i eat death by the fistful

zelda clarke. 24. fire fae.

[zeldaclarke]

marjorieives‌:

“Ah, that is where you are mistaken.” Marjorie chuckled, a spark of an enthusiastic need to see Zelda taking her first bite of a real homemade pie. By the looks of her, Marjorie feared that the fae rarely had someone make a real meal. The kind of meal that not only filled a belly but satisfied the soul. “A pie can be anything it wants to be. It can be sweet, but it can also be savory and rich.” She continued, reciting her mother’s words as if they were said yesterday. “Made with love and enough butter to clog your arteries.”

The burst of warmth made Marjorie jump back, she was sure the ablaze had singed brows straight off her face. Luckily, she hadn’t been close to the flames. “Goodness, even Hades felt that. I forgot you could do that.” She gave Zelda a sheepish smile as she continued to feed the fire with a couple more logs. Without wanting Zelda to notice, Marjorie eyed her gloved hands, wondering what kept her so closed off.

Before she could ask about the gloves, Zelda’s question made her forget all about it. “Of course, I do, dearest. Just give me ten minutes and you’ll see what I meant by a savory pie. How about you set one of the tables and I’ll join you.” And in exactly ten minutes, Marjorie had warmed up the dinner, along with a couple of apple and caramel tarts.

“There you go!” She sang brightly, placing the steaming pie before Zelda’s seat then plotted herself across from her. Placing her chin in the palm of her hand, doing her best to wait patiently for Zelda to take a bite. “Now, I hope this means you won’t be sneaking in here to only eat cookies. Not when I have the refrigerator filled with proper food.”

The fae did as Marjorie asked, slipping into a twisted sort of domesticity as she set the table to the best of her ability, likely setting a fork or spoon out of place. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the silverware, near-shocked to find how gaunt she looked even despite the spoon’s distortion. With cheeks sunken-in, and nothing but pallid color in the place of brights or rose, Zelda grimaced at the thought that someone veritably undead appeared more alive than her.

Silently, she mused over her host, deciding that it was simultaneously easy and complicated to be near Marjorie, in all her warmth and loveliness. Those were facets of the blonde that Zelda basked in, but ones that she also coveted with unceasing fervor as the cold of Ashbourne began to settle under her skin. The realization tempted her instinct to bolt, to run from any sign of someone safe, because safe typically meant undeserving of the usual storm and stress Zelda brought with her. 

And just as quick as the thought came, it left, veritably banished as Marjorie entered the room, and Zelda had a forkful of the savory pie in her mouth mere moments after. “Shit, Marj. That’s fuckin’ good,” she extolled in between bites, a short and quiet precursor to devouring all that had been placed in front of her. She let Marjorie’s comment hang in the air for a few moments before she fidgeted with the silverware, mouth opening a few times with the promise of something to say and failing each time. 

The word ‘sorry’ hid just behind her teeth, not foreign exactly, and yet tasting very much like a bitter pill Zelda refused to swallow. Her nature was to be unapologetic, living with no remorse other than for the years she had lost to flame and ash, but Marjorie -- light and kindness incarnate -- had seemingly pulled her out of that mentality at every turn since she’d arrived in the eerie town. “Yeah, I guess breaking and entering your shop isn’t really in the cards for me anymore,” Zelda offered in place of a proper apology, and shoved a forkful of caramel tart in her mouth. “But that tea shop downtown should watch out.” She laughed out a short chuckle, maybe her first true, comfortable laugh since arriving in the town. “Listen, I, uh... The place I’m at right now, it doesn’t have running water. Think I could maybe crash at yours again tonight?” Zelda asked, eyes raising to meet the other woman only once the question escaped. “Or, you know, never mind. Sorry.”

[zeldaclarke]

diabolics‌:

“Do you want to find out?” There was a bite to his words, his jaw was tight with restrained anger and the glint in his eyes spoke of spite. Others would’ve backed away, but she walked in his direction instead, chin high and not a hint of fear in her demeanor. Oh, she meant business, with fire still burning bright in her palm. He could feel its warmth on his skin and the horrid scent of burnt leather that came from his jacket. The vampire squinted his eyes in disbelief. “Are you threatening me?” 

Philippe scoffed out a chuckle, angered further by her every word. “Your self-defense means nothing in here, haven’t you heard?” The people of Ashbourne liked to think they had the town under control, that there was a sense of law and justice and that they could be protected. The truth was they were living in a town where people went missing far too often to raise suspicions. There was only one rule: don’t get caught. “I am someone who wants to take a walk without getting torched. What are you doing here?”

