Casting shadows.

~ if the shadow appears large, you're probably viewing it from the wrong angle😉

Case in point.

Fighting in the dark

I.

Cinders is kicking up leaves. With no contact from Red, she has spent the last season perfecting her hunting skills. Her once emaciated frame is now all lean muscle. The result of climbing up trees to where her headquarters have now moved. She could not take the trembling earth, the debris and the shadows any more.

The irony that for had been locked up in a tower for fifteen years does not escape her but, she also has the fresh memory of being locked in a dungeon to die.

In truth, she's pacing in circles. Just waiting for a sign. At this point any sign will do.

She's been spending too much of her time with what others would call "the wrong crowd". Not that they have any idea who she is, which in itself is creating a void. One much larger than she would care to admit. Her devoted bodyguards are becoming a bit bothersome. So every now and again, she goes out alone. Trying to find some missing piece of the puzzle. She reckons being an enigma herself, there should be a key, perhaps a code. Something to guide her on the increasing perplexity that is her destiny.

This is how she presents herself now. Introductions are made and secrets are traded. With a heavy heart she now acts as the voodoo priestess. Her eyes black as night. Her crown painfully biting into her scalp.

She remembers everyone telling her that the path would be difficult. Just how difficult she could not imagine.

II.

"Extreme ways call for extraordinary measures, my child." Was that something Red had once told her, or perhaps even the Spider? Maybe it was whispered in her ear as she slept under her father's watchful, if wandering gaze?

She can't look herself in the eyes. She is deathly afraid of what she might see in their depths. Even more of what she may not.

"I am not a victim. I have substance" she tells herself. Not that this alleviates any of ridiculous guilt she carries with her.

She needs two little words: "You survived."

Words that no-one is telling her, because nobody knows. No-one she can trust, that is.

"Dang, Cinders, cynical much?" She is shocked by her own voice. Gone is the song and the melody. She sounds exactly as she should, dangerous. Her voice restricted by the collar. At least, despite her angst, her voice is strong and deep.

III.

Night arrives too soon. She waits for the moon to settle. Then, with an almost ungodly speed she takes off running. The wolves on the ground panting to keep up with her dancing from tree top, to branch. Willing herself to fly.

One wrong move and she knows exactly what will happen. If she is lucky. If not, well broken bones could be explained. The thought brings a smile to her lips. So who will cure the voodoo priestess, the medicine woman?

The smile fades when she enters the colony of displaced residents. Here, there is something dark. Darker than the blackest soul. Here is an enemy who smiles with sharpened teeth. Biding its time. And that is exactly why she is here. To get to know that enemy better. For understanding the darkness is better than fearing it.

Let that be a tale for another time…

Resigner💜

Go, leave your vengeance behind. We are all sinners, but fury brings nothing but heartache - and in this writer's case, one massive headache.

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§ Casual reminder that this is a work of fiction.