Come, Little Lamb

[Malocchio 983]

 

Crunch.

 

A scream followed the crackling sound as a maiden with coiled, rouge locks whipped around corner after corner. She held an expression of true horror upon her visage, engraved and petrified within her features.

 

Snap.

 

“Follow me, follow me!”

 

Heavy, forced breaths emitted from the lips of the Mali’ame as she frantically navigates her lithe figure through the endless forests bordering Laureh’lin; misty night air lingering just above the dampened grass, still a pursuit continuing on within the latest hours of the evening. “Please…” Alenesae cried out beneath in a pressed, hushed tone, her digits trailing against the sides of the familiar bark of oak trees. Faster and faster, the witching hour chase advanced, lacking a single chance of end. Under her frenzied, delirious exhales, the youthful ‘ame struggled to reel herself from the presence forcing itself upon her mind.

 

Meager sobs exude from the typically diminutive sorceress, helplessly running from something that . . .

 

. . . wasn’t even there.

 

The figure that tortured the mind of the girl was an uncomplicated being of shadows. Complied of darkness, silence and a bitter chill, the forest held no sound in her head except for the crunching of leaves, branches. The panting of the ‘ame herself and occasionally a voice of no familiar origin. At times, the voice reminded her of a child she once met in the Kingdom of Oren long ago. Who was the blossoming youth that encouraged her to flee the chilling being that pursued her? She knew not.

 

As the night terror neared its end story, one face lingered within the idle, dark thoughts of the midnight slumber. That of an ‘aheral male, crisp white locks, a charming, fox-like grin enchanting his already alluring features. She knew his name - she certainly did indeed. But they haunted her dreams and why, she still was clueless. The closure of the terrifying nightmare finalized with an outstretched hand, offered by that of the warlock who looked down upon the defenseless, vulnerable lamb that found herself wretched into the dirt after taking a waywards fall.

 

With hesitation, Alenesae’s slender fingers neared the pale, bony ones of the venomously bewitching reaper who looked down to the distressed girl, her face dampened in saline droplets, reddened with exhausted heat. “Come, little lamb. We’ll get you out of here.”

 

“I’ll take care of you. He won’t hurt you anymore - that bad, bad man . . .”

 

Then it all dispersed.

 

Drenched in sweat, still catching her breath from such a lucid terror of the dusk, Alenesae turns about within the bed to peer over at an empty bed, the man in which put a beautiful, ornate silver band upon her left hand gone in the rising hours. She raised both hands, slicking back her bedewed, crimson curls slowly, pondering upon the thoughts which disrupted her usually peaceful sleep. Drifting towards the edge of the bed, she curls her trembling digits into the linen that covered the place of rest, panning quietly around the vacant room.

 

It was far too late.

 

An excruciating pain struck her directly at side of her spine, causing her to make a gasping attempt at a scream of pain, though not a single noise would come out. In an anguished, bewildered moment of true shock, Alenesae gave a rigid incline of her head leftwards to stare back at the figure with audibly lingered just behind her small frame, a low chuckle emitting from the man’s thin lips. A searing, harsh wave of agony swarmed her senses as she reached back to touch the cold object which struck her deeply, seeping into the cruel realization that the reaper was indeed that fascinating, luring Mali’aheral who ‘saved’ her from the terror she slept in had took her life.

 

“I’ll take care of you, little lamb. You’re safe.”

 

That’s when Alenesae truly woke up.

 

In a still, panting wakening, the ‘ame reeled her figure from the sheets she had nearly tossed entirely off her body during these horrific dreams. Slowly, a few fingers slipped towards the spot in which the ‘aheral struck during her night terror, pleasantly acknowledging that not a damp substance was in that specific spot.

She was safe.

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

Alrian would kick his feet up on his bed, the darkened packages below his eyes twitching as he looks to the stone ceiling. His orbs would remain motionless, lips parting to relinquish a sigh. For a moment he'd think... Before murmuring a few words to himself,

 

"Why so sheepish?"

 

"Would she have stayed?"

 

"Perhaps I should curse the lamb's shepherd to his grave."

 

The Mali'aheral would sigh once more, bringing the covers over his frame before shutting his eyes...

[Guest]

The Lord of Torment slumbers, awaiting the time where he might take revenge on he who slew the shepherd.

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.