While spitting venom in the form of fighting words and burning fists was her default, it almost felt foreign for someone to throw it all back in her direction, meeting her stubbornness at every move. Zelda decided with reluctant interest that she didn’t despise it, after all, and instead found humor in this little game of cat and mouse. “Hmm. Maybe. Or maybe I’m just having a little fun,” she retorted, extinguishing the flame in the knowledge that it had served its purpose, which, as was her penchant, was to scare.

An easy adversary likely didn’t make for an immediate confidante, and so it wouldn’t do to be upfront and forward with her intentions just yet. “Same as you, more or less,” Zelda started, retrieving the gloves tucked into her back pocket. She slipped them on in stunted silence and donned them dramatically, making a show of the mundane action to make it clear she wouldn’t attack him -- unless threatened, of course. The fae withdrew from her usual fire and fury once she realized that he could be of assistance to her, her tone instead dropping to something decidedly more calm. “I haven’t been here long, and I don’t know the woods well... but it could be a good night for a tour, don’t you think?” 

[zeldaclarke]

@ashfilledsoul

Zelda walked into the Black Diamond Club like a stray cat who knew precisely which number life it was on, head held high and moral compass buried under long black gloves and a lapse in inhibition. She settled in quickly, and once a few shots of clear, biting liquor hit her throat, she scanned the room for the company of someone she didn’t have to try hard to know or try hard to forget once the sun rose again. Her gaze settled on the long tendrils of blonde at the opposite end of the bar, the woman's face hidden in the dim light. The anonymity didn't matter much to the fae, for in this moment of tipsy haze, starved for feeling and hopelessly one-track minded, Zelda wanted little more than to strum through that golden cascade and feel the silk of each strand.  

She ordered two shots of vodka and walked them over to the woman, setting one down on the bartop in the blonde's line of sight. “Hey, blondie.” Zelda started, and downed her own shot in one, eyes squeezed shut to accommodate the burn. “Your turn,” the fae offered with a satisfied smirk, though her countenance slipped as soon as she saw the unknowingly familiar face. Naturally, she rolled her eyes, mentally cursing at fate and the invisible hand that pushed together two women who were better off far and away from each other -- and preferably without the flirtatious aims of one falling on the deaf ears of the other. 

“Well, fuck my luck.”

[zeldaclarke]

If you could, would you give up your powers?

“I’ve had a few drinks tonight, so what the hell? You wanna know what having these powers is like? ‘Powers’ – What a word. They’re powers to people like you, maybe, but to me? It’s a curse I can’t control. I’m always burning up, like there’s fire under my skin, stinging and scorching my body because it’s dying to get out and away from me, and into the world. 

You know why I’m always wearing these fucking gloves? Touching anything other than myself is too big a risk. It’s like my hands are covered with a gasoline that doesn’t smell, doesn’t drip – it’s just there, always on the verge of igniting. I can’t pet a dog or touch someone the way I want to without thinking that I might cause them to just…incinerate right in front of my fuckin’ eyes. And you know the worst of it? I live knowing that I-I won’t ever know the pain that they did. I can’t even be hurt by this thing that just causes endless pain and misery and destruction.”

“I didn’t want to be this way, certainly never asked for it. But, I’m here, and all I can do while I’m stuck here is...learn who the fuck I am and control this shit. So, no, I wouldn’t give them up. Taking them away now doesn’t mean the past would be any different.”

[zeldaclarke]

What was your last dream or nightmare like?

“Well, my most recent dream isn’t exactly G-rated, if you catch my drift. As for a nightmare… I’m not sure I have them anymore. This town is enough of one to serve in that capacity, and any nighttime frights don’t come from what happens in fantasy land. The nightmares I get are always of stuff that’s already happened: fire consuming a whole town, bodies burning... When I close my eyes, I can still smell it, their flesh melting, like it’s right under my nose. Like it's happening all over again.”

“I have a nightmare every time I close my fucking eyes, so you'd think that, when my eyes are open, I wouldn't be stuck looking at this empty glass. An empty glass in an empty bar's a damn nightmare like no other.”

[zeldaclarke]

If you had to choose one animal to help you win a fight, which animal would you choose?

