Page 183 of Whisper of Nightmares

Euphemia runs down the uneven roads, her heart beating pathetically despite feeling shattered.

Behind her, she hears the madness. The anger. The hunger. Euphemia imagines their teeth tearing her apart. All she has to do is get through town. The people will give up once they’ve scared her away from their beloved town. Won’t they?

But she’s never been on this side of the town before.

She’s not familiar with these narrow streets.

Her hand starts to sting just as she barrels around a corner.

Euphemia comes to an abrupt, staggering stop.

At the end of the alleyway, mocking her attempts to run, is not only a dead end, but also the very creature they blame her for.

The nightmare.

For a moment, she is the girl in the meadow again.

Father screaming.

Hand burning.

Always running. Running. Running.

The mob rushes around the corner a moment later. Mostly men. There is a glimmer of bloodlust in their eyes that gives Euphemia reason to believe they’ve done this before—how many women have they condemned and chased until all they had left was death?

They think they have her.

That she is lost.

But at the sight of the beast, the mob skids to a halt as well.

Their wide eyes glance up at the monster of fire and ruin, the violet flames rippling brighter, as if in warning. Still, the men cling to their rope and torches. They glare at her with renewed triumph, grinning as they realize they can deal with both the girl and the beast in one fell swoop.

She sees the massacre reflected in their eyes.

They’ll make certain it isn’t swift.

Not for her.

Not for the nightmare who has always only existed.

She remembers it then.

The day the creature first appeared to her. It had been a thing of beauty. Solitude. Peace. When the nightmare had approached her, its flames had been nearly absent, more like wisps of violet smoke than anything that could burn.

It wasn’t until her father had screamed that the fire burst around it. His fear, perceived as a threat and dealt with in the dreadful way that it was.

Euphemia watches the mob of men inching closer. Their hunkered stances. Fists clenched around weapons. A deranged sort of lust gleams in their eyes.

They want to do this.

They want her afraid.

Want her to feel small and weak.

It will make it all the easier to overpower her.

This is madness, she realizes.