Cress doesn’t dare to open her eyes until her hooves are once more on solid ground.
Brown eyes crack open and she glances about, taking in the sight before her eyes. The hellhounds have dragged her—and others, she notices—deep underground. Including herself, there are seven altogether, and she trembles as she looks at them all. Did the hounds bring them, too? Are they going to feast upon the seven, hunt them down, toy with them? What is happening? Maybe they can formulate a plan to escape. “Is anyone hurt?” she calls, desperate to help someone, but before she hears a response they are separated.
In the blink of an eye, cell walls materialize around her and she shrinks back in fear, stumbling when her hindquarters slam into iron bars rising up behind her. Trembling in terror, she backs herself into a corner, breathing heavily. There is almost no use in him utilizing the fear landscape on her, terrified as she is already. There is no escaping this, she realizes, eyes rolling as she presses further and further into the corner. Is it even possible to be more terrified than she already is? She’s about to find out just how scary this can get.
She blinks and the cell around her vanishes, the landscape of the Valley unfolding before her eyes. Where did the cell go? Did the monster that brought her here send her home? Was it because she is not strong enough to deal with whatever comes next? She knows that she is not very strong; she is a healer but she cannot cure her own insecurities and anxiety. But not strong enough? That doesn’t seem like a very good reason to send her home, unless he’s sent her to a strange, new Hell. It doesn’t matter. She’s home now; she can go on with her life.
There is no reason to be afraid.
She takes a few steps forward, but a voice stops her in her tracks. “Cress?” The golden girl wheels around and there, before her, is her mother. It has been many years since she has seen Kindling, but one never forgets their mother’s face. “Momma!” she shrieks with joy, bounding forward, but Kindling makes no effort to move towards her. She stops in front of her and tilts her head to the side, wondering why Kindling looks so worn down, so exhausted. “Momma, are you okay?” A single tear drops from her mother’s eyes, and suddenly Cress knows that something is very, very wrong.
“Momma, what’s wrong?” she asks, and Kindling shakes her head violently. “Baby girl, run. Run far away from here,” Kindling murmurs, reaching forward to brush Cress’ check with her muzzle. “You are not safe. I’m doing this to save you. Trust me, baby girl.”
“She’s right, you know,” a voice whispers in her ear, and Cress whirls around. “Who’s there?” she cries, heart threatening to burst from her chest. A dark shape rises before her, formless yet terrifying. In the dark mass she can detect the glimmer of vibrant red eyes and rows upon rows of sharp teeth. It swirls towards her and grazes her cheek, and Cress feels something razor sharp slicing her cheek upon. Hot blood bursts forth, staining the Valley floor beneath her, but Cress is paralyzed with fear.
“Cress, run!” her mother screams, but her hooves seem to be frozen to the ground. The black mist forms shape after terrifying shape before settling on something that is part dragon, part hellhound. It lunges for her but Kindling rushes in front of her, screeching as the creature’s teeth dig deep into her shoulder. “Momma!” Cress screams as Kindling falls, her blood pooling beneath Cress’ hooves. The creature rips into her dam’s flesh, and Cress can’t tell if it is blood pounding in her ears or her mother’s screams of pain that block out all other noise.
She pours her healing ability into her mother, trying to stem the bleeding even as the dragon-monster tears strips of flesh from her shoulder, neck, and barrel. She manages to knit the veins back together and begin to stretch new skin over the wounds, but even as one wound closes, another is torn open. As much as she can heal her mother, she cannot replenish the blood that Kindling has already lost—she just doesn’t know how. It’s futile but she cannot stop, will not stop for anything. Kindling cannot die.
Blood bubbles from Kindling’s lips and she meets Cress’ eyes. “Run, baby girl,” she whispers with one last dying breath, her eyes glazing over. The connection tethering her soul to her mother’s—healing her, keeping her breathing—shatters and with that, Cress finds her hooves again and scrambles away, slipping in her mother’s blood and nearly falling to her knees. She manages to stay upright and blood splashes up onto her legs as she races away from the feeding dragon-hound creature, tears staining her cheeks and pain coursing through her face from the monster’s touch.