“Something rare, but powerful. Like a jaguar. That way, whoever I’m fighting would be so awestruck at the beast that I’d get the first chance to really hit ‘em where it hurts.”

[zeldaclarke]

What is your favorite part about Ashbourne?

“In terms of a specific place, anywhere Marjorie's at because the woman can't stop feeding me and I'm not one to turn down free food. As for the town, generally speaking... Well, the liquor’s half-decent, the people are pretty, and the beds don’t squeak. You can draw your own conclusions.”

[zeldaclarke]

What is your biggest fear?

“Why should I be afraid of anything at all? I’m human gasoline, my fingers are matchsticks burning at both ends. I’m not scared of anything.”

“Then again, if this is hell or purgatory or whatever.. Nothing can fuck you harder than Father Time, right? S’pose we’re all a little afraid of time, afraid of losing out on however much of it we have left. Knowing that our days are numbered but not knowing which number we’re on? That can fuck with some people. Myself, included.”

[zeldaclarke]

What's the worst thing you've seen happen at the theatre?

“The bathroom stalls after the weekly Senior Citizen’s Discount Day. You’d think by now that some of them would have learned how to aim... Honestly, I’d take Bloody Mary staring back at me in a mirror over that any day of the damn week.”

[zeldaclarke]

Anon Day.

[melodrqmas]

I could no longer distinguish people from monsters.

—tahereh mafi, a very large expanse of sea

[willowxwispxrp-blog]

What Words We Have

[zeldaclarke]

willowxwispxrp‌:

The girl had secrets clinging to the fingertips that flinched away from the shelf. An air of wayward quiet panic seemed to radiate from her, though that wasn’t an uncommon vibe to get from newcomers. “Don’t take it personally,” Willow offered, stepping closer and giving the warmest smile she possessed. “For a second “new” is all anybody is here. It defines you for the first few weeks. A new person comes in and people are reminded that there is, in fact, a world outside this place. It makes us happy or sad or some nostalgic combination of both. But Zelda is a very very pretty name and it will wrap itself around people’s tongues soon enough.”  She took the hand that was offered to her without hesitation. “I’m Willow. Welcome to town. Which I know…sounds overly cheery a greeting considering the nature of this place, but, I feel weird meeting new people and saying “Hey there, sorry you’re in this shithole now too” ya know?”

She considered the request with a soft hum, and then half danced to the right, pushing up on her tip toes to reach a book on the top shelf. “You want The Bestiary,” she mused, two hands suffering under the weight of a heavy leatherbound book. “Now no one claims that anything here is absolutely all compasing. Not everyone is upforth about their species, and there’s kind of a shaky line between what we consider high functioning members of this town and say … the boggarts in the woods. But this is a rough framework of what makes up a good amount of our townsfolk.” Like all the books in the library, this one could not be taken outside, a heavy magicked chain linking it to the shelf. “We can’t really do lending, each book was transcribed by hand and there’s only one…but you’re welcome to sit at this table over here, the chain will stretch as long as you need it.”

It was not in Willow’s nature to come out the bat morose and negative, but she was also a realist. “This might give you some basic information. I’m sorry to say most of it probably won’t make the big picture of this town any less confusing. I was born here and even I don’t understand most of this town and how it functions.”

“People calling me ‘new’ is a compliment compared to some of the other stuff that’s been thrown my way,” Zelda commented with a shrug, already feeling as though she’d said too much about herself, given too much of herself away. A name was one thing, but a history? That was a person’s entire universe, an eternity contained only in their minds, the hallmarks of their past that informed their future. “Well, ‘Zelda’ is the only name I’ve got, so I guess the town’s gonna have to get used to it. Although, I can’t say it’s the part of me I most like -- how’d you say it? -- wrapped around someone’s tongue.” The brunette quipped with a wink, a lopsided smirk turning the corners of her lips upwards in smug retort.

As the smaller girl spoke, Zelda listened as intently as she could manage, though the string of unfamiliar words and phrases incited in her such an incredulity that she couldn’t help but knit her brows in confusion, almost hard enough to cause a headache. “Great, guess I’ll start there.” Her reply was a truth in half, words to cover up her bewilderment at unlearning the rules of the world from where she came. She eyed the tome with a leery suspicion, as though prying it open would mean she’d be sucked in, body and soul. Perhaps the true curse of the town was not just the prison created by earth and antipathy, but that its inhabitants were doomed to search for answers until their last day, even if there simply were no answers to be had.

