“You do not belong here,” she said, her voice warm yet menacing as it carried through the air.
Darien stopped walking and looked for the source of the voice. The trees seemed clustered together, as if to pin him in.
“You do not belong here,” she repeated. The trees shifted again, pressing closer together. Darien drew his machete, ready to cut his way through, if necessary, and stepped forward again. Unease crept up his spine but went ignored. A tree stopped his advance and a limb stretched towards him, its wood becoming flesh. Her arm was skinny and milky white. He recognized the markings that marred it. A finger crooked in front of his face, its sharp fingernail missing the underside of his chin by mere inches.
“You do not belong here!” she stated once more. He swung the machete back, but another tree stopped him from thrusting it into her bark. The pressure was tight and he released the machete. More twigs wrapped around him, trapping him in a tight embrace, as roots sprang from the soil, beating against his feet.
“You failed us!” her voice wavered as she spoke, the finger stretching further yet still avoiding contact. “You dare to return with the blood of our sisters on your soul. Your very substance is poison to us. You took from us our heart, now we will take yours!”
This week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge: heart–3: personality, disposition <a cold heart> between 33 and 333 words.
The image used in the story above is the picture prompt from Ermilia’s Picture it & Write prompt this week.
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