23. Not Alone

A week had passed since Shanane returned to the village, and the weight of its presence bore down on her more with each passing day. 

The village had never felt like home, not even when she was a child, but now it felt like a prison. She could hardly step outside without feeling the weight of their stares, the whispered voices that trailed after her wherever she went. They thought she couldn't hear them, but she did. 

Some spoke in hushed tones abosut her grandmother's death, their voices laced with unease, speculating about what had truly happened to the old woman. Others were convinced that Shanane had inherited something from her, that the darkness that had claimed her grandmother had now settled inside of her. 

Their fear was suffocating. 

The pity was worse. 

They looked at her like she was a stain on their village, something they had to tolerate but wished they could erase. Some averted their gazes when she passed, while others watched her too closely, their eyes filled with suspicion.

"A witch's blood doesn't wash clean." she had overheard one woman say. 

She had ignored them, or at least tried to. She kept to herself, staying inside her grandmother's cottage as much as possible. It was better than being out there, in the streets where their judgment followed her like a curse. 

But the cottage wasn't much better. Because in the silence, in the loneliness of being the only person left in that house, she felt watched.

It was an irrational feeling, she told herself at first. A trick of the mind, an aftereffect of grief and exhaustion. But as the nights stretched on, that excuse became harder to believe. 

She wasn't just imagining it. Something was watching her. And the worst part was, it was getting closer. 

Sleep had become a battle, one she lost every single night. It wasn't just that the cottage felt too empty, too silent, but that the moment she closed her eyes, the nightmares began. 

The dreams weren't always the same, but they always carried the same suffocating weight of fear. Some nights, she found herself running through the forest, the trees stretching high above her, their branches curling like twisted fingers against the sky. Something was always behind her, its presence heavy in the air, its footsteps too quiet but too close. No matter how fast she ran, no matter how many turns she took, she never outran it. 

Unlike the last time it wounded her to death, now she always woke up before it could reach her. 

Other nights, the nightmare was different. 

She wasn't running. She wasn't moving at all. Because she couldn't. 

She would wake or at least, she would think she had woken,only to find herself frozen in bed, her body paralyzed. The room would be exactly as it had been when she fell asleep, the same dim light from the dying fire casting flickering shadows on the walls. 

But something would be there. Something in the corner, standing just beyond where the light reached. She couldn't see it, not clearly. It had no distinct shape, no form she could describe, just a black mass, a hollow emptiness, that should not be there.

It watched her. She knew it was watching. She could feel it. She would try to move, try to reach for the candle on her bedside table, try to scream but nothing ever worked. Her body refused to obey. The only thing that moved were her eyes, darting wildly around the room as her heart pounded like a war drum against her ribs. 

Then just before she could wake, it would move. Not in a way that made sense, not in a way she could track. One moment, it would be in the corner. The next, it would be closer.

Hovering at the foot of her bed, watching.

And then, she would wake up for real.

Cold sweat would cling to her skin, her chest heaving with the effort to breathe, her fingers digging into the sheets like she was trying to hold onto reality itself. 

She would stay awake after that, refusing to let herself drift back into sleep, because she knew if she did, she would find herself right back there.

But out of all the nightmares, one stood out. 

It wasn't just a nightmare. It was something more.

At first, it had come in flashes, brief glimpses that slipped away the moment she woke up. A dark room. A scent so thick with iron that it made her gag. Symbols carved into the walls, drawn in something wet and red.

The longer she stayed in the village, the longer she stayed in the cottage, the more vivid the nightmare became. 

Now, every time she closed her eyes, she found herself in that same place. She knew the room before she had even stepped foot inside. 

The walls were covered in blood. Not splattered, not spilled in a frenzy of violence, but painted. Drawn in careful, deliberate strokes, dark sigils she didn't recognize, twisted symbols that pulsed with something wrong. 

The air smelled of iron, thick and suffocating, so strong it made her stomach churn. She was always at the center of it. A perfect black circle was drawn on the ground beneath her, its lines unbroken.

She was trapped inside it, her feet hovering just above the floor. Because she wasn't standing. She was levitating. 

Some unseen force held her in place, suspending her above the ground like a marionette hanging from invisible strings. She could feel it, something wrapping around her, restraining her. 

The harder she tried to move, the tighter the invisible grip became, pressing down on her limbs, wrapping around her throat like a whisper of something terrible. 

She never saw who or what was keeping her there. She never saw who had drawn the symbols, who had spilled all that blood. 

But she felt it. Something ancient, something powerful. 

And then, just as the panic reached its peak, just as she thought she would suffocate under the weight of it, she would wake up.

Her body would jolt violently back into reality, her skin cold and clammy, her breath gasping out of her throat in ragged, broken sobs. 

She didn't know where the room was. Didn't know if it had already happened, or if it was something she was being led to.

But she knew one thing for certain. 

No matter how different her nightmares were, no matter how many times she ran through the trees or found herself frozen in her own bed, one thing never changed. 

The thing was always there. 

No matter where she was, no matter what form the nightmare took, it was always watching.*

Sometimes it was in the forest, its long, shifting shape standing between the trees, just beyond the moonlight. 

Other times, it was in the corner of the blood-painted room, standing where the darkness was deepest, where her eyes could never fully adjust. 

It never spoke. It never moved. 

