I squint against the piercing gusts of wind that whip my cloak around my near-frozen body. Footprints, barely legible in the packed snow and speckled with particles of dirt, lead north.
Of all the places, north.
Gritting my teeth and battling the uneasy feeling inside, I trudge onward. Frost glints in the spare sunlight, snow sparkles in an eerie way. But these are all normal sights for me since the beginning of the Winter.
I maneuver around a patch of ice, keeping an eye ahead of me, and yet glancing behind every minute or so. I have done well enough hiding my tracks, but if the beasts were sent after me…
I shake such thoughts from my head and come across an open meadow. Not the safest place for me, but I gasp. There he is.
“Henrik!” I hurry to the crumpled figure. No response. “Henrik!”
When I’m steps away from the fur coat-covered body, he bolts up, remaining on his knees. Surprised, I fall backwards. I don’t even try to get up when I see the blood-dipped knife in Henrik’s hand, the crazed look in his eyes.
They don’t hold the joy or mirth I knew.
“I never really loved her.” He cradles the knife closer to him. A drop of scarlet spreads on the snow.
Alarmed, I search him for any wounds from my vantage point. None. Then where… There is no body. No sign of a fight, nothing.
“Who?” I breathe, watching a cloud form in front of my face.
“She made me. I didn’t want to, but she made me. The light… But I never really loved her anyway.”
Another drop of blood. But it isn’t coming from the knife.
“Who didn’t you love? Who made you?”
Henrik looks up. “Her.”
*shivers* That is... The most morbid thing I've ever written.
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