling my story, the doctor started scribbling things down and nodded occasionally, confirming that he had been listening to my every word. When I finished talking, he looked up from his pen-stained paper and stared at me. His eyes were a dark-brown color; they reminded me a lot of chocolate fondue.

“How do you feel now that you have told someone else about this?” he raised his eyebrows.

This question surprised me. I realized that, unlike with my parents, I hadn’t been ashamed of telling him. Maybe I was scared they would start to pity me or look at me differently. I didn’t know what caused me to open up to this stranger, but it helped. That was when I began to visit him more often. It started out with two sessions a week. This slowly built up to the point where we would begin to notice enough changes to visit him once every three months, then once a year, and so on until I turned fifteen. By that point, the nightmares had somehow stopped.

After about two years of peace of mind, the nightmares have returned. I never found out their origin, but I have a feeling that recent events may have a big hand in it.

***

The clock has ticked two hours away since I woke up, and by now night has turned into day.

I’m glad it’s Sunday; it’s the only day I don’t mind losing some sleep. It’ll be worse tomorrow.

It’s the last day of spring break before starting the final chapter of my high school career. My heart takes a leap, realizing graduation is right around the corner.

I know that afterward, I’m taking the first plane out of here, never to return.

I have lived in this village my entire life. Born in a tiny cabin in the woods because my parents decided to go hiking that particular day. I’m not sure what drove them to go, as my mom was already nine months along and on the brink of giving birth, but I guess that could explain where my love for sports and adventure comes from. I know I’ve seen enough of the same stuff our tiny village has to offer to be bored out of my skull.

Sitting up, I shuffle my back against the bedframe, and pull the covers over my knees. My eyes wander to how the sunlight illuminates the picture on my nightstand, where the protagonist of my most recent nightmare is staring back at me.

It’s a picture of me and a boy. I’m smiling at the camera, but he is facing me. The picture itself is harmless; it’s what’s written on the back that gets me in a chokehold. In my mind, I watch myself taking the picture out of the frame and turning it over. For if you ever wish to leave this place and take me with you, from Matt to Shannon, it says.

Before this week, that picture would always bring me some comfort. Now it feels as if someone is wrapping a cold fist around my heart.

I don’t even recall the first moment we met. We were always neighbors. His parents knew my parents, and when either couple wanted some alone time, they’d agree to babysit the two of us. My older brother too, but since Matt and I were about the same age, we preferred to hang out by ourselves. I remember all the moments we’ve ever spent together. From running around in the woods playing hide and seek, to swimming in the lake and spilling our darkest secrets to one another. The world back then only revolved around the two of us. That picture was taken a couple of months ago, right before they moved away.

I don’t know why they left; they never told us, however, that didn’t stop Matt and I from hanging out together still. I guess there are just some people who will forever hold a part of you, no matter how far away they stray.

It was at the beginning of this year when our lifelong friendship sparked something more between us.

***

It had all started at a bonfire in the woods, our whole year was there. He had noticed me roasting a marshmallow by the fire. I saw him approaching from the corner of my eye, and for the first time since we’d known each other, a jolt of excitement ran through my body.

He was the first one who had directly come up to me to keep me company while the rest of the year had dissolved around me. I almost never joined after-school activities, but on this day, my best friend Abigail had stayed at home with the flu, so I didn’t have another choice. I didn’t mind it, being alone. I often found myself more content in places where it wasn’t as crowded.

We started talking about sweet nothings, and as the moon slowly rose higher in the sky, he asked if he could take me somewhere a little more private. This took me by surprise, but I agreed anyway. Having known him for almost my entire life, following him into the woods was something I didn’t need to think about twice. He took my hand, and I wondered where he would take me. Eventually, he halted by the lake—which was frozen at this time of the year, and the moonlight mirrored on the surface. Even after having witnessed it so often before, it still managed to amaze me.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked, a little out of breath.

A mischievous grin appeared on his face. “Because I wanted to show you something.”

I eyed him curiously. “Then show me.”

He spun me around in his arms and whispered, “One day I’ll take you there, across the lake and over the mountains, like you always wanted to. It’ll be our own little adventure.”

