Hunting to Hunted

Belcian

A few months had passed, and Silvina found herself undercover in a small town near the Blackwood forest, far from the familiar walls of the Hunter’s Keep. The days blurred together as she carefully monitored the movements of the townspeople.

Belcian Town.

The town, with its cobbled streets and quaint, old-world charm, seemed innocent at first glance.

The quaint shops lining the main square sold everything from hand-crafted trinkets to aromatic pastries, each with its own story. Silvina often found herself drawn to the local bakery, where the warm scent of bread mingled with the sweet notes of pastries.

The baker, an elderly woman named Marisol, welcomed her with open arms, treating Silvina like family and often slipping her free samples as she chatted about the town’s history. It was here, over cups of strong coffee, that Silvina began to learn about the undercurrents of tension that rippled through Blackwood.

Silvina adopted the guise of a traveling artist, carrying a sketchbook filled with drawings of the town’s landscapes and its people. It was a cover, but Silvina did enjoy drawing and she was quite good. Her disguise allowed her to blend in, but it also provided her with an excuse to observe and engage with the locals.

She often set up her easel in the bustling town square, where the vibrant energy of Belcian spilled out into the open air. With each brushstroke, she captured the essence of life: children laughing as they chased each other around the fountain, elderly couples sharing stories on weathered benches, and the local vendors calling out to passers-by with their colourful wares. But beneath the lively surface, her keen eyes discerned the subtle secrets that wove through the fabric of the community.

She knew, for example, that the town mechanic, a burly man with grease-stained hands and a charming smile, was entangled in a affair with one of the waiters at the local diner. Their stolen glances and quiet rendezvous whispered tales of passion and betrayal.

She also noticed the uncomfortable tension surrounding the old bookkeeper, a gentle soul who had dedicated his life to the town's library, now facing harassment from a group of rowdy boys who seemed oblivious to the weight of their cruelty.

These were the normal, troubling, affairs of small-town life—tales of love, betrayal, and bullying that unfolded in the shadows of her picturesque surroundings. She painted not just what she saw, but what she felt, infusing her canvases with the unspoken stories that danced just out of view.

“You’ve been in our town for a while; are you considering settling here?”

Marisol's croaky voice broke through Silvina’s thoughts. She realized she had been so lost in her musings that her coffee had gone cold, the steam barely visible in the autumn light.

Silvina blinked, pulled back to the present by the warmth of Marisol's question. She looked up from her now-cold cup, into the weathered face of the older woman who had become something of a friend during her time in the quaint town.

The colors of autumn danced outside the café window—crimson and gold leaves swirling in the brisk wind—and somehow felt like a metaphor for Silvina’s own life, caught between seasons.

She knew she had been there for a while, but she knew she had to infiltrate the coven, with patience.

“Well,” she began, her fingers wrapping around the mug as if drawing warmth from it, “I’ve been thinking about it. This town has a charm that’s hard to ignore.” She paused, glancing out the window where children were laughing and playing in the leaves. “But it’s not just the town. It’s the people, the stories…but I am looking for adventure…” Silvina chose her words carefully.

“Maybe a little danger?”

Marisol nodded knowingly, the corners of her lips curling into a smile. “Stories have a way of weaving themselves into the fabric of a place. And danger is all around us”

Silvina smiled back, “I suppose adventure and danger walks side by side. I just wish this town had a little more… excitement.”

“If you are truly looking for a thrill,” Marisol said, leaning in slightly, her eyes sparkling with wisdom. "You should stay for Noaptea de Halloween. We get a few strange visits every year on that night.”

Silvina took a deep breath, the scent of coffee mingling with the crisp autumn air. “Holloween, Yes Romania is a place with a lot of stories and myths, but I am not looking for people in scary costumes.”

Marisol’s gaze softened. “You sound conflicted?”

The question hung in the air, heavy. Silvina's heart raced as she considered the answer.

“Maybe I am,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Marisol nodded, absorbing Silvina's words. “That’s the beauty of this place. It’s a tapestry of history and myth, woven together so intricately that sometimes it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. On Noaptea de Halloween, the boundaries blur even more. Those who dare to venture out can glimpse the past, meet spirits of the ancients, or even uncover secrets that have long been buried.”

Silvina leaned back in her chair, a faint smile appearing. “Are you saying that people actually… experience things? Like, real encounters?”

“Absolutely,” Marisol replied, her tone conspiratorial. “But it’s not just about seeing ghosts or hearing whispers in the wind. It’s about connecting with something greater than ourselves. The energy of the night is palpable. You feel it in your bones.” She paused, her expression serious. “But it’s not for the faint-hearted. Some who seek thrills find more than they bargained for.”

Silvina’s heart started to race… Was this the clue she was waiting for? Or would she be disappointed with a few fake monsters? “What do you mean?”

“There are tales of those who ventured too far into Blackwood, who encountered forces they couldn’t comprehend.” Marisol’s voice was low, almost reverent. “They returned changed, haunted by what they experienced. Some say they never returned at all.”

Silvina’s heart raced at the thought. “You make it sound fun.”

“It is a warning,” Marisol said.

Silvina took a slow sip of her coffee, feeling the cool liquid linger on her lips before swallowing. The warmth from the mug seemed to seep into her hands, grounding her as she pondered the decision before her. “What do you think I should do?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

Marisol, ever the fiery spirit, leaned in closer, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and encouragement. The dim light from the café window cast a golden glow on her face, making her look almost otherworldly. “I think you should embrace the adventure,” she said, her tone a playful whisper. “Life’s too short to let fear hold you back. Besides, who knows what wonders—what dangers—await you?”

Her words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in excitement. Maybe this was the moment. The one she had been waiting for to push her forward, to ignite the hunt she had so long delayed.

She set the cup down gently on the table, her fingers curling around the edges, grounding herself. “Okay,” Silvina said, her voice steadying with newfound resolve. “I’ll stay for Noaptea de Halloween.”

Marisol’s grin widened, her excitement infectious as it spread across her features like wildfire. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes deepened, clearly pleased with the choice. “Then it’s settled!” she said.

Without missing a beat, Marisol grabbed Silvina’s empty coffee cup. “Oooh, I always dress up as a witch,” she mused aloud, clearly caught up in her own excitement. “The dark, brooding kind. You know, with the big, black hat and everything.” She was already planning the details in her mind, probably imagining the costume she would wear down to the last detail.

“What are you going to be?”

Silvina raised an eyebrow at her, half-amused, her lips curling into a slight smile.

“A Vampire Hunter.”