Willow seemed of sound enough mind to be believed, which prompted Zelda to ask, with as much indifference as she could muster, “Got anything on fire?” She hoped the root of her question wasn’t terribly obvious, but with gloves on her hands and a clear avoidance of touching paper, she assumed the girl would draw the dots eventually. Her eyes scanned the shelves of books again -- yet another pretense; her gaze was a waste, skimming over spines with a hesitant unfamiliarity as though reading titles alone could answer her questions. “So, the forest guards the town and these chains guard the library books...” Zelda mused, wrapping the metal shackles around her wrist and undoing it once she’d had her fun. “Is there any place in this godforsaken town that doesn’t need restraints?” 

[zeldaclarke]

marjorieives‌:

With a tilt of her head, Marjorie wasn’t surprised to be greeted with snarky remarks and hostility. In her short time of knowing Zelda, she had learned it was far better to ignore the fae’s attempts at being difficult. Just like a hurt animal, a little tenderness was what she needed at the moment despite her apparent distaste for it. “The town does. Although, they wouldn’t like to be called considering I do not have a real emergency.” She answered carefully before adding, “Would you like a glass of milk?” She raised a brow, noticing how much Zelda appeared to be famished. How long has she gone without a proper meal?

“There’s no milk as I used it all up to make hot cocoa.” Taking the tray of cookies far away from Zelda, she pressed her lips firmly.  “No more sweets. Not until after dinner or else you’ll get a terrible belly ache. How does Shepard’s pie sound? I fear that’s all I have ready. Although, I could also whisk a couple of eggs.”

Seeing as she would never allow Zelda to eat her dinner cold, Marjorie set to lighting the oven which had grown cold. With an armful of wood, she kneeled at the opening of the oven, placing each log inside. Then as she began to pat the pocket of her sweater she realized she had, once again, misplaced the matches. “Where on earth did I put those matches? If my head was firmly attached to my shoulders, I would surely lose my head. Would be a dear and see if they are by the register?”

Zelda decided long ago that anonymity suited her better, and moved among the shadows as a result, leaving little more than a trail of smoke in her wake. Since arriving in Ashbourne, she’d mostly succeeded in that up until this very moment, when golden light in the form of Marjorie Ives made her presence known, casting Zelda’s darkness far and away.

A scowl formed as the tray of cookies left her hands, growing deeper as the blonde insisted on mothering her. “Pie? Wouldn’t that just be more sweets?” The brunette asked naively, a hint of hungry skepticism gnawing at her words. She bit her lip before speaking further, choosing instead to study the woman and the place they found themselves in. It’d be so easy to just steal what she could and make a run for it; more than easy, it’d be a repetition of the past, an act of selfish self-preservation that once again reared its ugly head.

But, really, how cruel could one be to someone who offered warmth and sustenance to a stranger?

Remaining silent, her gaze followed Marjorie as she fretted about the oven, hand reaching out to the counter to sneak a nearby bread roll into her jacket pocket. With an innate snap of her fingers, a fire sparked from the logs, bright and lucid, and immediately filling the room with distinct warmth. Zelda realized retroactively that her action may have startled the woman, and so turned her sight to the floor, uncertain if she could survive the kindness in Marjorie’s eyes turning to stony disdain. “So, about this hot chocolate... Got any extra?” Privately, she hoped the blonde would understand that her question, past its nonchalance and veritable hunger, meant that she wanted to stay this time, if Marjorie would still allow her.

[willowxwispxrp-blog]

What Words We Have

[zeldaclarke]

willowxwispxrp‌:

@zeldaclarke

The library of Ashbourne was not the biggest establishment to be found in town. People had told her stories of libraries with more than one floor, with shelves so high you needed a ladder to reach them. But in this town people had to make do with what words they had, with what stories they found or could remember. Many deemed it unimportant, told Willow she was wasting her time. But when she saw people wander in the building clearly looking for answers or escape … she knew every book on the shelf mattered to them. 

Fiction and fantasy were popular for obvious reasons…escape…escape into other worlds other stories, something bigger than this town. But their local history section was also popular. Everyone thought that maybe just maybe they’d open the pages to a book written by other people that had lived here and some detail would make sense of this place for them. All those people left disappointed in the end, because Ashbourne just didn’t add up, but the autonomy of putting energy into a search was cathartic, she supposed. 

