The Forbidden Encounter
933 Words
The torches flickered with restless flames, casting long, jagged shadows across the village square. Elden Hollow was quiet tonight—too quiet. The usual murmur of villagers swapping stories over warm mead had been replaced by hushed whispers, wary glances, and the ever-present tension that curled like smoke through the air.
Elara stood in the center, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing against her skin. Her pulse roared in her ears as the village elders loomed before her, their lined faces grim and unforgiving. The night smelled of damp earth and burning wood, but beneath it lurked the stench of fear.
"The river speaks to her," Elder Bran rasped, his gnarled hand gripping the wooden staff as if holding onto something solid in an uncertain world. "The waters whisper, the wind bends at her call. This is no ordinary girl—she is touched by something unnatural."
The crowd murmured, their fear laced with something even darker—hatred.
"That's not true," Elara protested, her voice steadier than she felt. "You don’t understand—"
"We understand enough," another elder interrupted, voice like rusted steel. "The seer saw fire and shadows. Saw you."
Elara's stomach twisted. She had done nothing wrong, yet the accusations clung to her like thorns. She had always felt different, yes—always heard things others could not. The river, the wind, the rustling of leaves—she had felt their pull, their whispers like a half-forgotten melody calling her home. But was that truly a curse?
The silence thickened, suffocating. Then someone whispered a single word.
"Witch."
It slithered through the crowd, gaining strength like a rising tide.
Elara’s breath hitched. No. She had heard stories of what they did to witches. Shackles. Flames. Bodies never found.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She had to run.
She turned, feet already moving before the elders could react. A shout rang out—then another—but she did not stop to hear what they said. The fear clawing at her throat was too great, the shadows pressing in too thick.
She tore through the village, past the familiar thatched rooftops and dirt paths she had known since childhood. But this was no longer home. Elden Hollow had become a trap, a cage she needed to escape before its jaws closed around her.
The moment her feet hit the forest’s edge, she did not hesitate.
The trees welcomed her, their towering canopies swallowing the moonlight. Mist curled around her ankles, clinging to her skin like ghostly hands. She ran until her breath burned her lungs, until her legs screamed for rest. But she did not stop. She could not.
The night air was thick with whispers, the wind sighing through the leaves, the river calling to her like an old friend. And beneath it all, something else.
A presence.
She slowed, heart pounding. The forest should have been silent save for the nocturnal hum of insects, the rustle of unseen creatures. Yet something lingered. Watching.
A rustling in the underbrush sent a jolt of fear up her spine. She turned sharply, scanning the darkness.
Then—a hand shot out, fingers encircling her wrist like iron.
She gasped, jerking away, but the grip was firm. She spun, her eyes meeting an unfamiliar gaze.
Golden. Piercing. Unforgiving.
The stranger towered over her, his face chiseled from shadows and moonlight. Dark hair framed his sharp features, a scar cutting just above his brow. He was no villager—no ordinary traveler. His presence crackled like a storm, dangerous and unpredictable.
Elara’s breath caught in her throat.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
His expression remained unreadable, but his grip did not loosen. His gaze flicked over her, searching, assessing. "You're the girl they're hunting."
Her stomach twisted. "You—" Her thoughts scrambled for answers. He had been waiting. Watching. Had he followed her?
She yanked her arm, but he did not release her. Instead, his grip tightened just enough to remind her that escape was not an option.
"Let me go," she demanded, forcing steel into her voice.
"Not until you tell me who you are," he countered, voice deep, controlled.
Elara swallowed hard. If he had come from the village, she was already lost. If he was someone else—someone worse—she might still have a chance.
A long silence stretched between them, the only sound the distant murmur of the river. Then he spoke again, softer this time.
"You don't know, do you?"
She frowned. "Know what?"
Something flickered across his face—surprise? Frustration? Then, almost reluctantly, he let her go.
The absence of his touch sent a strange shiver through her, but she stepped back, her mind racing.
"You shouldn't be here," he said finally.
"Neither should you," she shot back, voice steadier now.
A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was gone just as fast. He exhaled, glancing toward the distant village lights. "They're coming."
Elara stiffened.
He turned to leave, but something in her gut told her this was not the last time their paths would cross.
"Wait," she called, despite herself.
He paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"Who are you?" she asked again.
This time, he gave her an answer.
"Darius."
She did not know then that his name would change her fate. That he was the very man sent to hunt her.
But in that moment, beneath the moon’s quiet gaze, two souls collided—unknowing, unprepared, and already bound by forces greater than either could comprehend.
And the night swallowed them whole.
- Writer