His words made my heart glow. He was the only one who knew that I wasn’t planning on staying in this village forever.

I’d never thought about bringing somebody with me, but the thought of him joining me, made me happy.

“Oh, will you now?” I said, turning around to face him.

“And what if I wouldn’t want your company?” I added teasingly, attempting to hide the excitement in my eyes.

He gave me a warm smile. “Oh, I know you would.”

We took a moment to look at each other while he was waiting for me to say something back, but I couldn’t find my tongue. The feeling of comradery overwhelmed me. Soon enough I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, making them blush a deep blossom. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I shyly looked away.

He moved in a little closer and muttered, “You’re cute when you’re blushing.”

His hand slowly moved up to my cheek, which instinctively made me cock my head to the side so that he could have better access to caress them. His fingers left warm traces where they touched, and my eyes closed in delight. When I opened them again, his face was only inches away from mine. I watched how his pupils dilated with desire, and I knew mine would look exactly the same. His eyes lowered to my mouth. I held my breath in anticipation, and soon after, his lips were on mine. I figured that if it had taken any longer, I would have kissed him myself. I immediately responded, leaning into him as if my body had foreseen things my mind couldn’t.

The kiss was ever so light. A mere touch of his lips on mine, like an artist drawing the line of a sketch he wasn’t quite sure of. A test to see if it would feel right, and it did.

When we parted, I saw a glimpse of love in his irises as they expanded, and a broad smile spread across my face. He looked quite dazed, and before he could say anything, I leaned my forehead against him and whispered, “OK, you may have convinced me.”

He chuckled. It was a beautiful sound he rarely shared with anyone, and I knew that even after taking the risk of rattling our friendship, we would make it work.

We took our time to walk back to the fire. The others probably hadn’t even  noticed that we’d gone away, and I couldn’t care less. With our kiss still lingering on my lips, I felt more alive than ever.

***

I instinctively wrap my fingers around my necklace. He’d given it to me on our first anniversary, and I’ve never taken it off since. The contrast of the cool metal on my warm skin always used to comfort me, but not even this feels right anymore. It’s as if its silver claws are trying to push me away now that the giver of the necklace is gone. Still, I can’t bear to dispose of it just yet. A part of me needs it as a confirmation. A reminder that our moments together were real. That at one point, it was true. At first, I was scared, the way those feelings started coming on. It’s easier to keep a friend than a lover, where the chance of losing him would have been slim. If I hadn’t let him come closer, then maybe I’d still be fine. But who am I fooling? I could never have known that for sure. Now both my friend and my lover are gone, and this realization hits me harder than I’d thought it would.

Reminiscing on these beautiful memories over the past two weeks has tremendously affected my vacation. Instead of spending my free days having fun with my family, I kept being absent-minded.

I didn’t do it on purpose. I had tried my best to keep him off my mind, but I kept wondering where our relationship went wrong all of a sudden.

They soon noticed I wasn’t fully present during the activities and let me retire to my room if I needed to.

Now, two entire weeks have passed, and I haven’t done anything but overwork my mind with a jigsaw of questions I will never get an answer to. The only upside, is that I’ve had loads of free time to get started on my TBR list and get lost in fantasy novels, which allowed me to escape to a place full of wonder, if only for a while.

I’m feeling slightly better than I did last week, but I know it’ll take some time to completely get over the fact that there will never be an ‘us’ anymore. For now, I just hope I won’t flinch each time  something reminds me of him.

I’m about to force myself to go down for breakfast when the bell rings and my dog barks in response. There’s rumbling down the hall, indicating the other inhabitants of the house have awakened by the noise.

His name is Moby. I got him for my tenth birthday, and he’s been the most loyal friend I have ever had since. On the night Matt broke up with me, he instantly sensed something was wrong. Not a minute after I got his text, Moby had already followed me to my bed and curled himself between my arms, as silent tears gradually soaked his fur. Poor Moby; I knew that what I felt, he felt too. Only his warmth could numb the wound and make it bearable. I wouldn’t trade him for the world.

