[Hauntingly Sweet]
(First-Person POV)
The town had only ever seen the monsters behind glass—curiosities labeled ‘freaks of nature’ with blood a shade of blue that made stomachs churn. But their voices... they never stayed behind the glass.
They coiled around my mind, flooded with the suffocating weight of whispers I was never meant to hear.
Their whispers flooded my mind. Cold, ruthless, derogatory remarks etching deep within my psyche. Remarks that I wish to unhear.
It’s unfair. It always has been.
I remember the days of loss: a father who vanished, a mother who burned to ash under the sun. I remember the taste of moldy bread—dull, empty but digestable— as well as the metallic sting of blood like copper on my tongue from time to time as if it was a gamble of what I eat.
A monster with human blood. Raised by hunters, but never as family. More like a tool tucked beneath their boots, used to remove threats like me. Paid just enough to survive to only have a single meal on the plate.
Comfort… I never knew what that meant. Working for the same people who feared me, hunting creatures they called monsters. My hands were always stained with blue blood, dripping down my fingers even after the job was done.
Work is work.
Money is life.
Hunters who took me in only because my blood was close enough to theirs. Not human, nor monster—just useful.
“A threat,” they called me.
And I killed creatures with the same blood as mine. Because they said it kept people safe. Because it was “tradition.” And because I had no other place to go.
Protectors, they claimed to be but, all I saw were sadists who wanted anything different erased.
I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to, because if I did… where would I go?
And then—like every night these past months—the dream pulls me under again.
The smell of blood in the air… strangely calming. My vision blurs, the world tilting before me before it fades to black
Humming wakes me.
I jolt awake, confusion rushing in. For a moment, it feels like I’m about to die, but instead of pain, there is a cottage, walls carved from the bark within the tree itself. Moss clings to the walls like decorations. Strange plants grow from the living room. A window opened out to a forest washed clean by rain. Pots clattering somewhere in the kitchen. Wooden floors creak under the soft movement of the chair.
It feels… worth surviving for. Even if it’s just a dream.
I pressed my hand against my chest then my abdomen. The scar is gone, as my old tunic was replaced by a newer and comfortable one.
“Oh… right.”
Another day passed faster than I realized. I pull myself up and walk toward the dining room.
A tall woman with long silver hair stands there humming a small tune. Long bell sleeves sway around her arms, and her skirt flows along the floor with a soft rustle of fabric, her amethyst eyes staring at the food.
“Ah, You’re awake,” she says, she slowly faced me after placing the plate down on the counter. “I made breakfast. Something you can eat.”
She sits, waiting for me, and I join her with no hesitance. Her voice fills the room, gentle and steady, and somehow I listen to every word. Despite her gentle tone, and the numerous nights I’ve seen this dream, everything she does still makes me unsteady and flinch.
I stand quickly. “I’ll get it. You made breakfast—even if it was my turn.” I gather a bowl of herbs, freeze for a moment looking around the room like I’m forgetting something, then return to my seat.
She smiles softly.
“You’re doing great.”
The room goes quiet, but it’s a warm silence. I stare down, exhale, and smile back. “Because you’re here.”
After everything—after the life I lived—I suppose I’m allowed a fresh start. Washing dishes, cleaning the table, these small things feel new. And now I’m eating breakfast with her beside me.
The food tastes real—meat with flavor, not the metallic or rotten taste I’m used to.
We eat slowly. She always chews at a calm, steady pace, since the beginning.
Those days of half-rotten and raw meat… drinking dirty water because my body could handle it… sleeping in an inn that was barely standing.
Those days feel far away now.
“Young man,” the town leader said, all smugness and greed in his eyes. “bring me the head of a threat in these woods. Their blood is like yours, so you’ll find them quickly. Tradition, you know. Remove one more and the town will be safe.”
Of course. Another job. Another creature like me to kill.
Carefully I shift, lowering my hood to conceal my eyes. My gaze lowered to my chest strap, making sure that I’ve carried all my hunting necessities. I pull out my knife, taking steady steps to not make noise and alarm her.
“You came from something warm,” she murmured to the plants. “Fragile, sweet… lasting.”
I stepped closer. And the forest watched me.
Not her—the trees.
Just as I was about to lunge forward and attack, vines crawled up around my leg, wrapping around my thighs with floral spores that glowed faintly, immobilizing me in an instant. Shock hit me first, but my instinct rushed in fast. I tore the vines with sheer strength and adrenaline, but the spores bursted into white dust, catching me off guard as I inhaled sharply.
My vision blurred. Breathing hitched. I felt my knees hit the moss.
The last thing I saw was green and white fabric moving toward me before darkness consumed me whole.
Unconscious, yet floating.
Voices muffled. Warmth swallowing everything.
“I… like it this way,” I thought. “I’m tired. I don’t want to wake up. Just let me float… think… breathe.”
A peace I never had. A place where no one wanted me dead.
“Cowardly, isn’t it?” my own voice echoed.
Maybe. I didn’t care.
I knew the spores’ effect would fade. My body would fight it. I wanted more time in that quiet.
“I don’t want to move. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to do their bidding anymore…”
A crack formed in the darkness.
Then another.
Then it shattered.
I jolted awake, sitting up gasping and head pounding.
A voice said gently:
“You’re finally awake.”
