Page 12 of Maneater

When I was younger, my anger was so overwhelming at times that I may have seemed more monster than mortal.

That anger never left me, it only deepened with time. When the skirtsfolk took notice, they began to question whether it might be the work of devilry.

My mother denied any claims of madness or witchcraft, but I knew there was something dark inside me. It wasn’t just passing anger, it was deep, twisted, and rooted in my very being. It took me years to understand that this fury was a part of me, as necessary as blood to my heart or air to my lungs.

Child of pain, woman of wrath.

I was only twelve when I first witnessed my father try to kill my mother.

I was wandering through the woods of Brier Len, my imagination leading each of my steps.

With a crown of conifer branches upon my head, the slender trees and woodland creatures became my subjects, and I, their beloved queen.

Chimes of ruling my fantasy kingdom passed, but hunger finally nudged me back to reality, and I set out to return home.

I jumped over stones and roots, making my way back to the rundown cottage I called home. It was the peak of summer and the air was hot and heavy. Sweat soaked my dress and stuck to my skin, but I couldn’t help smiling.

Just as I rounded the bushes marking the end of my walk, my smile faded at the sound of my mother’s cry coming from inside. I ran to the back door, bursting through to find her lying on the floor with Father standing over her.

He was ranting, incoherent and staggering, his voice a guttural snarl of broken words.

My heart stopped as I watched my mother cower in a corner, trying to protect herself.

In an instant, my father’s hand struck her across the cheek.

My mother’s cry rang out again. I held my breath, my lungs aching as I fought to stay silent.

Father raised another fist and brought it down on her back.

She gasped and braced herself, her eyes widening in shock when she saw me standing at the back door.

Her eyes seemed to say one thing: Hide.

I bolted through the back door, sprinting for the side window.

From the pane, I watched helplessly as my mother tried to reason with him, her voice strained and trembling. But my father only sneered, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her toward the kitchen.

He hurled her against the supper table. The force toppled it with a crash, and she hit the floor with a sickening thud, lying still among the broken legs and scattered plates.

A scream tore from my throat. I clamped my hands over my mouth.

My father’s head snapped toward the sound. His eyes met the window, and I ducked, my back slamming against the outer wall. Inside, pots clattered and something heavy shattered.

Then I heard the door burst open.

His boots pounded the porch as he stumbled into the yard, his breath ragged, curses flying.

I crouched low in the underbrush, heart thundering in my ears, barely daring to breathe as he staggered past, eyes wild.

When he couldn’t find me, he started hurling bottles at the cottage, glass exploding against wood and stone.

I stayed curled in the brush until the only thing I could hear was the soft crackle of broken glass cooling in the dirt.

After the last bottle shattered, I saw that my father’s anger hadn’t faded, his eyes were still cold.

He stilled when he saw the ax lodged in the firewood log.

A wave of fear washed over me as he grabbed the handle and yanked it free.

The wood splintered violently as the ax came loose, and as it swung from his right hand, he turned back toward the house.

Time seemed to slow as I watched him march to the door.

My legs begged me to run, to vanish into the trees, but the image of my mother lying on the floor held me there.

The memory filled me with a rage so intense it fogged my mind.

With my father already inside, it was only a matter of time before his violence would start again.

A sharp, painful sound rang in my ears, causing me to drop to my knees, hands clutching my head.

Something hidden deep within my mind suddenly surfaced, as though it had just woken.

Fear hit me, but it faded quickly. Darkness clouded me and I felt my body move while my mind struggled to keep up.

My vision turned black and what remained of me was a storm of emotions.

All were driven by an intense, uncontainable wrath .

By the time my vision returned, night had settled in and Father was gone. The hearth was cold and dark, and the cottage lay in silence. The air was warm, and my small fingers were coated in something gritty. I spread them, feeling the flakes crumble off.

I blinked and squinted as I searched the cupboard for the spare candles we kept. When I lit one, the sharp scent of sulfur filled the air, and the candle’s weak glow began to reveal the room around me.

The first face I saw was my mother’s. She lay on the floor as if asleep, her eyes closed, her head resting gently on her arm. I stepped toward her to wake her, but I tripped on something.

A sudden fluttering broke the silence. Shadows scattered across the floor.

I looked down, and a scream tore from my throat.

Ravens.

Dozens of them.

They covered the floor, wings rustling, gathered around a large figure.

My stomach tightened as I watched them, some pecking at limbs, others tearing at the torso, one nipping at the scalp.

I stepped forward, each movement pulling more of the scene into focus.

The candle trembled in my grip, wax running in a slow trickle as my hand shook. Dread rose in my throat like bile.

Then I saw his face, or what was left of it.

Father. Nearly unrecognizable.

The cottage was in shambles. Objects lay strewn across the floor, chairs overturned as if a storm had passed through. Black feathers clung to every surface, stirred by the flutter of wings. One of his boots had been cast aside, half buried beneath a tangle of broken twigs and splintered wood.

A silver glint caught my eye. I saw the ax Father had held wedged deep in the floorboards, angled as if were mid-swing, like the iron hadn’t struck what it meant to.

