inspired by Ensagokrans, fairy tales from
Samuel's lost his memory and his way, wandering the forest. The witch of
the woods finds him and wants him to stay with her. She tries everything in her
power to break the bond between Samuel and his sister - a bond he can't yet
remember. And if the witch has her way, he never will.
EXCERPT
She called his name from far away. He felt her tugging his hand
and followed like someone blinded, stumbling over roots and rocks. They walked
and walked, until the glow had faded to little white dots beside the path.
Lilies of the valley grew wild on the ridge beside them, hundreds of small
white bells drooping gracefully over deep green leaves. He’d never seen so
many. The smell was overwhelmingly sweet. It made him dizzy, and he sat down
against a tree trunk.
Her pale face appeared over his, heart-shaped, tiny indent in
her chin like a small finger had pressed there once and set. “Breathe, Sam.”
She stroked his cheek.
He struggled to keep his eyes open. “We … where are we?”
“You were wandering the forest. You’ve been sick. Rest while I
pick some flowers.”
He watched, eyelids heavy, as she walked among the lilies, tiny
white bells swaying. She picked a great mound of them, gathered them in the
crook of her elbow and dumped them in his lap, laughing at the look on his
face.
“So these are for me?”
“To help keep you with me. Breathe deep, Samuel.”
The smell was cloying. He
flung them to the ground and stood, taking deep breaths. “It won’t work. I’m
going home now.”
Her pretty white face fell. “I wanted you to stay.”
He shook his head and walked away. His head pounded. He
staggered over roots and rocks, following the trail downward. Home was
somewhere at the foot of the mountain. All he had to do was get to the valley.
He’d find it.
He walked until he forgot what he walked for, and then stood
still on the path, breathing hard and listening to the birds calling high
above. Water rushed somewhere behind the trees.
A hand slid into his, small and strong. “Come with me,” she
said, and they walked between maple and dogwood trees, following the sound of
the water.
The stream was wide, rushing and bubbling down from the
mountains, frothing over small falls of mossy rocks and branches. A fine mist
rose over all.
She stepped out of her dress, flinging it over a nearby bush,
and looked back at him over her shoulder. Her waist was tiny, skin without
flaw, and she had a sleek little bottom that would almost fit in his palms. She
turned and held out her hand. His eyes fell to her high breasts, rosy nipples
peaking in the mountain air.
He turned away, aroused and ashamed. He had to leave. Someone
waited for him. He thought it was someone he loved. He watched the water
tumbling and roaring downstream, and he flashed upon the girl’s image again,
beseeching eyes green and brown like the river rocks. She said a single word.
“Samuel,” the witch said, her voice a clear bell rising over the
watery babble, and the vision of the girl vanished. He stepped close and
wrapped her hand in his. It looked so small, nestled there. She smiled at him
slowly, eyes shining, and he stripped while she watched.
The water was cool, rushing past and leaving bubbles clinging to
his skin. The witch wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his
back. She bent to his nipple and kissed it, sucked and bit. It stung, then throbbed savagely. He looked down at his chest,
surprised, and she pulled him to her and kissed him. He tasted his blood on her
lips and tongue.