The Girl that Never Was

Lillian was in her little stone and straw cottage, making a remady for her poor neighbor, Stephan's scarlet fever when she heard a loud knock on her door. She dusted off her apron and looked out of the window. There were hundreds of them. Some wore armor. Some were formor neoghbors. All bore pitchforks and torches. Opening the door meant death for sure. She had to act fast. She put on her black cloak and grabbed her messenger bag as she heard another loud thud on the door. She grabbed her tarot deck, herb bottles, book, whatever she could before climbing out the window. Once she jumped out the window, she knew they broke into her home by the sound of crashing and pure destruction, just to find her. Or maybe out of hate. She stole a lovely auburn horse from the stables and rode off into the woods. After hours of riding, she got off the horse and let her turquoise hair out of a messy bun, sighing. How long could she run? How long would they hunt her? How far could she possibly go? She knew it was too late to stop the never-ending hunt. They knew... Oh, they knew.