My mom’s high, cheerful voice resonates from downstairs as she opens the door, and I’m already beginning to feel better when I hear who’s here.

“Oh, Abigail! Come in, my dear. Shannon is still sleeping, but she’ll be awake soon. Maybe you can try to wake her,” my mother says.

“We are being quite loud. I think she’s heard us already.” Abigail lowers her voice, but our walls are so poorly isolated I can still hear every word they’re saying.

“You’re probably right. Well, you know the way,” my mother replies, and I can imagine her pointing toward our wooden stairs.

Abigail’s shoes thump with each step. With everything that’s going on in my mind these days, I forgot she was going to stop by. We planned on spending the day together. She insisted the fresh air and distractions would do me good, and no matter how much I dread it, I know she is right. I have to start accepting the fact that I can’t lock myself in here forever.

When I open the door to greet her, her smile instantly fades.

A quick glance in the mirror next to my wardrobe indicates why. My cheeks are flustered, my eyes are bloodshot from the anxiety, and I have a cut on my lip where I must have bitten it out of fright. Only now that I’ve laid eyes on it, do I sense the iron taste of blood linger on my taste buds.

“Shannon, are you alright?” she asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Yes, I’m OK,” I say, looking down at my hands, too shy to meet her eyes and face more sadness. “I simply didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“I... Can I have a hug, please? I really need one...”

My voice breaks as all the emotions from the last couple of weeks get the best of me.

“Of course you can, silly. You don’t need to ask.”

She takes me in her arms. Hugging Abigail instantly calms me down. I love her like a sister. We met in freshman year, and we haven’t been apart since. I remember how we first met. We were both trying to move through the crowd of unfamiliar students when we bumped into each other. We started laughing at our clumsy encounter and immediately exchanged names and hobbies. When we realized we would have a lot of the same classes together, we couldn’t be happier to already know someone to talk to. While everyone else started to join clubs, we were comfortable spending time with just the two of us.

My first impression of her was that I instantly found her special because of her shoulder-length bright pink hair. She stands out next to everyone else here who always look like they coordinated their clothes and styles to appear more alike.

She is everything that I am not. To me, she represents the sun, vibrant and full of energy. I used to be a lot like her before adolescence turned me into a daughter of the moon, shy and usually kind of moody.

Luckily, there are still people like her who have the ability to light a spark in me and bring back that piece of my old self once in a while.

“What happened? Why didn’t you get much sleep?” she asks, mumbling the words in my hair.

My voice is barely a soft whisper when I break our hug to answer her. “I had a nightmare again.”

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?” she asks calmly, making sure I am comfortable enough to continue. This makes her an even more precious friend. She knows how on edge they can make me feel, and even if I’ve learned to speak up about it, I am glad she doesn’t push me to express myself if I’m not feeling up to it.

“It was the same one as always, only the beast got to me this time,” I admit because she is the only person I now trust the most to talk to when things get tough.

Unwelcome tears well up in my eyes as I recall the visions of last night. It all looked so vivid and real.

We sit down on my bed and take a moment of silence. The caressing motions of her fingers in my hair have the effect of a sleeping syrup, and soon enough, I sense my blue mood fade.

“I should get myself ready,” I say after a while.

When she doesn’t answer immediately, I add, “We are still planning on leaving the house, right?”

“No, I only came by to water your plants,” she jokes.

“Oh, OK. Well, the watering can is in the basement downstairs. You can go and get it,” I deadpan, playing along.

“That’s not funny, Shannon!” she exclaims, before waving me off. “Come on, get dressed.”

She waits on my bed, munching on a chocolate bar she’s just taken out of her bag as I try to pick an outfit in my closet.

“Don’t get any chocolate on my bed. You’re a clumsy one,” I tease and give her a wink. She sticks out her tongue in response.

Judging by the weather outside, it appears to be a warm day, but I don’t want to take any chances, so I choose a pair of straight light-blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a long black trench coat. The only thing left, is a pair of thick socks to put over my perpetually cold feet, and lastly some ankle-high brown leather boots. I take my bundle of clothes to the bathroom, where I quickly refresh myself and brush my teeth.