“Not sure where to start?” She’d approached a girl in the local history section, who had been staring at the shelves for a good five minutes. New … she was new…there were a few new people in town but Willow didn’t remember this ones name. Normally she volunteered at The Hub too, offered to help people get settled, give tours, give starter baskets of food and necessities, but she’d been slacking. Offering her hand to the woman, Willow smiled. “I’m Willow … you’re new, right? What question are you hoping to answer first, I can tell you which book to start with. There’s only so much history to this town and I’ve been reading these books since I was a kid looking for answers.”

When fire crawled under your skin, a library was not a place you could call home. To Zelda, it provided no sanctuary, no comfort. The only certainty a hall of books could provide was that, no matter if your questions were answered, or if you found yourself beautifully lost in the stories of somewhere else, you would always return exactly where you were, in the body of a nearly corporeal god. 

And so, knowing the consequence of what might happen should those godly powers find their way from behind her bones and out into extremity, Zelda grazed the books on the shelves with leather-gloved fingertips, barely touching their spines. Truthfully, she had no idea where to start; this world was all foreign to her, and the few volumes she’d dared skimmed through left her brain heavy with the unknown.

A girl’s voice pulled her from shameless wonder, and she pulled her hands away from the shelves with the sharpness of child caught stealing from the cookie jar. “New? Yeah, that seems to be my name around here, but Zelda works too.” The brunette extended her hand, not bothering to remove the glove. “Uh... I’m not even sure I know the question I’m trying to ask...” Her voice trailed off as she returned her gaze to the shelves, mind screaming, “Something on why my hands can raise fire from the ground and how to control it would be nice.” She chose instead to request something decidedly more generic. “Maybe just something on the kinds of people who live here? Seems to be a, uh...lively bunch of weirdos around town. But, honestly, I’ll take any answers you’ve got. You been here awhile?”

[zeldaclarke]

diabolics‌:

Walking the edge of town had been the closest to freedom he’d been in what felt like ages. In truth he’d only been in Ashbourne for a few months, but for someone who’d been moving from place to place all his life, the notion of living in a cage was too terrifying to bear another minute trapped in there. 

The unsettling feeling made him restless and he walked and walked with no destination in mind, immersed in memories instead, all the haunting what ifs that would color his past from then on. Let them be wrong, his mind begged, holding on to a fragile hope he didn’t believe in, but wanted to.

It was per chance that his mind was distracted by noise, a soft ruffled of leaves, something imperceptible to human hearing. The vampire came to a halt, turning his head to face the woods. It was out of curiosity and need for a distraction that he wandered past the treeline, looking for the source of the noise. It could’ve been a wild boggart, or something even more challenging, but nothing could be as terrible as living in his head right now. 

In hindsight, he could’ve been more careful, quieter and cautious, but he wasn’t, and in his rush, he’d made as much noise as he’d heard, if not more. Fire rose from the ground, no questions asked, and though he stilled and threw himself back, it caught on to the sleeve of his jacket. Panic rumbled in his chest and he struggled to peel it off, throwing it at the dirt floor and stepping on the fabric to put off the fire.

“Are you a moron?!” His voice thundered through the claring. “We are trapped in a town surrounded by the woods and you want to set it on fire?” He wouldn’t admit to the startle in his chest. Fear was beneath his ranks, after all, he was a Regium.

This was the thing about venturing into a jungle, a forest, or any secret-keeper shrouded by trees, fog, and the cover of night: a girl could only hunt for so long before becoming hunted herself, turning to prey as soon as a predator laid eyes on her. What a lucky thing it was that Zelda’s camouflage came in the form of pure light, to banish whatever dark soul approached her now.

“What, a magic forest can’t take a little heat?” She jeered at the unknown man as the ring of fire receded back into the earth, leaving a heady spark levitating above Zelda’s right hand. The initial flames were blinding, burning white-hot in anticipatory offense. Now, the glow emanating from her fingertips provided enough light to catch a glimpse of the man’s face, the countenance still mostly unknown to her, but forever emblazoned in her brain. 

Her gaze settled on his jacket, dirt settling into its newly-frayed edges, and she squared her shoulders in light of his jibe. Zelda knew that, had she intercepted his location just moments earlier, the jacket would not be the only one with edges turned to ash -- or so her adrenaline allowed her to believe. “Consider it a warning shot,” she offered nonchalantly, nodding to the jacket.

