Chapter Text
You live on the outskirts of the village. Your main income is from the crops you harvest. And the animals you upkeep in your small barn. Today, you worked on your fall harvest in preparation for the winter. You fixed one of the fences by your stable. And let your horse, Mitus, stretch his legs. Now all that’s left on your list is feeding your chickens. Your hands dig into a pouch, then throw its contents to the big fat red birds, who cluck happily in thanks. You then sit down on the small bench you attached to their pen, and watch them peck in that silly way that chickens tend to do.
The weeks leading up to winter are the hardest. You have to worry about if you have enough food to last you until the brutal season is over. Thick snow covers any crop daring to grow. Animals go into hibernation, or they migrate to somewhere of warmth. And without fire, you are likely to freeze to death, even in your own home.
The worst part about the winter is that with less vegetation--and therefore less prey--the lycan become hungrier, and more aggressive. They grow out heavy fur, and their grey figure camouflages into its white surroundings. Due to this, everyone knows to be cautious and to only leave the village by necessity.
One of your hens begins to stand her ground against another. Before them is a singular piece of feed. The greedy hen clucks loudly, then pecks at the other hen's small head. Causing her to loudly hiss, moving her own head to peck back. She fails, and things continue to heat up. You start to stand up to break up the fight before it becomes too aggressive, but luckily, your rooster, Pedro, runs in and puts the greedy hen in her place. Effectively deescalating the situation for you. You have always been thankful for getting such a responsible rooster, rather than one full of ego and aggression.
You decide you have had enough time in the pen, and move towards your house to clean up and change your clothes. Dirt covers your pants from your earlier harvest efforts, and you had worked up a sweat, which made you feel sort of dirty. It was time for a well-deserved bath, then rest.
You make it through your door, already removing your clothes from your body, throwing it down onto your couch. You then enter your bathroom, turn on your shower, and let the warm water soothe your sore muscles.
You were one of the few people from the village who could actually afford to have and keep a shower. The work you do with your farm has held you well, and on your 20th birthday, you’d saved up enough money to buy one. The water bills ended up being manageable with your line of work, and you found great joy not having to go to a well and pour yourself a bath anymore. The only downside was that sometimes the heat in your shower would not work, and for long periods of time, you’d be forced to take lukewarm or cold showers instead.
By the time you felt clean and refreshed, the room felt heavy like a sauna, despite the door being open. You dry yourself off quickly, then you throw off your towel as you enter the living room and let the outside air in through your windows. You sigh warmly as the air hits you just right over your still very naked body. One of the perks of having no neighbors, you suppose. You smile to yourself and head to your room, lazily throwing the bare minimum over your body. Jumping into your bed, you exhale, finally closing your eyes.
Your mama gently holds onto your hand as you lead her through the village, an excited smile on your face. You are practically bouncing through the square when you finally hear the music.
“Come on mom! Hurry or else we'll miss it!” You attempt to pull her harder, and she relents with a light chuckle.
Today was special. Every five years, the lords would all come together into the village and grace the villagers with their presence. The part you were most excited about was Mother Miranda’s entrance. You never attended any of her services because your parents both thought it was nonsense. However, you still felt some interest in knowing what she looked like. You were also curious about her supposed wings, which you had heard two adults talking about briefly as you ran an errand for your pa.
The music is even louder, older villagers skillfully play assortments of music which echo effortlessly through the streets. Younger men and women danced together to the beat, and children would run around chasing each other with bliss all over their faces. Festivals were one of the best times in the village. Times when everyone could finally forget the terrors that constantly riddled the dark corners and alleyways.
You and your mama finally make it into the heart of all the noise and laughter. You look around eagerly, ready to explore and perhaps even make friends. You look at your ma, who was already looking at you, and silently ask her permission to move freely. She nods her head, and you take off.
BANG! You abruptly sit up to a loud sound you hear outside. Rubbing your eyes, you slide off your bed. The sun is right over the horizon, but it is still too dark for you to see out your window. Worried, you quickly throw on your coat, rushing out your front door, lantern in hand, rifle in the other.
The sound seemed to have come from the chicken pen. You have a hundred and ten things running through your brain at once, goosebumps rise over your skin instinctually, despite telling yourself that it is probably nothing to worry about.
As you get closer, however, a clear sound of heavy shuffles, and something else pushes more alarm and skepticism through your body, you step with more caution.
You can also hear distressed shrills from all of your chickens, and once the area is finally visible, you see them running out of their coop.
“What the hell?” You whisper to yourself, shining your lantern on the coop. It is evident where the noise came from. The coop's roof was almost ripped clean off its foundation. There was only one explanation for this. A lycan.
“Fuck my life.” You hiss.
Just as you grip onto your rifle, you hear a low, snarling growl, not too far behind you. You turn slowly and face it. It towers over you effortlessly, its muscles all pointed as it prowls towards you, its white glowing eyes following your every movement as if it were being hypnotized. The breath in your lungs begins to dry, and before you can fully process it, it pounces at you. You narrowly dodge, aim your gun, and shoot it clean into its arm. It roars angrily.
“SHIT.” You reload your gun as you run towards your house. The monster gallops towards you, and you hear it catching up behind you.
Just before you make it past your patch of vegetables, the lycan pounces onto you again. This time successfully. You turn in its grip and manage to shoot it in the chest, making it howl out briefly, its claws sink into your arm, and you lose your grip on your weapon.
You push forward and twist your body trying to throw it off of you, and it loses some of its balance. Nonetheless, it is still on top of you, and it is still about to maul you. In the .effort of escape, you accidentally catch some of its dark, pouring blood in your mouth. It is bitter, and you immediately want to spit it out. However, the monster's arms strike right into your stomach. You gasp for air and kick helplessly, your arm shakily reaching for the discarded rifle, which had been thrown too far.
‘This is it…’ you think to yourself. ‘I'm fucking dead.’
The lycan slashes into your stomach, and tears leave your eyes. The energy in your body was giving out, and the adrenaline had long since left. With everything in you, you try to fend for yourself, but the sting of its claws ripping you open begins to ring louder and louder.
You close your eyes as the world becomes a thick haze. Your ears ring violently from the blood loss. You lose feeling in your legs, and your arms begin to give out. Fear begins to tunnel a deep space in your head. You don't want to die. You aren’t ready to die! Not like this.
Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot rings through the night. Followed by a loud howl, then the feeling of heavy pressure over your body. You don't have the energy to open your eyes anymore, but you notice the aggressive huffing and growling has stopped.
The sound of men in the distance, seemingly congratulating each other, is brought to your weak attention. They are approaching you slowly. You pathetically groan out in the effort to call for help, and thankfully, you catch their attention. One of them seems to quicken their pace towards you, and before you know it, calloused hands begin to grab onto your shoulders and pull you from under the dead lycan. You hear yourself wince, and the low register of his voice says something. But you can’t process it. You can’t process almost anything. Instead, you feel your body give out, and then the world goes mute.