Chapter Text
They say she lives in the woods.
They say she has eyes everywhere, every three, every rock, a pupil tracking each step you take, silent, observing, hiding the second you feel her gaze down your spine.
It's cold, you are near, making your way to the heart of the forest, axe in hand and a prayer to any god who's listening on your lips, she knows, she is waiting.
And you are tracking her.
There's a town on a forgotten part of the south, full of honest people doing their best to survive, or so you've heard, you know the tales of misery and woe that came attached to it, famines and plagues, but as soon as you paid a visit the people who spoke to you couldn't have been more wrong, as green fields of all sorts of crops were blooming in front of you, large amounts of smiling families gave you a warm welcome, yet something wasn't right, as if the sky itself was telling you to run with the big looming clouds blocking all rays of sun and joy, the wind whispering incomprehensible syllables on your ear, the wooden doors and shutters on each old colonial house banging against the wall just pleading you to run.
Yet you decided to stay.
There are no animals around, no wildlife or pets, how strange, you thought, perhaps they are shy, you stay with a kind stranger, an old woman who lives alone and dresses like the embodiment of a last century grandma, your room is old, dusty, the paneling scratched and wallpapers peeling off, the floors creak, cobwebs and dust, your host insist not to get rid of them, as spiders are to be fear and respected, you think it's an eccentricity of her, an odd mannerism or simply a liking for the arachnids, you do your best not to pay attention to them as you organize your luggage and lay down in the metal-framed bed as you think how did you ever get there.
You've heard of the town, some friends gossiping about it, a man came to your city claiming he was from there, that he needed to move out, that something terrible would happen to him if he didn't, that he had to run away to save himself, everyone saw him as a poor, old and delitaring man, one day you found him on the streets, it wasn't late, you manage to spot him breathing heavily on the concrete, pleading for help, among the sea of people you were the only one to reach for him and offer your hand yet the moment you got close it was too late.
His green, pupiless eyes stared at yours, he gasped for air as he grabbed your hand, he left a note on your arm, illegible handwriting except for the name of the town, you still called out for help, yelled at the top of your lungs, they took him away, probably reached out for his family and loved ones, maybe he was buried in here…
All you know is that the note compelled you to pay a visit to the unknown, nameless town, you packed up your things, took your car and here you are, you had no map yet somehow knew the way, as soon as you reached for the paper in your pocket the old man gave you it was gone, lost, must have fallen off or get blown off by the wind. What was the name of the town? How could you forget the place you were in?
The old woman made breakfast, eggs, bacon and an elaborate array of vegetables with a glass of orange juice, the best you have ever had, like ambrosia, she said that she cared not for the eggs or meat, cheap things they got from somewhere else, that all the vegetables and fruit used to make it were special, blessed, she said, you wonder what she meant, blessed produce from blessed soil, a religious thing most likely, regardless you made your way to the town's center and acted like an average tourist documenting your journey with photos and funny captions like everyone else.
The service wasn't good, barely basic, the same slowness you get on bad days and or when thinking about the hours of your childhood you spent downloading files on the family's computer. Still, you manage to make it work, despite seeing a few towers on the surrounding mountains you barely saw any phone or computer, or much technology, a few shops with old school televisions, a few radios, there was electricity, good enough, maybe they are just old fashioned, luckily you haven't met any of the unpleasant experiences that come with it, not that the city was free from those.
All treated you as a local, as if you had been there for decades, and for a moment, you truly felt it was that way.
It was at nightfall when things went down, the moment you realized why the old man had run away and didn't want to get back.
There were many barns, cellars, never seemed out of place, the biggest one was near a windmill, easy to spot, the doors were slightly opened and you saw a faint yellow light and many of the people you met earlier going in there, including your host.
Something told you to walk towards them, to go through the door and join the singing and dancing you could see and hear from afar, and while you have always been the curious type, you never had the gut to follow your instincts, yet now you did, and you weren't going to let that feeling go.
Candles, flags, green, silver embroidery, floral patterns, white paint creating strange symbols on the floor, all clapped and laughed, chanting, on languages a human tongue shouldn't know, all carrying glasses of an amber like liquid, drunk on their bliss, and lowing behold, a god, goddess, a giant, a titan, an ageless tree, ancient, magnificent, divine, moving, breathing, shaped in the form of a woman, thick willow-esque leaves acting as hair, her face serene and with a pinch of melancholy, men, women and children alike cutting her skin made of wood and pouring her sap on their glasses, drinking their blood and welcoming you with a cheerful embrace.
They made you walk, pushed you towards her, towards her gaze, towards her slowly opening golden eyes as the strands of her hair moved towards your forehead and you went blind.
Traitor…
A whisper, cold, dark, needles on your shoulders, your heart skipped a beat, all eyes on you.
Helped a traitor, ally of the traitor.
All whispered in unison as your vision came back and you walked away, smiles turning into a predatory gaze, you felt as if countless of teeth were sinking on your skin, the mother tree rose up, still crouching yet almost reaching the ceiling.
All traitors must pay for their sins, all blasphemies shan't be forgiven .
The town had their hands on you, the same knives directed at your own being, it took all the strength you had to free yourself as you came back to your senses, run, run, all your legs could do, get into your room and grab your stuff, even if your legs are about to give in, even if you are about to pass out, run, run, run, get your keys, open your car as your hands shake and drive, hyperventilate and try to calm yourself down, scream and cry, reckless, get away, pray they didn't follow you, feel the sweat coming down your forehead, the cold hands, the cold feet, plummet down onto your seat as you get trapped in the traffic of a highway and get yourself together.
You didn't die, that's good, that's great, that's nice, but you left something behind, you don't know what it is, perhaps it's not physical, who cares? You don't care, you are getting that back, your dreams are plagued with those eyes, those words, you cannot sleep, you cannot eat, everything that is not their crops feels dull, tasteless, like chewing on cardboard and your body is unable to retain any, you gag each time you take a bite and you realize the only reason you manage to eat other stuff was because of the blessed produce of the land, your health has declined, you brought an axe, you took your car and with your remaining strength you decided to make your way back.
Whatever you lost there, you were going to get back, and if the town was waiting for you, you didn't mind.