The fae took a few steps closer to the stranger, forever one to walk headfirst towards danger just to see what it looked like on the other side. “Firing a warning shot means any subsequent actions -- lethal as they may be -- are in self-defense.” In the space between them, her right hand raised to bring the fire closer to the man, an act that wasn’t quite a threat, but a suggestion, a taste of what may come. “Who are you and what do you want?”

[zeldaclarke]

marjorieives‌:

@zeldaclarke

Marjorie had been raised to be a fighter. To roll up her sleeves and get to work when life got too hard. To keep her head high whenever she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. However, with evil growing in Ashbourne, in addition to the arrival of her sire, Marjorie’s fight was losing its grit. She felt small, hopelessness growing inside of her like ticking bomb. At least in her little bakery, with its shelves full of baked goods and sweet aroma of bread, it was easy to forget, even for a little while.

With the Christmas Market coming around the corner, Marjorie needed to finalize the menu for her holiday stall and what better way to do that then to experiment on a new recipe. Whipping up a peppermint chocolate pie recipe, she hummed softly to herself as she whisked the ingredients together. Not enough butter, she thought as she raised her whisk, the mix too runny for her liking. As the butter was stored in the back, she kept on whisking, making her way through the swinging door that separated the front of the bakery from the back. And she would have reached for the lights if it hadn’t been for the faint outline of a dark figure already rummaging through the contents of the fridge. “Oh!” She yelped, jumping back, the bowl of chocolate mousse crashing onto the floor as she fumbled with the light switch. “Zelda!’ Marjorie gave a sigh of relief before pulling her into a tight embrace. “You’re horrid for giving me such a fright. But I’m so glad to see you again.” Her relief to see her friend again washed away her fear, her eyes shined with genuine joy. “Well, now I know who to blame for the missing cookies.” She teased Zelda as she pulled away.

Breaking and entering was not just second nature to Zelda Clarke; it was her nature, the inclination towards single-handed self-preservation providing an undercurrent to nearly every action she’d taken since her powers manifested. The bakery, and the baker herself, had given the fae sanctuary when she most needed it, arriving to the town with her body beaten and soul numbed. In return, Zelda had shown her thanks by escaping as quickly and quietly as she could, swearing to both rely solely on herself and never again bring the potential for harm into the kind woman’s home. Her eyes barely had a chance to adjust to the light before she was caught in the arms of the pretty blonde, while her ears struggled even more to adjust to hearing her given name in pleasant exclamation, rather than the usual anger or frustration. After a few moments, Zelda pulled away sharply, confusion shaping the features of her striking countenance. Whatever words she may have wanted to say were suppressed in her throat, escaping only as a vague, mumbled noise of surprise. Thankfully, Marjorie spoke first, her politeness in the face of a veritable criminal, frankly, alarming. 

“Yeah, well... Take it as a compliment: I wouldn’t be coming back if they weren’t edible.” The brunette deadpanned, offering the smallest hint of a smirk before hopping up to sit on the counter. She popped a piece of cookie in her mouth before asking, “So, does this town have some police watchdogs or something that you’re gonna call on me? Or are you gonna play good cop and give me a glass of milk for these cookies?”

[zeldaclarke]

@diabolics

Each second dragged on with an enduring chill that brought a quiver to her breath and sent tremors down her spine. Sure, she’d been warned about Ashbourne’s forest too many times to count since arriving in the eerie town – but she’d been warned about a great many things before and still dove in headfirst without remorse. Perhaps this sense of determination was in her blood, passed down from generations yet explored, a lineage unknown, secrets to be unraveled. Or, perhaps it was the symptom of all monsters, forever chained to the pursuit of what was always just out of reach.

Zelda’s hands patted the damp earth of the forest clearing, searching blindly for what was pure mystery to her still. Naturally, such a cursory exploration didn’t make way for a revelation, and so the fae entered the woods, sticking closely to the outskirts of the forest, lest the townspeople’s warnings rang true. As she searched for any sign of the fairy gravesite, moments – or perhaps longer still – passed; the forest was a liminal space of sorts, time a nonexistent concept when one combated the whispers of the woods, murmurs interrupting the preternatural hush.

However, the forest’s sounds were not the only disruption to the eerie quiet. Leaves shuffled some distance behind her, twigs and branches snapping, likely giving way to some person or creature. Without warning or instruction, flames rose from the ground, creating an immediate barrier between Zelda and whatever might be out there.

“Come on!” She whispered viciously, as the shape of a man emerged from the firelight. Fatality was only a moment’s breadth away.