Chapter Text
The wind let out a mournful cry, whipping up the snowflakes.
Each one stung Emma’s skin, little pellets of ice. She shaded herself under a thick-branched tree, tucking herself in her tattered capelet as best as she could. Her breath misted and ghosted before her, and she shrunk down to her knees, desperately rubbing her skin with her hands. Not only could she no longer feel her fingertips, but the winter chill had spread to her limbs. It hurt to move. Perhaps, by tucking into herself like this, partially hidden from the snowstorm’s wrath, her body heat would gradually warm her.
It was a desperate thought. As time moved on, and the sky, an endless sea of silver, showed no signs of clearing, Emma felt hope wane like the winter sun.
Perhaps she’d die here. Slowly and painfully. Nobody would find her body, not until springtime at the very least. She bowed her head onto her lap, feeling a hot sting in her eyes. How ironic. Here she was, running away, only to be swept away by nature’s cruel whims.
But perhaps dying was better than going back to her old life.
The howling wind sounded like various voices. The call of a wolf, the cry of a girl, the yell of a huntsman. Sometimes Emma thought she could hear voices she recognised. Sometimes she felt like the voices were coming closer, from right behind her, prowling in the fog.
Sometimes she felt like something was touching her arms and her hair.
She wasn’t sure when it happened, but the voices became clearer enough for words to be discernible. She could hear a kind and quiet voice, barely audible within the storm’s cry. It talked to her like she was a child. A child that was lost. She couldn’t remember what the words were, however, and she couldn’t remember when the words suddenly stopped.
-
Dark. Dark. It was dark. What was that smell? It was familiar. Was she home again? No. She couldn’t be. She ran away weeks ago. She travelled across the entire country. They couldn’t have found her.
She was slowly regaining sight, seeing a blur of orange and yellow in the darkness. But she felt strange and floaty, like she no longer had a body. Was she dreaming? Was she dying?
She couldn’t move. It was like she forgot how to. But her vision had adjusted. She could make out the shape of an oil lamp, its flame flickering in the dark. She groaned, and it felt like her throat was full of thorns.
There was a noise. A stir, from close by, but she couldn’t see it.
“You’re awake,” stated a male voice. He sounded husky. Tired. But Emma was strangely relieved that it was unfamiliar. It dispelled the notion that her family could’ve found her.
Emma tried to verbalise a response, but emitted a pathetic croak instead. It hurt to speak.
She heard him bustling, getting closer, and finally saw a shadowed figure, crouching beside her. Only one of his eyes were visible, but it reflected concern all the same. He lifted a cup beside her.
“Water with lemon and honey,” he said, “It’s warm. It will help.”
He lifted it to her mouth, and she drank for what felt like the first time in eternity. She drank it all at once, feeling her energy slowly seep back into her. And finally, once she regained herself, and he placed the cup down, she could speak again.
“Where am I?”
The figure regarded her calmly, and, strangely enough, spoke with little concern, “We’re in an area next to the Forgotten Woods. I found you half-frozen in that forest.”
Emma didn’t recognise the name. “The Forgotten…Woods?”
“I don’t know why you walked in there, given its reputation,” said the man, “but it’s no wonder you got lost.”
Emma regarded him with wide eyes. He could see the confusion written all over her face.
He gestured at himself, and changed the subject. “My name is Ray. Right now, you’re in the stables next to the house I… reside in.”
As if on cue, a nearby horse let out a trill.
Emma deflated. No wonder the animal-scent was familiar. She used to work a lot at the stables back at home. And the spongy feeling beneath her body – she was resting atop a stack of hay.
“Now, this is the part when you tell me who you are,” Ray said, settling himself on the stable floor.
“It’s…Emma,” when she spoke, her voice felt foreign to her. It’d been such a long time since she’d talked to anyone. “I was…I was in the nearby town, a few days ago, when I wanted to go to the forest to gather hawthorn berries. By the time I’d gathered some, and I turned to go back, I found myself lost. And I walked around for… three days.” her face crinkled in grief, “And then the storm started. And I thought I was g-good for dead -”
She willed herself to stop, stop before she could divulge into a self-pitying mantra, and looked away.