Watching myself in the mirror, my face still looks very zombie-like. I attempt to cover it up with my almost empty makeup bag, but without success. The only products I own are tinted sunscreen and a pair of tweezers, which I don’t even like to use. My mom gave them to me because she thought my full eyebrows were starting to look like the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. I never use it; I like them exactly how they are.

“Are you about ready? I finished my chocolate bar a long time ago,” Abigail calls from the adjoining room.

“Coming! I only need to pee, and then I’m ready. And hey, you’re no better than me! Now you know how I feel every time you spend so much time in the bathroom,” I shout back.

I’ve decided to leave my face the way it is, there is no point in trying anyway.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I can hear the laughter in her voice.

“Yeah, I bet you don’t,” I mutter sarcastically as I walk out of the bathroom.

“Finally,” she sighs dramatically.

I laugh. “Come on, let’s go.”

I pinch her thigh, and she squeals while teasing me back all the way down the stairs and out the door.

***

There is nothing much we can do in the village, but luckily for us, the big city Victoria is only a one-hour train ride away. I often wonder what it would be like to live there. To be in a place where not everybody knows you. Somewhere where one can simply disappear in the crowds.

All my life I’ve heard that small villages equal ‘safe’ in comparison to the city. This is probably true, but to me, a small village also means knowing every single person around you and the other way around. Everyone here always seems to have the same black-and-white view on things. Never moving forward.

I know I have nothing to whine about, the world has enough problems as it is. I can’t deny the fact that unlike other places, it’s beautiful and peaceful here. Still, I can’t help longing for some kind of change.

I shouldn’t have said anything about the weather before, because after a mere five minutes outside, it starts to pour. Thankfully, my coat is equipped with a hood, and Abigail was smart enough to bring an umbrella. You never know with our climate here in St. Germaine. Between the mountains, where the constant dark clouds are bound to clash against the rocks, our village has no place to hide from the storms.

We walk past the pine trees and the dark woods, our natural borders. I always imagine them to be our protectors from everything on the outside.

Aside from the news being broadcast on the square screens fixed on the trees lining the sidewalk, the streets are very quiet. These new high-tech gadgets tell me that they are slowly modernizing the village. In about ten years, I probably won’t be able to recognize it anymore. If I still live here, that is.

On the screens, the face of our local reporter states that the animal that slaughtered five people in the forest a few months ago still hasn’t been found.

Local authorities demand everyone to stay cautious in the woods and avoid hiking until the situation is deemed safe again.

There are plenty of wild animals in the woods, so the attacks aren’t a novelty; however, it’s been a while since they’ve reached so close.

They say it used to happen more frequently, but that was way before I was born. It always makes me think of all the newspapers lying around my nana’s house. She has kept a copy of every attack that’s happened over the last few decades. I’m not sure why, and I never dare to ask. It's the sort of thing people don’t like to bring up, and for once, I can understand why. It makes me jump out of my skin just thinking about it.

One nightmare a day is enough. Any more of them and I may change my mind and run back to my house. But Abigail is with me now, and by leaving I would also ruin her day. I don’t want to be that kind of friend.

I have avoided being around people too much already this spring break.

When we arrive at the station, we seat ourselves on one of the wooden benches to await the train. You could never exactly tell when one would arrive. We are too impatient to sit around and do nothing, so we decide to plan out our day on our phones. I’m about to open my notes app when an Instagram notification pos up on my screen.

“This can’t be right,” I say, cursing the sudden nervous flutter surging through my belly as my eyes lock onto the message.

“What is it?” Abigail slides in closer to take a look at what’s so important.

When it’s still there after I’ve refreshed my feed a couple of times, I point my finger toward Matt’s profile picture. “Look who liked the picture I posted yesterday.”

“So? It’s not like he’s done anything wrong, right?” She raises her eyebrows.

I shake my head. “No, not at all. It’s just strange. I thought he had blocked me on all of the socials. Why would he suddenly change his mind?”

