Celeste's body lay still against the forest floor. She couldn't feel the passing of time anymore—only the dull throb of pain radiating through every inch of her skin. Her breath was shallow. Her limbs were cold. The weight of failure, hunger, and exhaustion pressed down on her.
Her mind swam in and out of lucidity. "So… is this it?"
And eventually, she lost her consciousness and fell asleep. But eventually Celeste groaned and stirred. Her eyes opened into a squint. The sun was high—not yet noon, but well past dawn.
She blinked groggily. "Wh…where am I?" she muttered, her voice hoarse and dry.
She pushed her weight down onto her left arm to sit up—and pain like a white-hot blade shot through her shoulder. "Ah—!" she cried out, her vision flashing with sparks. She clutched the limb and curled forward, panting through the agony.
Tears welled in her eyes again, not from emotion, but raw, animal pain.
She moved her arm again—carefully, slowly. It still hurt like the world was ending, but it moved. The joint responded. The bones hadn't shifted again in her sleep.
She looked at her right hand and raised it over the injury.
A faint green glow flickered to life. It shimmered weakly for a moment, then sputtered out.
Still, the small light had done something. It hadn't healed the wound, but it had dulled the edge of the pain, given her back a fraction of mobility.
Celeste breathed out, her breath shaky. "So… I survived the night?"
She stared around, barely believing it. The forest hadn't taken her. The monsters hadn't devoured her. She was still here.
She got to her feet, using the same stick she'd been using to support herself. Her legs trembled as she stood. Her stomach twisted again with hunger.
So she walked. Days passed. She didn't know how many. They bled into each other.
Each morning she woke beneath trees, and each night she closed her eyes praying she'd wake again. Sometimes she rested for hours. Sometimes only minutes, because strange sounds sent her scrambling away.
She tried to catch birds, squirrels, anything. But her weakened body failed her at every attempt. Her magic never recovered fully—just flickers of light and warmth that vanished before they could save her.
But she didn't stop walking.
She had no idea where she was going. No sense of direction. Just the hope that she might stumble on a road. A hut. A town.
And eventually, one night, she did.
It was when the moon was climbing high. Her feet dragged across uneven dirt, and she stumbled out from the trees and saw the lights.
A village. Modest homes. Thin trails of smoke rising from chimneys. The soft yellow glow of lanterns in windows.
Her heart jumped. Her breath caught. Her knees buckled—but she stayed standing.
She limped forward, trembling. The first house was small, wooden, cozy.
She knocked on the door.
It creaked open after a long moment. An elderly woman peered out, clutching a shawl around her shoulders.
The moment her eyes met Celeste's, her face twisted in terror.
She slammed the door shut with a BANG.
Celeste stared at the door, her lips parting slightly. "Wait…" she whispered. "Please…"
No response.
She forced herself toward the next home. Her legs barely moved now. Her left shoulder hung limp, wrapped in stained cloth. Her face was gaunt, dirtied, eyes sunken from exhaustion and sleeplessness.
She knocked again.
This time a middle-aged man answered. He opened the door only slightly.
Celeste reached out, her voice thin and desperate. "Please… help me."
The man's face changed from confusion to dread. "Get away!" he shouted.
The door slammed. She heard the latch lock from the inside.
Through the wood, she heard a muffled exchange.
"Who was it?" a woman asked.
"A weird child… she looked dead, half-starved," the man replied. "That's how the vampires get people. Disguise themselves as the weak. Pretend to be human. Then they get in."
Celeste took a step back.
Her legs gave out. She fell to her knees on the dirt path, staring at the closed door.
"I'm… not a vampire…" she whispered, barely audible.
But there was no one listening.
She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling, the last of her strength pouring out like a broken jar.
But she raised her hand again and knocked. And knocked. Another house. Another doors. But Nothing.
Then the door cracked open slightly, just enough for the face of an older woman to peek through.
Celeste's voice was faint but desperate, "Please… I'm hurt. I need—"
The door slammed before she could finish.
Her hand dropped. Her gaze fell to the dirt. She stumbled back from the porch and looked at the village around her. Every home had light.
Tears stung her eyes again. "What is this…?" she muttered.
She turned to the next door and knocked. And then the next. And the next.
Each time the answer was the same.
She stepped back from one of the houses, her face flushed with anger and betrayal. Her fists clenched. Her voice cracked as she slammed her fists against the door.
"What's going on?! We're all people, aren't we?!" she yelled through gritted teeth. "We're supposed to help each other!"
A beat of silence passed. Then the door burst open.
A man stepped out, shaking, wide-eyed. In his hands, a sword.
"Stay back!" he screamed. "You monster!"
Celeste stumbled away, startled. Her heel caught the edge of the porch and she fell backward, hitting the ground hard. Her breath was knocked out of her lungs as she looked up at him, frozen in disbelief.
His arms were trembling, but his fear fueled him. He roared and swung the blade.
She rolled to the side instinctively. The sword grazed her cheek, cutting a shallow line. She gasped at the sting, but there was no time to think.
He came again, and she scrambled to her feet, limping heavily. Her left leg nearly buckled beneath her, and she cried out from the strain, but she stayed upright. She raised her hands, not in surrender, but with daggers drawn.
"Don't—!" she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. "I don't want to hurt anyone!"
The man didn't stop. He charged.
Celeste twisted her body, narrowly avoiding a downward slash. She deflected the sword with her right dagger and, with a half-hearted swipe from her injured left, cut across his shoulder. Not deep, but enough to make him drop his weapon with a cry.
He fell to one knee, clutching his arm.
She stepped back, panting, shaking. Blood ran down the side of her face, warm and sticky.
Then, another door slammed open.
Another man emerged, this one younger, holding a torch and a rusted spear. "I told you!" he shouted. "She came here to hurt us!"
His voice echoed through the village, drawing others out into the street. More doors opened. More fearful faces peeked into the night. Some carried weapons. Others stood frozen.
"She's a vampire!" the man shouted again. "A creature! If we all attack, we might survive!"
Celeste backed away again, one unsteady foot after another, as the crowd grew.
"I'm not a vampire!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and filled with desperation. "I'm a person—please, look at me!"
Her voice cracked. Her legs trembled. Her body felt like it would collapse at any moment.
"I'm hurt," she continued, pleading. "I need help. I need warmth. I'm bleeding, starving… I'm not here to hurt anyone—just help me. Please!"
For a moment, the crowd wavered. Some exchanged glances. Some hesitated.
But then, from the far side of the street, a grizzled man stepped forward. His face was hard and lined with grief. His eyes, sunken and bloodshot. He gripped a woodcutting axe in both hands.
"They say that," he growled. "That's exactly what they say."
His voice was hollow, haunted.
"If I hadn't believed it… if I hadn't trusted…" He stopped, eyes trembling. "My children would still be alive."
"No…" she whispered. "That's not me. I didn't—"
He didn't let her finish. With a roar, he charged her.
She raised her daggers, but her body was too weak. She couldn't outrun him. Couldn't block a full hit.
So she braced herself.
He swung.
She caught the axe with her blade, but the impact sent a jolt of pain up her arm. She spun from the force and dropped to her back. Her vision blurred. Her chest heaved.
Someone from the crowd shouted, "Stop! You'll kill her!"