Ray regarded her silently.
“That would be a stupid way to die, wouldn’t it?” Emma mumbled. “Getting lost in the forest, after gathering medicinal berries. And yet I don’t… understand how. I definitely made my way back the way I came. I recognised the trees. It was like the forest was…endless.”
Ray gave no response to her statements. “Emma. Don’t you have a surname?”
She felt her throat dry. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Alright.” Ray relaxed his stance, and Emma was thankful he respected her privacy. He moved on to gesture at Emma’s arms, “Emma, I’ve looked at your injuries – I didn’t strip you down or anything, don’t worry - but you do have mild frostbite. I've stopped the affected skin from getting any colder though, so there won’t be any permanent damage. I’ve been tending to it with warm ointments, and I’ve wrapped you in some old fabrics. You should be better soon.” For a moment, he appeared reluctant to say what he wanted to next, “But your uh…arms, those injuries might need more attention.”
“I’ll worry about those later,” Emma said, a little too quickly, and it was left at that.
She wrinkled her nose. Ray’s treatment explained why there was a bitter medicinal tang wafting in the air.
“How long have I been here?” Emma asked.
“I found you yesterday at noontime. It’s been a day and a bit since. It’ll be getting dark outside soon.”
Emma let out a shaky breath, feeling a faint ebb of pain in her lungs, “It’s the first time I’ve slept properly in three days.” She admitted. She regarded him with stern curiosity. “But I’ve got to ask. Why did you help me?”
“Who wouldn’t help a person who’s stranded in the middle of nowhere?”
Her expression hardened, and she looked away. “Most people.”
The conversation lulled, and Emma noticed the wind outside – not only had the snowstorm not stopped, but it seemed to have gotten stronger, hissing and crying against the stable walls, as if wanting to be let in.
Emma felt fear building up within her, and with an impulsive streak, asked the question which nagged her mind, “Ray. Are you planning on …assaulting me?”
Ray gave an airy laugh, which surprised her a bit. “If I had picked you up and carried you for two miles, tended to your ailments and left you a warm place to sleep… I don’t think I would’ve gone through all that effort just to bring you harm again.”
Emma felt herself calm ever so slightly at that.
Ray rose to his feet. “Anyway, I left a loaf of bread in your bag – and no, it isn’t poisoned. Managed to sneak out with it earlier. I’ll be back in a few hours to bring you fresh food. Get some more rest. You’ll need it.” he said.
“But… wait -” Emma bumbled, her anxiety returning. She felt a restlessness stir inside her upon seeing the boy rise, as she missed having company, and she too wanted to get up with such ease.
“What do you mean ‘sneak out’?” she asked, gradually becoming more lucid. “Is there a place nearby? A house?”
Ray hesitated, a heaviness in the air around him. “Yes. Yeah. There is a…house, a rather large house out here. But they… can’t know that I’m keeping you here.”
Emma gathered all her meagre strength to prop herself up from her elbows, ignoring the burn in her ribs.
“They?” She asked, “Who are – oh, can’t you just take me there, to the house?”
“Absolutely not. You’re in no condition to move,” Ray said, clearly having noticed her strained effort. “No. That would be dangerous. Not only because of how you are right now, but they are most certainly not the kind of crowd you want to interact with, let alone stay with, all right?”
“They can’t possibly be as bad as the people back at my home,” Emma rebutted.
“I can assure you, they are.”
Ray was heading away already, walking across the rickety, hay-laden floorboards.
Emma felt fear nip at her mind, as prevalent as the frost that had crept onto her skin. But no matter how much she scrambled for a good reason, she couldn’t think of anything. “Please, Ray. I don’t like it here. It’s scary.”
She sounded like a child. Ray paused in his tracks for a moment, before leaving the stable for good.
