It was on that evening, at precisely the moment that the sun dipped under the horizon and the dark fog of the woods thickened, shaking itself off for another night of play, that Mikayla felt more terror than she had ever experienced in her short life.

She had never been one to scream, not needing to express her emotions in such a loud way and instead preferring to keep them inside her own head, but this scream wasn't because she was afraid. It was a cry for help, to anybody, anything, that might be listening. That might care.

The human brain is not always logical when its safety is concerned; Mikayla did not know exactly why she was crying for help, all she knew was that something was wrong and she was all alone and it was dark and she was in the woods and the darkness was watching her and her hair had moved-

Then there was that awful thud.

Not having heard a sound for the entirety of her time in the clearing, apart from her own breathing, the sudden deep clunk to her right made her instincts fire up so quickly that the only way her body could react was to scream.

Once her brain had caught up, she took a deep breath and scolded herself for being so credulous. It's just a tree branch falling to the ground or something. You're being silly. How embarrassing. Despite these thoughts, she still did not move from her tree, did not even peer around the it to see what had made such a noise, and instead just stood there, taking in as much oxygen as possible in an effort to collect herself.

Chest rising and falling, brown eyes wide open and head leaning against her tree, Mikayla was glad nobody could see her in that moment. How peculiar she must have appeared, suddenly spooking in the middle of the woods and bolting through them, barely managing to breathe because she had heard a tree branch fall-- yet she still could not bring herself to move.

Then, all at once, her life finally fell apart, carefully woven threads collapsing around her as she watched, impuissant to stop it, unable to do anything but watch and tremble and scream.

She could not move, now paralyzed not by her own mind but by the thick cords wrapping around her arms, her legs, her neck; she couldn't move she couldn't think she couldn't breathe. They tightened as they coiled around her, as quick as a cobra and as venomous, strong, barbed things which clung to her clothes, tearing holes into them as if they were paper. They tore into her life. They ended it. Thrashing, she did everything in her power to cling on, but they stole it from her.

This was the second time that day she felt more terror than she ever had before.

They were cold, the vines, but they were alive, and they had her hung against the tree, ready to sacrifice her. Coldness began to seep into her as they wrapped themselves under her arms and around her waist before lifting her off the ground, making her feel even more powerless. Useless. The bark of her tree scraped against her head, but yet that did not hurt, rather, it felt quite comforting. She felt something, not anything particularly describable or physical, just something, trying to embrace her through the bark, trying to keep her warm and protect her, to cradle her, but she knew it was hopeless. There was another something in the way, a murky, thick other something which stopped it before it could reach her.

She was beyond saving.

Trying to escape, she threw herself against the vines once more, when she saw movement.

From the darkness in front of her, as if a curtain had just been lifted, she saw two people appear, both very tall. They were male-- she knew that from the broad set of their shoulders-- but she couldn't make out their features, could only see that they were each holding what appeared to be a tree branch. She screamed as they watched her.

The one on the right laughed. "Got you!"

He walked up to her, watching as her screams grew louder and her trembling became more fierce with each of his steps, before she stopped. There was nothing she could do, she realized, no way she could stop what was about to happen.

As he got closer, her eyes recognized the thing he carried as being a staff, formed of a twisted, deformed, crooked branch of brown wood. Oak, her mind supplied, although she was not sure how it knew that. Squinting her eyes at the other man's staff, her mind decided it was crafted of hickory, although Mikayla could not see it completely, and she was unsure of what hickory looked like. She just knew.

Why are they carrying those things? They aren't limping, so don't rely on them for support, and they are a bit of an outdated weapon choice. Why not carry guns?

Despite her confusion, Mikayla was suddenly very glad they weren't carrying guns.

They were strange people: their height was odd, their staffs peculiar, but perhaps the strangest thing about them was the way they held themselves. The one walked as if he expected-- no, as if he knew-- that the very earth itself would bow down to him. The other did not even deem the woods worthy to be graced with his movement, moving was much below him, in fact, he appeared as if he wasn't even interested in whatever they had planned for Mikayla.

The man stopped in front of her. "Hmm... why have you stopped struggling?" His head tilted slightly to the side. "No matter. Faukaran."

Mikayla did not recognize the language, or the accent, and she was generally very good at picking up on accents. The man's English sounded slightly American, and slightly British, but it was evident he was neither of them, as the accent wasn't quite distinct enough. She couldn't place the accent of the other language either-- it did not even resemble any accents she had heard before and sounded, not foreign, but just different, strange.

She trembled once more before the unmoving man tapped his staff on the floor.

Her mind shut down.

Next update: Saturday 14th April 2018