Chapter 8

Eleanor's POV

I run blindly through a forest that has transformed into a living nightmare. Every step feels as though it reverberates through my very soul, the pounding of my heart matching the frantic rhythm of my feet against the damp ground. The trees around me have become sinister silhouettes, their gnarled branches reaching out like desperate, skeletal hands in the dark. Shadows twist and merge, creating a disorienting image that blurs the line between reality and terror.

Breathless and suffocating under the weight of my fear, I can barely form the word "Help!" 

My voice, raw and hoarse, barely forms through the silence. Instead, I am met with the hollow echo of my own plea—a mocking whisper that bounces back from unseen corners of the dark forest. Every echo feels like an accusation, a reminder that I am utterly alone and helpless.

I fight against the rising tide of despair and try to tap into the power I know lies dormant within me. I imagine a blazing fire, a fierce inferno that should burst forth to protect me from the encroaching darkness. 

I had done it before. Flames answered when I called.

But no matter how hard I concentrate, my inner flame seems to have left me. It is as if I am clutching at smoke, the more desperately I squeeze, the more it slips through my trembling fingers.

Not now, I plea internally. Moon goddess, save me!

Desperation drives me to attempt a transformation—an invocation of the wolf spirit that has always lurked in the recesses of my being, ready to emerge as my fierce guardian. I concentrate, willing my body to shift into the agile, fearsome creature. Instead, my limbs betray me, locked in an unnatural paralysis born of pure terror. My body refuses to become the savior I so desperately need, leaving me vulnerable and exposed to the relentless threat closing in.

In a final, hopeless act, I cry out to the Moon Goddess again whose presence was known to provide comfort and guidance in the darkest of nights. 

“Oh, Goddess, hear me,” I whisper, my voice trembling like a fragile leaf caught in a storm. But my plea is swallowed by a chorus of sinister chants that grow louder and more ominous with every passing second.

“Kill her! Kill her!” They call out, a relentless chant that echoes through the trees and seems to shake the very ground beneath me. The hunters, their faces hidden in the shadows, move with a predatory precision. Their voices merge into a single, horrifying entity—a sound that chills my blood and sharpens the edges of my fear. I try to escape, to break free from their encircling trap, but my legs feel as if they are anchored to the earth, weighed down by an unseen force.

It seemed I wasn't making any progress.

The forest itself becomes an accomplice to my doom; trees twist and contort as if conspiring against me, their branches intertwining like the fingers of a malicious giant determined to hold me captive. Panic surges through me as I find myself surrounded, the hunters closing in from all sides. I lash out, my arms swinging in a futile bid to ward off the attack, but each attempt feels more like a feeble blow

Then, in a moment that seems to stretch into an eternity, a brutal force slams into my side. The shock of pain radiates outward, shattering the fragile shell of my hope. I collapse to the cold, muddy ground, screaming, my vision darkening as the world around me fades into an abyss of oblivion with each blow and each sinister jeering. Then, when I thought it was over, I felt my body dropping against gravity, until by being fell into rushing waters.

With the final wish of my tormentors hoping I die, I shut my eyes, unable to fight the current and cry out to the sky…

I jolt awake with a start, my heart drumming furiously in my chest, sweat soaking the sheets beneath me. For a long, disorienting moment, I lie there, caught between the remnants of the nightmare and the obscure reality of my room. The memory of that nightmarish pursuit lingers—a haunting echo of my desperate cries, whispered prayers, and the relentless, mocking voices of my pursuers - the werewolf hunters. 

Even as I tell myself it was "just a nightmare," the terror remains, a silent remainder that it was indeed the reality of how I died.

The memories of that night clung to me like an inescapable shadow, an ever-present specter in the corners of my mind. That day was burned into my memory, the searing pain that left my flesh and soul scarred, and the relentless terror of being hunted by merciless foes. All these horrors swirled together, a toxic cocktail that left me breathless and adrift in a sea of sorrow and rage.

At breakfast that morning, I sat at the magnificent breakfast table, my thoughts far from the mundane clatter of dishes and the soft murmur of the household. My father’s voice broke through my inner storm. 

“Elenor, what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle yet laced with worry. His eyes searched mine, seeking a truth I wasn’t ready to share.

Not now, not ever.

I hesitated, swallowing the torrent of memories that threatened to spill over. “Nothing, Father,” I replied, my smile a fragile mask barely concealing the turmoil beneath. “I just woke up feeling a bit off. I’ll be fine.” 

The lie tasted bitter, but it was a necessary shield. In that moment, I knew I could not burden him with the mystery of how I had died and was reborn.

His eyes narrowed with a silent question, but he let it go, and I was silently grateful. Some truths were mine to bear alone—truths too fierce, too dangerous to expose. The pain was not just a relic of the past; it was a living thing, coiling within me, fueling a dark determination. I had made up my mind long before the day began. I would hunt down the werewolf hunters who had shattered my life, who had reduced me to a trembling, broken remnant of my former self.

As I left the table, a cold resolve took root deep in my chest. Every heartbeat echoed with the promise of retribution. I imagined them now—savage figures cloaked in malice, whose very existence was an affront to everything I once held dear. I would track them down, follow the twisted trail of their sins until I found them, and then I would make them suffer. Each step I took would be fueled by a burning desire to inflict upon them even a fraction of the pain they had forced upon me.

And then, I would leave them to their death.

That night, as darkness enveloped the world outside, I stared into the mirror. My reflection seemed strange —eyes glinting with fierce determination, lips set in a firm line of resolve. In that quiet, solitary moment, I vowed to reclaim the power they had stolen from me. I would not be the victim forever. I would become the hunter, the avenger, a force of reckoning that would haunt their every step.

The road ahead was fraught with peril and uncertainty, for I had no idea who these hunters were and what malice they bore against me, yet the cold fire of vengeance was all the light I needed. Every memory of that fateful day, every ache of loss and pain, was transformed into fuel for my quest. I would find them, and when I did, there

would be no escape from the fury that I carried within.