-
Emma tried to sleep. She really did. But whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see, amidst the storm of static beneath her eyelids, were the faces of the people who haunted her. And the wind continued outside, scratching the walls, trying to talk to her. She covered her ears with her plastered hands, but the wind still prevailed within her head, ringing in her mind.
She eventually grew sick of it. With her joints no longer cold, she’d torn off the extra layers of fabric that swaddled her, only to have the hay she rested upon poke into her skin. She sat herself up slowly, body stiff from her lack of exercise. She leant over to her bag, grasped the bread-loaf and drink Ray had left, and wolfed it all down.
There were few things Emma couldn’t stand. Isolation was one of them. She’d go crazy from bed rest.
Emma stumbled to her feet, breaths coming out ragged. Her body felt heavy. She did a couple exercises – stretched her arms and legs, moved her limbs about – before donning her dried shoes, her bag, and the waning lantern.
As she trudged through the stable, it was noticeable how unusual the horses appeared. Not that anything was wrong with them, but they were so well-groomed, so pristine and well looked-after. There was a white horse especially which had caught her eye – with fur that shone and rippled in the lantern-light like a curtain of silk, all white and gold. It appeared mystical. Emma was in awe.
Regardless, she pressed on, and opened the heavy stable door with some fumbling. The weighty thing took effort to push, with the elements pushing back against it, and as Emma finally managed to step out into the night, the snow was quick to greet her with its icy kisses.
Emma quickly fastened her capelet hood around her face, leaving only her eyes exposed. She shut the stable door behind her, cringing at the sudden thud. But, upon looking around outside, she was quick to notice it: on the other side of the stable were a couple of disembodied lights floating in the dark. The orange lights were arch-shaped, and were scattered sporadically, some of them high in the air. Whatever house Ray was referring to, this had to be it. As he’d mentioned, it seemed awfully large, even though it was near-invisible in the darkness, its various lights glimmering at Emma like the eyes of an animal.
Emma tottered along, ploughing through the snow, though there was a newfound energy to her clumsy steps. As terrible as her body felt, the sight of a new place never failed to stir her childlike curiosities.
Emma neared the structure, feeling the walls with her fingers, keeping her lantern-light low and ducking under illuminated windows.
It didn’t take long for her to feel a new texture grace her hand. Using her fading lantern light, she just about recognised an outline of a door. She tried opening it slowly, but without success. A nervousness gripped her, as she was soon going to be plummeted in darkness without her lantern. She had to find a way in, and quickly.
So she’d found her heart suddenly calming when, as her hand came across a gap, and she’d ran her fingers across its shape, she’d realised that there was a window left ajar, big enough for her to squeeze into. There was a surge of relief.
But what of the lantern? Emma looked at the meagre thing, sighed, and clamped the handle in her mouth. It was gross and metallic – god knows how unclean it was – yet, with a heave-ho, Emma attempted to jump onto the narrow windowsill, willing the lantern to not creak terribly loudly.
It took a few tries, her joints wobbly with strain, but she made it through. She held the lantern in her hands again and caught her breath, swinging her legs over, and slowly making contact with the floor, quiet as dust. She closed the window so that the wind became nothing more than a distant, muted cry.
Take that, storm.
It was remarkably warm inside. Emma unwrapped the hood from her face and scanned the room, moving cautiously. There was a faint source of light at the end of the room – a wood burning stove, with a small gap where she could make out a fire burning. The scent was somehow homely and comforting. She could also make out a large table in the room’s centre, pots, pans, cabinets – she’d stumbled right into a kitchen.
Without hesitation, she checked for all the food she could find. She came across the pantry, a large wooden cabinet stocked with all kinds of tins and jars. She settled the light down on a shelf and hurriedly began opening up the jars, haplessly eating as many of the contents inside as she could. She had no idea what the food was, and so she found herself opening up all kinds of them. They were mostly dried foods, either extremely sweet, or savoury, or spicy and exotic – the foods of the rich, imported from lands she could only dream of. Emma gobbled up handfuls of the food without thought, even recklessly spilling bits on the floor.
