Shadows of Desire

My feet whip across the forest floor as if it was the last thing they can do. I do not remember how long I have been running and I do not remember where I have come from. It must have been hours at least.

I forgot how it is to feel air enter my body in a normal way, without my lungs about to burst any second. I forgot how it feels to not have thorns in my soles, legs and arms, from dashing through the dark, snowy woods. And I forgot the reason – where am I running to, where am I going?

But there was no choice. Nothing else I could have done. All I could do was: run. Away from my father’s men, away from gunshots and threats, the looming promise of a life far away, married to an old man with smelly breath.

This sounds like something out of the 18-hundreds, but it is very prominent in my life. Since my father owns multiple factories and an enormous fortune because of it, all he cares about are politics and power. And me – his twenty-two-year-old only daughter and heir, apparently valuable enough to be used for both.

I grew up very protected – in the sense of never stepping a foot outside – but not knowing much about what a normal life is supposed to look like. All I ever wanted was to be normal, like the girls I have read about in books, but my life turned out to be the exact opposite.

And tonight, since I should have been shipped off to a far-off country that I cannot even pronounce, I saw my chance.

By some miracle, a wolf turned up on the street that our car was driving on, so the driver had to come to an abrupt stop. And the doors were unlocked.

I jumped out, ran and even took the chance of the wolf eating me alive. But the beautiful animal never even looked at me. He jumped in between the driver and me, growling at him, while I fled. I don’t know if that was pure luck or if the animal sensed his evil intentions, but that action saved me.

Or so I thought.

Finally, I can see the end of the woods. Some light ahead, albeit a dim one. The white dress I was wearing has been completely shredded to pieces, and by the way it hangs over my shoulder, my back must be half exposed; looking down, I can see most of my legs as well.

Right now, I thank my condition for not feeling the cold the way other people do. It is one of the few times in my life I have ever been grateful for it, although my feet are still bleeding and my skin is covered in scratches that sting whenever something brushes against them.

With the darkness of the forest behind me, I exit the natural path and enter a manmade one. Gravel under my toes welcomes me back to civilisation – or some sort of it. After a few steps, the mist settles and I can see a structure in the distance. My eyes must adjust for a minute, but then I quietly gasp.

I look upon a giant castle, five towers visible from where I am standing, with the biggest one glowing in one single red light from the top window. The rest is completely dark.

This is more than ominous.

Somebody must be home, there is a light after all. But then again, who would live here? This does not bode well. However...

I turn around and look back into the dark woods. As if on cue, I can hear critters scatter around in the periphery, and wolves even further back. It would be suicide to challenge fate once again and dare to go back into the forest, especially after making it here. And somewhere behind those trees, my father’s men might still be looking for me.

I make up my mind and turn back around, to tread the gravel path until I reach the castle doors.

A heavy, metallic door knob-thing gnarls at me – I know those things from books alone, it must be the way of knocking before bells were invented. But one of those would have been weird here anyways. I would have expected a lion or something, but it seems like a fantasy monster is barking at me.

I reach for the handle and before I can even touch it, the door creaks open a bit. Not much, just enough so I can see that it’s open at all.

After a deep breath, I push open the doors completely and they swing open, revealing dust, darkness and eerieness.

“Well that’s inviting”, I whisper to myself. But it is better than having people here. Nobody would live like this, so I should be safe for now. Maybe I can stay until morning and then figure out where I am, although I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to do after that.

Running away is surprisingly easy when compared to everything that comes afterwards.

I take one last step over the threshold and as I do, I am hit by a gust of wind, so strong that I must close my eyes for a second and cough. As I do so, I can hear the doors behind me fall shut.

When I look again, I gasp.

Instead of the dark, dusty hallway, I am suddenly greeted by an inviting one – red carpet beneath my feet, a wooden table with a golden lamp on it, torches burning on the wall, revealing impressive stairs leading upwards.

“How is this possible”, I blurt out and turn around a couple of times. This wasn’t here a second ago. Or have I been dreaming? Exhausted? Hallucinating?

Before I can keep on thinking, I can hear a noise to my right.

Footsteps.

“Hello?“, I call out, not sure whether that was the right move the second the word comes over my lips.

No answer. But they continue, so I investigate.

As I step through the next door, I am greeted by the most wonderful smell. This must be the kitchen, as an oven is lit up, cupboards and shelves are filled with all sorts of food and bottles and in the center, there is a round plate with something obviously delicious on top.

My stomach twists painfully at the sight of it.

Food has never been particularly exciting to me. All my meals have been pre-calculated and measured for as long as I can remember, to ensure the perfect body alongside personal training, achieving whatever my father considered the perfect balance of muscle and leanness. I ate what was put in front of me, when it was put in front of me, and never really thought about it beyond that.

This is different.

I can smell butter, I think, and something sweet beneath it, mixed with spices I cannot identify. Whatever is on the plate is still steaming, which should probably tell me that somebody has been here only moments ago, but my stomach seems to be significantly less concerned about that fact than my brain.

Not having eaten for what feels like weeks, I do not wait before stumbling forward and lunging at the food. I don’t even know what it is, all I know is that it is the most wonderful thing I have ever consumed.

I take another bite, and another, barely stopping long enough to breathe between them, and something about the desperation with which I am eating makes me realize that this feeling has a name.

Hunger.

Actual hunger.

I don’t think I have ever felt it before.

For a few moments, I forget where I am entirely, until a quiet noise somewhere behind me makes my hand stop halfway to my mouth.

The footsteps have stopped.

But whoever they belonged to has not left.

I can hear someone breathing behind me.