When she finally has put enough distance between herself and her dead mother, she slows to a stop. Panting heavily, she glances around, but the monster has not seemed to have followed her. Not too far ahead of her, she spies two black stallions. One of them has a white mane and tail… no. Her father? How is she going to tell him that she just witnessed her mother’s death? Trembling from head to toe and drench in blood and sweat, she makes her way towards the stallions, who appear to be arguing. Who is the other one? She doesn’t recognize him but she can see the hatred in her father’s eyes. He is winged and arrogant and as she watches them, their fight turns violent.
“Father!” she calls, and that is her mistake. Oxytocin turns to see his only daughter, wonder and hope crossing his face, but it is only for an instant. The other stallion, slightly taller than her father and of a more drafty build, strikes out with a well-aimed hoof, catching her father in the face. “Father!” she shrieks, horrified now as her father stumbles to his knees. She breaks into a gallop to reach his side, readying her powers even though she is exhausted, but the other stallion is already preparing the final blow.
Both hooves, round as dinner plates, come crashing down and Oxytocin falls to the earth, blood spilling from his crushed skull. The second stallion, looking disgusted, steps back and turns towards Cress. “You don’t understand,” he murmurs, and though he sounds remorseful, he has the same voice as the monster who attacked her mother. “He had to be stopped; he was too evil for this world. Come with me and you’ll be safe, dear Cress.”
Safe? This monster had just tried to kill her! She turns to run again, but before she can, she bumps into yet another familiar face. “Demian,” she says, relief in her dark eyes. “Demian you have to help me; get Eight, get a magician, there’s a monster after me and I need your help. Please, Demian, please.”
Demian cocks his head, looking over her shoulder. “What are you talking about, Cress?” he snaps impatiently, and Cress jerks back at his tone. He has never been unkind to her, why is he being so rude now? “This is a waste of my time, Cress. I wish you would just stop wasting my time.”
What? If Cress had eyebrows, they would be knitted together in confusion. Demian doesn’t stop to listen to her, though, just plows on as if she’s hardly even there. “It’s like you can’t even follow a simple order, Cress! Why don’t you goddamn listen to me? I know what’s best for the Valley—not you! You don’t even belong here! Stop acting like you’re so high and mighty all of a sudden, because you’re not! You’re nothing!”
By the time he is finished, she is shaking, pressing herself against a nearby tree. The weakness in her limbs has spread all over, numbing her to the pain, but she is still horrified, still feeling at every moment like she is going to die. Demian is Demian for sure, not that monster that seems to be following her around, but why would he be so spiteful all of a sudden? It scares Cress and she wants to run away, to hide, but she can’t. She doesn’t have the energy. And so he continues to berate her and she stands there and takes it, and the more time passes, the more she wants to sink into the earth and disappear. Surely being back in that cell is better than this twisted reality.
When he finally turns away from her, throwing a snide “you have failed the Valley” over his shoulder, she collapses to the ground. This is it; nothing can be worse than this. Could it get worse? Not possible. Blood is still dripping steadily from her facial wound and she is still covered in her mother’s blood, but she has no motivation to clean herself. Her life is over; her parents are dead, they died before her eyes and she was powerless to stop it. All of her healing abilities couldn’t save them and they’re gone and she has truly failed the Valley and Demian hates her. He has every reason to; she is a failure.
“You asked me before who was there,” an all too familiar voice whispers seductively in her ear, and she lifts her head to see a skeletal grey stallion standing in front of her, eyeing her maliciously. “I am death and fire and I have been hunting you, darling.”
There is no escape; she realizes this. Her worst fears have already come true and there is nothing left, nothing left of the scarlet-splatted golden girl other than a numbness that spreads all the way to her hooves. She couldn’t stand even if she wanted to, let alone try to escape him. He brought her here, put her into this Hell, and hunted her down as if she were prey. She has no fight left in her.
“Kill me then,” she murmurs, tears running down her face as fear washes through her. She doesn’t want to die but she has nothing left to live for. Closing her eyes, she waits and waits for the killing blow to come.
When she opens her eyes, she’s back in her cell, pressed into the corner of the iron bars.
you’re only happy when you’re making a scene