These people are wealthy. They don’t have to worry about going hungry. They won’t mind a couple of things missing, thought Emma, as she shovelled more food into her bag. She scooped up her lamp.
Now, I just need to find a place to sleep. Somewhere hidden. Anything would be better than being alone in that stable.
The kitchen seemed to have doors to three other rooms. Only one of the doors had no light seeping from its gaps, which likely meant the room would be vacant. Emma pressed her ear up against it, but heard no sound. No stirring, or snoring. It seemed promising enough.
With trepidation, she pressed her weight against the door. It gave a squeak, to which Emma felt her face grow hot with fear, but she pushed at a slow pace, pausing in increments to listen out for any noise from around the house.
There was chattering. It was ever so muffled. A high-pitched laugh. It must’ve been two women.
But they hadn’t seemed to notice the door move, even as Emma clicked it shut behind her.
In such a place like this, really, out in the forest, they probably don’t even think of burglaries.
With a spark of confidence, Emma moved quicker. She was in a hallway. From here, there were two doors, one of which was an exit, the other of which where the sound of the ladies were emanating from. Emma presumed it to be a drawing room. Emma heard another bout of laughter from beyond the door, and she felt a pang of longing, but dismissed it quickly.
She turned to the exit again, where she noticed, just to its left, was a staircase. And not like any staircase she’d seen before – but one that twisted in shape the higher it got up – and as she looked up, she noticed the inconsistencies in the ceiling. It soon occurred to her that what she was seeing was the underside of the stairs that were higher up, white as a snake’s stomach.
Emma had never seen architecture like that before.
She collected herself from admiring the building – it was too dark to appreciate it truly, after all. It became evident that, with no source of light coming from up there, it was her only option forward.
She made her way up, moving only partially quietly – after all, with the notion that at least three people lived in this house, there’d be no reason for anyone to get suspicious over the sound of footfall.
The stairs had such an intricate railing, she could not stop herself from running her hand along it. And the steps were carpet-laden with designs that were completely foreign to her eyes. She reached the midway platform of the stairs, the area that occurred before the staircase twisted in a semi-spiral. There, against the wall, were a set of arched windows, dauntingly tall, like gaping mouths with silver teeth. The patterns upon them seemed elaborate, but Emma did not have the time, nor the visibility, to gawk at their design.
I want to find somewhere to sleep. Get it together, Emma.
Once she’d reached the landing, Emma noticed just how endless the room seemed to be, stretching out in an endless tunnel of blackness.
And when she was just about to explore it, her lantern burnt out.
Shit.
Plunged into darkness, all Emma could do was use her hands as a guide. She placed down her useless lantern and used the walls as her guide, moving slowly as to not bump into something.
Already, she could feel her heartbeat pick up, her chest seizing in undeniable fear – Emma was terrified of the dark.
She heard a noise, and automatically, the kernel of fear in her evolved into panic. Clumsily, as shock gripped her, her knee jerked forward and whacked into something – and another noise resounded. A noise she’d caused. Broken ceramic.
Emma heard a muffled voice, a probable “what was that?” Without hesitation, she broke into a run, charging blindly across the hall. She just wanted a room - a room or a closet to hide in –
She ran straight into something. Or that is – with a soft thud and the sound of surprise – someone. She cried out in surprise, and turned to careen the other way.
But why run? Where was she going to run to? She’d been discovered again.
But her legs wouldn’t stop, even with her body thrumming in pain. She made her way to run down the stairs again, but as she reached the mid-platform, she spotted a lantern-light at the bottom of the steps, and made out the figures of two women. They appeared gauntly, skeletal even, with the large shadows stretching over their face. Emma let out a short, shrill yell. Where was she to go? She was blocked on both sides. Her only way out to fight! Ray had said these were bad people. Perhaps she could throw her bag at one of them, then run off.
“What is that?” one of the women said to the other.
“I think that’s a person, Gilda!” said the other.
“A person? A human being?” the ‘Gilda’ woman sounded utterly perplexed, “That can’t be. Why would a human willingly wander inside-”
The words died on her tongue as her eyes caught sight of something, her glasses gleaming as she raised the lantern.
