Butterfly Running From The Wolf

Night

Damdow Woods

Dam’s Keep, Damoria

The night was thick with the promise of rain, the air heavy and cool.

The moon, veiled by ominous clouds, cast an eerie glow over the dense forest. Shadows stretched and twisted between the towering trees, swallowing every trace of warmth.

Seraphina ran.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest on fire. Her once-vibrant dress hung in tatters, muddied—a ghost of a life she no longer had. Twigs snapped beneath her bare feet, branches clawed at her arms and face like skeletal fingers. She didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

He was close.

She could feel him the way prey feels a predator before the killing blow. Adolphus. His name was acid on her tongue.

Once, she had trusted him. Once, she had craved the warmth of his touch, the whisper of his voice in the dark. Love—or an illusion of it. Now that illusion lay shattered, drowned in the blood of everyone she had ever loved. Her family. Her people. Her home. All slaughtered. By the hands that had once held her so tenderly.

Monster.

Her foot caught on a root. She stumbled, caught herself, stifled a cry with her hand. No sound. No mistakes.

She pressed her back against an ancient oak, pulse hammering like a caged bird. Think, Seraphina. Think. But terror wrapped around her throat like a noose.

Then—a sound.

Not rain; that had only just begun to fall, light at first, then harder.

Not wind; it moaned through the branches like the wails of the dead.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Hunting.

A low, dark chuckle slithered through the trees.

“You can run, but you can’t hide, Butterfly.”

Her blood turned to ice.

That voice. That taunting, velvety voice once whispered her name in devotion. Now it dripped with possession, with the thrill of the hunt.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Why him? Memories clawed their way to the surface—the nights in his arms, his lips promising her the world. Had it all been a lie? Was she only a game?

Don’t think. Don’t remember. Survive.

Rain battered harder, masking her trembling breath as she peeked around the tree. He was closer than she feared. Even in the darkness, his eyes glimmered—red, feral, hungry.

He was in his element. A predator savoring the chase, taking his time. Because he knew she had nowhere left to run.

Panic clawed up her throat. There has to be a way out. But the forest was a labyrinth.

Then—there. A fallen tree, moss-covered, slick with rain. A hiding place.

She dropped to the ground, sliding beneath the trunk. Cold, wet earth pressed against her skin, mud seeping into her clothes and hair, masking her scent. Would it be enough?

She pressed a shaking hand over her mouth. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

The footsteps stopped. Right above her.

Seraphina’s lungs burned. Mud clung to her fingers as she gripped the earth, nails breaking against stone.

And then—the sound she dreaded.

A sniff. A long, slow inhale.

“I can smell your fear,” Adolphus murmured.

Her heart pounded so violently she swore he could hear it.

His claws sank into the mud inches from her face as he crouched lower, leveling himself with her.

“You always did like playing games,” he said, voice almost teasing. “But this one is getting old.”

Her fingers brushed something hard—a stone. Sharp. Jagged. A weapon.

Now or never.

With a cry of desperation, she lunged from beneath the trunk, driving the stone deep into his leg.

Adolphus snarled, stumbling back.

Run.

She scrambled to her feet, her body screaming in protest, and ran. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

Behind her, his roar split the night—fury, and something worse: a promise.

“You think that’ll stop me, Butterfly?”

Her chest burned, her legs faltered, but she pushed forward. Faster. Faster.

Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just run.

And then—she remembered.

The dagger. Hidden beneath the folds of her dress. Her only chance.

Her fingers found the hilt. She turned.

And Adolphus was already there.