It only watched. And no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it was just a dream, that she was imagining it, she knew she wasn't. Because every night, it felt closer. Every night, she felt its presence a little stronger.

And she had the terrible, gut-wrenching feeling that soon. She wouldn't wake up before it reached her. 

____

Shanane sat in the dimly lit cottage, her hands gripping the fabric of her sleeves as she stared at the small flickering candle in front of her. The flame wavered slightly, casting long, shifting shadows across the wooden walls. 

Her heart was beating too fast, an anxious rhythm that refused to settle. She hadn't stepped outside in days. Not since the nightmares started getting worse.

Not since she began waking up with the feeling of something watching her long after the dreams had ended. 

The cottage, as suffocating as it was, felt like the only place that kept her separated from the rest of the village, the people who whispered about her, the ones who looked at her like she wasn't meant to be here.

She had told herself she was fine. 

That if she just stayed inside, if she just ignored them, things would get better. But they weren't. They were getting worse. 

A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. 

She flinched, her breath catching in her throat. Her fingers clenched against the table as her eyes flicked toward the entrance, her body going tense. 

No one ever came here. Not anymore. 

For a brief, terrible moment, she thought about the shadow from her dreams, the way it stood in the corners, waiting, watching. 

But then, she heard avoice. 

"Shanane?"

Her pulse didn't slow, but some of the tension in her limbs eased as she let out a shaky breath. 

It wasn't the shadow. It wasn't something unnatural. It was him, Eoghan. 

She stood up slowly, brushing her hands against her clothes as she tried to gather herself. She hadn't seen the huntsman since he had last come to investigate the house, and she wasn't sure why he was here now. 

She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the door handle before she finally opened it. 

Egohan stood on the other side, his sharp green eyes flickering over her, the second she appeared.

He was assessing her. Reading every detail, the dark circles under her eyes, the way she hesitated before even opening the door. 

He didn't say anything at first. 

Then, after a long pause, he finally spoke. 

__Eoghan: "You don't come out."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. 

She forced herself to stand straighter, pushing back the uneasy feeling curling in her stomach. 

__Shanane: "I didn't feel like it."

Egohan's gaze didn't waver. 

__Eoghan: "Harlin is concerned."

__Shanane: "Is he?"

The blonde man didn't answer right away. He just kept watching her, measuring something. 

Then, finally, he exhaled, his voice quieter this time. 

__Eoghan: "I was, too."

The young woman blinked, startled by the admission. She wasn't sure how to respond to that. Because no one had ever said those words since she came here.

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And now, here stood the huntsman, someone who barely knew her, someone who had no reason to care, watching her with those sharp green eyes that missed nothing.

Her fingers tightened slightly against the doorframe as she stared at him. His words lingered in the space between them, heavier than she expected

She let out a slow breath, shifting her weight.

__Shanane: "I told you. I just didn't feel like going out." she muttered, crossing her arms.

__Eoghan: "For a week?" He didn't look convinced.

The braided hair young woman stiffened. She had lost track of the days. The longer she stayed inside, the less the time seemed to matter. Days and nights blended together, only separated by the nightmares that refused to leave her alone.

She turned away slightly, avoiding his gaze.

__Shanane: "Does it matter?"

__Eoghan: "It does if you're isolating yourself."

His voice wasn't accusatory. It wasn't prying. It was simply stating a fact.

She exhaled sharply, feeling frustration curl inside her.

__Shanane: "Why do you care?"

He didn't answer right away.

For a long moment, he just stood there, considering her, as if deciding how honest he wanted to be.

Then, after a pause, he finally spoke.

__Eoghan: "Because I've seen what happens to people who let themselves disappear."

His words made something tighten in her chest. She swallowed, glancing away.

__Shanane: "I'm not disappearing."

__Eoghan: "Not yet."

She frowned, irritation flickering through her.

__Eoghan: "You don't know me."

__Eoghan: "No. But I know when someone is drowning." he held her gaze.

His words hit harder than she expected. Because the truth was he wasn't wrong.

She had spent the last week locked inside her own mind, trapped between grief and exhaustion, between the whispers of the villagers and the shadows of her nightmares.

And yet, something about him saying it aloud made her feel exposed. Like she wasn't just hiding from the village. She was hiding from herself.

Before she could respond, Egohan shifted slightly, glancing past her into the house.

__Eoghan: "Come with me."

__Shanane: "What?" she blinked

__Eoghan: "Get out of here for a little while.

__Shanane: "No." she immediately tensed.

The huntsman an let out a quiet sigh.

__Eoghan: "I thought you'd say that."

__Shanane: "Then why ask?"*m

He gave her a patient look, as if she were the one being unreasonable.

__Eoghan: "Because I'm not taking you into the village. I know places where no one goes."

The young black woman hesitated. She didn't like the idea of stepping outside. Not when she knew the villagers were waiting, watching, judging.

But then, Egohan wasn't suggesting that.

He was offering her something else. A place where she wouldn't feel their stares. A place where, maybe for just a little while, she could breathe.

She studied him carefully, trying to understand why he was doing this. Why did it matter to him if she stayed inside forever?

Why did he care if she let herself be swallowed by the silence?

She had no answers.

But as she stood there, caught in the quiet weight of his unwavering gaze, she realized she wasn't entirely sure she wanted them.