The sight of it triggered a storm deep inside me. Something ancient and angry stirred in my chest, and all at once, the memories came back.

I ran to my mother. When I reached her, I dropped to my knees and the candle slipped from my grip and rolled away, its light flickering across the floor.

I called her name, again and again, until my throat burned.

She didn’t stir. I tried to lift her shoulders into my lap, but her body sagged, limp, her head lolling to one side .

That’s when I saw my hands, blackened and the color of soot. I stared at them, stunned, unable to understand what I was seeing.

Behind me, the ravens continued their work, pecking and tearing. Their frantic movements filled the air with constant noise. The sound gnawed at me, louder with every heartbeat.

That was when panic took hold, hollowing me out from the inside.

My breaths came in uneven gasps as I clutched my chest. I stumbled back against the wall, legs barely steady. The ravens sensed my unease. Some flapped wildly, others screeched, their cries rising like a warning.

The walls felt like they were closing in. My vision blurred. I sank to the floor, hands over my temples, rocking in place as I waited for the storm inside me to pass.

It was then the worst had just begun.

The ravens were no longer restless, they had gone wild.

Screeching, they flew in erratic patterns with no sense of direction, slamming into walls and knocking over furniture.

My panicked cries only made them worse. Objects crashed to the floor as wings flapped madly, and through it all, they answered with a chorus of:

Kraa, kraa, kraa!

Their cries echoed around me and I did the only thing I could.

I ran.

I bolted into the woods behind my cottage, my little legs carrying me as fast as they could. The moonlight was faint, hidden behind heavy clouds, and a thick fog curled through the trees and over the paths I knew by heart. Everything familiar was swallowed in mist.

Still, I kept running.

Branches clawed at my arms. Roots caught my feet. I stumbled over rocks, pushed through dense brush, all while the caws followed me, louder, closer, never letting up.

At one point, I slipped into a creek and landed roughly on the rocks below. The stones tore into my palms and knees, but even soaked and bleeding, I kept running, deeper into the woods. The ravens were closing in. No matter how fast I moved, they were always just behind me.

I paused only for a breath, chest heaving, panic clawing at my throat as I tried to make sense of my surroundings.

Everything felt wrong. The forest I’d called home had become an unfamiliar maze.

I was completely and utterly lost.

Hopelessness hit me like a wave, and I dropped to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably as everything fell apart. My cries were relentless, each one tearing through me. My shoulders sagged, and my chest ached with the weight of my grief. I didn’t know where I was or where I should go.

Were my parents actually dead? What if someone thought I was involved? I needed help. Who could I turn to?

A deafening crack of thunder rang out as dark clouds churned overhead. A raindrop struck my forehead, then another, and within seconds, the sky opened in a heavy downpour.

The rain came fast. The trees weren’t thick enough to keep me dry, and I was already soaked from the creek. The temperature dropped, and the wind began to whip through the branches. I shivered, teeth clenched, knowing I had to find shelter.

Was there anywhere to take cover? Should I try to go back home? But how? I had no idea where I was or how far I’d run.

The thoughts tumbled in my mind as lightning split the sky. For a moment, the woods lit up, and in that brief flash, I saw the outline of a cottage in the distance.

Without thinking, I ran toward it, praying it was real.

Praying it had walls, a roof, and enough shelter to hide me from the storm.

As I neared, my steps slowed. The cottage looked unfamiliar, nothing like the ones I’d grown up around. It stood crooked and still, half-swallowed by the woods and forgotten by time. The storm howled, but even through the rain, I hesitated.

Was this place safe?

If skirtsfolk lived here, catching them off guard might only make things worse. I knew how I must have looked. Drenched, scratched, half-wild. Would they show me kindness? Or would fear twist me into something dangerous in their eyes?

I knew how deeply the people of Brier Len feared devil-blood. My mother never let me answer the door after dark because of it.

A sharp caw pierced the silence.

A black blur streaked past, close enough to make me flinch. I stumbled back as another raven swept by, its wing nearly grazing my cheek. Lightning cracked overhead, illuminating two more circling above me, their cries slicing through the air.

Then came a low rumble of thunder, and suddenly, a dozen ravens burst into view. They spiraled together in a dense, endless mass.

The flock closed in, one raven at a time, their caws drowning out my voice. Thunder rolled overhead, heavy enough to shake the ground beneath me. My legs gave out, and I collapsed into the mud, its cold grip soaking my hands and knees.

In the next flash of lightning, the largest raven loomed before me, unblinking, and its head cocked in curiosity.

A strange power radiated from it, stopping me cold.

Even in the chaos, I could tell this was no ordinary raven.

A mix of fear and envy twisted in my gut, drawn by something I couldn’t explain.

Its sharp eyes locked onto mine, holding me in place.

Time slowed, and an eerie silence fell over the forest. Everything else faded, even the sound of my own breathing.

The raven’s stare rooted me in place. My arms dropped, my body froze, and everything went black.

When my vision finally came to, I sank to my knees and gasped.