Oh God. There’s someone behind me, isn’t there?
“What are you doing in my house?”
The voice was deep, clipped with anger. Emma felt the hairs on her nape stand up, as if someone was breathing down her neck, and very promptly took to running down the stairs, towards the two women. They both exclaimed in surprise, breaking apart before Emma could crash into them.
Emma could escape now, run away.
She headed for the door, but upon turning the handle, found it to be locked. No! She had to run all the way to the kitchen exit!
As she was careening away, crashing into things in the blackness, she heard the man’s voice again – the words, she couldn’t make out – but she kept her footing up, even as she heard the sound of several footfalls behind her.
“Stop, stop!” exclaimed one of the ladies.
“We don’t want to hurt you!” yelled another.
Lies!
In her panic, Emma hadn’t slowed down, and ended up whacking her head against the kitchen door. She reeled back for a moment, dizzy, but still managed to tear the door open. Though when she went to shut it, there was a force that prevented her from doing so – one of the women was keeping it open, straining against Emma’s adequate strength, yet holding it long enough for the other to charge in, and barrel towards Emma with a cry.
Emma was too light-headed from the hit to navigate herself out of harm's way. She was thrown to the floor with the force of the woman’s body, almost smacking her head against the ground.
The world spun. The woman above her straddled atop Emma, unbothered by Emma’s tireless squirming, simply adjusting her glasses.
“You got her?” said the lady by the door.
“Yes, Anna,” said Gilda, through her teeth.
“Wow,” Anna uttered, walking towards their side. She stared at Emma with the same face one would give if stumbling across a wounded animal: sympathy, and a curiosity of how they’d gotten hurt in the first place.
“Who goes barging into a house in the middle of the night and then runs about yelling when they’re caught?” Gilda scoffed, looking down at Emma with scorn.
“Oh, leave the poor creature alone,” Anna scolded her softly. She crouched onto her knees beside the two, and Emma could see her wide blue eyes in the lantern-light, round and childlike, yet with a softness that carried wisdom and patience, “Look at you, you’re just a little pup! How on earth did you run out here and find us in the Forbidden Woods?”
Anna reached forward, maybe to move a strand of hair, or feel her temperature, or touch or cheek, but Emma felt fright stir within her at the notion of her face being touched. She tried leaning away, but Anna still reached for her, and with no other resort, Emma lunged and bit her hand as hard as she could.
Anna let out a cry, trying to shake herself off. Gilda jabbed Emma hard enough to have her gasp, allowing Anna to withdraw.
Anna cradled her bitten hand, appearing visibly distraught – betrayed, even.
“’Poor little pup’ indeed,” Gilda echoed.
Footsteps resounded behind the two women, and stopped.
“Have you subdued her?” asked the male voice, out of Emma’s sight.
“Yessir,” Gilda said.
“But she did bite me,” Anna added, sounding pained. “I think I’m bleeding.”
There was a delay, then a heavy sigh. “Go and clean it with water. We’ll handle this.”
Anna scurried away, and Emma was left with two daunting strangers, ones that didn’t have a lightness in their eyes like Anna. Emma felt herself wilt under their watchful glares.
“Come now, Gilda, you don’t need to restrain her anymore,” said the man.
Gilda got to her feet reluctantly, though Emma still felt a heaviness in her limbs despite the absence of weight on top of her, like a phantom was holding her down. Even as she breathed, her lungs felt squeezed, and no matter how much her inner voice cried at her to run, she knew it would be futile at this point.
“Are you going to sleep there, or are you going to get up?”
Something caught Emma’s eye, towards her, it reached – a pale hand. Instead of pulling away, or biting it, Emma stared incredulously, ignored it, and pulled herself up.
That is, with a stumble.
“My goodness,” Gilda tittered, almost reaching out to balance Emma, before ultimately deciding to keep her stern composure, crossing her arms. “And to decline Minerva’s kind gesture-”
The lantern had been placed atop the kitchen table, bathing Emma and Gilda in light and – for the first time, Emma saw, having to look up – the imposingly tall man, who stood beside Gilda.