“I guess it’s a little strange, yes, but maybe he’s realized it was a dick move. After all, you did nothing wrong.” She pats me on the leg as a sign of encouragement.

“Nothing that I know of anyway.” I rub my forehead as if it would help to make all the negativity go away. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s only a quick click on the phone, right? No big deal.”

But in fact, I do care, because he is giving me mixed signals.

“That’s right. Don’t let him inside your head,” she states resolutely.

I’m trying, I sigh inwardly.

We put away our phones and stand as the train eventually approaches. It’s a large, silver, metal-looking thing with spacious carriages and glass windows that take up the whole wagon. Another modern addition they added in the past year.

When we take our seats, I watch as Abigail takes another chocolate bar out of her bag.

“You are so...” My words trail off, “unbelievable. You’ve already eaten one bar this morning. It’s so unhealthy for your liver, Abigail. You know that, right?”

I don’t want to come across as a nosy know-it-all; I just care about her well-being.

I know a lot of people don’t like it when you point fingers at things they do, and neither do I, but sometimes I can’t help myself. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t say such things, so I hope she doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“But it tastes too good,” she says with her mouth full.

“Fine, it’s your body. You do you.” I raise my hands in defeat. “But only if I can have a piece as well.”

“Ah, see? I knew you would end up saying that eventually.” She wags her finger at me.

“Of course, it’s chocolate. Duh.” I shrug. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to exaggerate.”

We eat our chocolate in silence, enjoying how good it tastes, when Abigail pauses and goes, “Oh, I’ve got to tell you something.”

I wait before taking another bite and say, “That sounds serious. What is it?”

“No, no, it’s nothing serious.” She dismisses my thoughts. “I had a really, really funny dream last night.”

I smile. At least someone was having nice dreams. “Tell me all of it.”

She grins. “So, coincidentally enough, it was about chocolate.”

“Did you find a giant bar or something?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

“No, even better actually. It started by me waking up and finding a piece of chocolate by my bed, then another one by my door, then one on the stairs, and so on until outside. It traced all the way to the woods, and then there was a whole chocolate house.” Her hands are moving animatedly with her every word.

All the while, I’m giggling like a schoolgirl. The couple seated across from us is staring at me with their noses in the air, making me aware of how loud we sound compared to the stillness of the rest of the train.

My insecurities take the upper hand, and I catch myself obeying their wishes by lowering my voice in the hope it will make them look away.

“Why don’t I have dreams like that?”

“Maybe I just need to tell you more about my dreams, stimulate your brain,” Abigail says, completely in the dark about the dirty looks people are shooting us.

I hate the fact they are taxing Abigail and me this way. As if we aren’t allowed to converse in a public space.

I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat. “Even if you’d let a witch come and brainwash me, I’d be happy. Anything to make those nightmares go away.”

She looks at me sympathetically.

A long hour later, the train halts in Victoria.

As we step off, careful not to trip down the platform, I overhear the couple whispering about us. The gist of it is, they hope to never encounter us again.

I’m not usually this affected by other people’s actions, but with all of the unfairness I’ve felt this week and adding my lack of sleep to it, even something as stupid as this is ticking me off. I have the sudden need to say something, speak up for myself, but it would be no use now that they’ve already left.

Walking into the station, I forget about the couple and only have eyes for my surroundings. At the far end of the great hall in front of us, a large hourglass is ticking away time. There’s a pathway leading toward the entrance, with on either side a row of iron benches where people are awaiting departures or arrivals. But the most spectacular thing in here has to be the ceiling. It’s covered in all sorts of colorful paintings. Ships with huge white sails drift inside the drawing of a large map, and a couple of cherubs are portrayed flying through the clear blue sky.

It’s beautiful. Even though I come here every week, to get away from the quiet village, it still manages to take my breath away.

“Where do you want to go first?” Abigail asks, unaware of how enchanted I am by this place.

The sudden rumbling in my stomach brings me back to my senses. We left in such haste this morning that I completely forgot about breakfast. I’m glad that for the first time since the breakup, my body senses its basic needs again.

“I’m actually kind of hungry. Maybe we should get something to eat first.”