Chapter Six
666 Words
The carriage wheels groaned beneath them, grinding over the uneven stones of the forest path. For six long hours, Yessica sat in silence, her attempts at conversation with the two sisters beside her having long since withered into awkward glances and whispered exchanges that excluded her entirely.
She had tried—gods knew she had. But every topic she raised was met with cold smiles and clipped responses, the kind that made it clear she was still the outsider. A novice. A shadow in the presence of their self-proclaimed radiance.
Yessica leaned her head against the window, watching the trees blur past in the dying light. The forest was thick, ancient, and brooding. She wasn’t surprised by their disdain. Since joining the cloister, she’d learned one thing above all: hierarchy was sacred. Power was everything.
Even Sister Marilyn, the only one who’d shown her kindness, had said it plainly the night before: _“You need power, Yessica. Without it, you’re nothing but a lamb among wolves.”_
Was that what she was doing? Clinging to the Abbess like ivy to stone, hoping to be noticed, to be chosen? She didn’t think so. Marilyn wasn’t power-hungry—no, she radiated something deeper. She didn’t chase power. She _was_ power.
The carriage jolted violently, snapping Yessica from her thoughts. The horses whinnied, hooves skidding on gravel. Then—silence.
Darkness had swallowed the forest whole. The sisters beside her stiffened, whispering nervously. They hadn’t reached the inn. Something was wrong.
Then came the sounds.
Footsteps. Soft at first. Then a low growl. A groan. A _thud_.
The driver.
The carriage door on the far side was ripped open with a splintering crack. One of the sisters screamed—Yessica didn’t wait to see which. She flung open her own door and leapt into the night, her habit catching on the frame as she tumbled into the underbrush.
Behind her, chaos erupted. Growls. Screams. The wet sound of tearing flesh.
She looked back once—just once. The driver’s body lay crumpled beside a tree, his throat a ruin. A massive shadow loomed over one of the sisters, its snout buried in her chest. The other tried to run, but didn’t get far.
Yessica turned and ran.
Branches clawed at her face. Roots reached for her ankles. The forest was a maze of darkness and dread, and somewhere behind her, paws pounded the earth.
They were hunting her.
Werewolves.
She’d heard the stories. Her order had hunted them for decades, branding them as abominations. Cleansing the land, they called it. But now, the hunted had become the hunters.
She didn’t fear them,at least, she hadn’t. But now, with her habit soaked in mud and blood, she realized she should have.
A branch caught her foot. Her sandal tore. She stumbled, pitched forward, and slammed into the earth. Pain exploded in her skull as it struck a stone. The world tilted, then faded.
Darkness claimed her.
*
She awoke to light.
Soft, golden light filtered through a small window. She was lying on a bed,an actual bed, with clean sheets and a wooden headboard. Her head throbbed. Her ribs ached. But she was alive.
How?
She sat up slowly, wincing. Her habit was still on her, though it was caked in dried mud and blood. That, at least, was a comfort.
She staggered to the door. Locked.
Of course it was.
No shouting. No pounding. Just a sigh. She turned back to the bed and collapsed onto it, letting the softness swallow her.
Sleep came quickly.
In her dreams, she saw the sisters,those proud, condescending women,standing before Orion, their faces serene, their hands clasped in prayer. Rewarded for their piety. Their sacrifice.
But Yessica didn’t want to die. Not yet. No reward, no promise of paradise, was worth more than the breath in her lungs.
She would find out who had spared her. And why.
And when she did, she would decide whether to thank them,or fear them.
- Writer