Everything about him was a ghostly white. Emma clenched her fist, willing away her fear with shaky resolution.
Gilda took a step forward, breaking the silence “And who do you think you are, coming into Master Minerva’s house at night? How did a little scrap like you get here? How did you find us?”
“Gilda,” said the ‘Master Minerva’ man, his voice silencing her despite its softness. “We can save the interrogation for another time. For now…what is your name?”
“…E-Emma.” She uttered. “It’s Emma.”
Emma ducked to stare elsewhere, away from his bold eyes. “So, just Emma.” He said.
“Yes.” She squeaked.
By the silence hanging in the air, Emma could tell that he and Gilda were exchanging glances of some sort.
“Emma,” Minerva said, as if testing the name on his tongue, “You do realise, had you knocked on our door, we would have willingly let you lodge here?”
Emma grasped onto her bag-straps tightly, “…No.”
No, not after Ray’s warning, at least.
Yet after this wild goose chase, Emma couldn’t tell what to make of the three people she’d met. She remembered Ray’s words: They are most certainly not the kind of crowd you want to interact with, let alone stay with. Yet to Emma, the only daunting aspects of them were their fortunate upbringings, foreign to Emma’s eyes. They were all tall and clean, smartly-clothed, and with upper-brow accents. It only served to intimidate Emma; make her feel inferior.
But, as she was no longer being chased, or held down, her panic was ebbing away, and she began to feel foolish. Like a scolded child.
“We have several guest bedrooms, all of which are empty,” said Minerva, “And we have spare clothes. Are you not hungry?”
Emma felt the weight of her bag sinking against her shoulders, heavy as her guilt.
“No, I am not.” She muttered.
“Gilda will show you to a room, and you can get some rest. You must be exhausted after braving those storms outside.”
Despite the quietness of his voice, Emma felt his watchful gaze, waiting for her to engage with his words, as if a part of him knew that she’d been lingering near the house for a time.
“I would like that,” Emma said meagrely, and for once, she was thankful for her voice cracking, as she hoped her audible exhaustion would deter any questions or conversation.
“And so it shall be,” Minerva gave a nod of his head, and gestured at Gilda to aid Emma. Surprisingly, Gilda made no noise of contempt for the unruly urchin before her, and ushered Emma upstairs with the lantern-light as a guide, not looking behind her as Emma followed her steps.
On the hall of the second floor, Emma heard a creak behind her as they walked, the slow and heavy creak of a door. She turned to see a figure behind an ajar door. It was only a second, but she caught the silvery, almost violet hues bouncing from his dark hair, reflecting like the wings of a crow. It’d been Ray.
“Your room,” said Gilda, and Emma, still looking back, had bumped straight into the woman. Gilda gave an annoyed grunt.
“Oh, you dreaded foozler - can you not even take two steps ahead without falling or hitting something?” she admonished.
“Sorry,” Emma muttered.
Gilda opened the door for her, and without hesitation, Emma scampered inside, wanting to get away from the green-haired lady.
Not a word was exchanged then, just Gilda shining her light over Emma’s bed, to indicate it was there. Then she pulled out clean night-clothes from the dress, plopped it on the bed, and was off, leaving the door open.
Perhaps Emma hadn’t made a good impression, sneaking into their house, and biting a family member’s hand.
As Emma was about to shut the door and change in the darkness, it swung open and something was thrown into the room.
Emma fumbled after it, grabbing it to feel its shape. It was wooden and rounded. A bucket.
“That is to be your lavatory,” said Gilda, from the threshold.
Wonderful.
“I’m locking this door. Safety precaution. If there’s an emergency, just scream.”
Before Emma could retaliate, or even get to her feet again, Gilda had slammed it closed, locking it swiftly.
Emma’s mouth fell open. Wasn’t she supposed to be a guest? Locking doors is what people did to prisoners.
Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t quite place a finger on it. Not yet.