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Sometimes conversations around the campfire reminded you of a big sleepover. The kind that you never actually had yourself during school, but the one that you saw on tv sometimes. Where you talk about absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.
The kind that alternated in between you wishing that you had actually made those experiences yourself during your life-time at least once, and in between you thinking that even if you had, chances are that you would have been the nerd that called their mother to pick you up to save you from this embarrassing nightmare.
But compared to the loneliness that sometimes creeps into the only safe haven that you have here, the reminder of all of you being unable to leave this place no matter how much you want to (and you really fucking want to) or the painful silence and hopelessness that surround the very same place, you definitely find yourself preferring the sleepover atmosphere. It’s sometimes even kind of nice, no matter how rarely it happens.
You mostly held yourself back, listened to the bickering, joking, sad anecdotes or arguing of the others, all the while minding your own business. Now that you think about it, some things were exactly like back when you were still alive.
Once when you were on your own, when some of others are gone, in a trial of their own or wandering around, you found yourself contemplating your own answers to some of their arguments. Your own point of views. Some that you either never shared or never actually took the time to explain.
Funny, how you had nothing but time here and yet you found yourself using that excuse time and time again to not grow too close to anyone.
If you grew too close to them, you'd – you'd what? You'd have to be honest to them? To admit that – that more often than not you thought maybe you actually deserved being here? And that you couldn’t help but think that this meant maybe the others did, too?
Just thinking about that gave you a headache.
And even if you didn't go as deep as that, if you weren't going all philosophical on them, then what? Then you'd quite possibly invite them into conversations, and that could lead into them asking questions, and that could include the wrong questions. And then you’d have to state the obvious, something that everybody probably already knew anyway. Address the fucking elephant in the room.
What were you even supposed to say? "Hey, remember that crazy lady that's sometimes wearing a fucking bear skin, and that more likely than not split your head right open more than once? Yeah, I think she's playing favourites, and I'm like 70% sure that I am it. How was your trial?“
You snort. Instead, you settle for burying your head behind your arms, trying to imagine the warmth that a real campfire might give you. Trying to drown out the voices of the others around you.
You aren’t even sure anymore when you’ve last been even close to a real fire, back when you’ve still been alive.
***
You remember Ace asking everyone about their least favorite killer at one point, causing pained groans all around the campfire. "Really, Ace,“ Meg sighed. "I’m supposed to think about these fuckers in my precious free time now as well?“
Nobody mentioned the awkward silence that followed that question, betraying everyone's curiosity. Meg looked torn in between being amused and disappointed. "Wow, you’re serious? I swear, it’s as if you’re all fucking teenagers again.“
You’re not sure anymore who answered first and how long it took for someone to start.
Some went into long rants about certain killers, seeing that they knew them back from whenever, and you were sure had they had access to a Laptop they'd probably had a PPP ready to go. Some reasonings were just fucking depressing, some made you shudder, and some you don’t really want to remember.
Others either shrugged, didn't reply at all or gave a single-worded answer without further explanation. You were one of those that merely shrugged at the question, as if the entire idea of choosing a favourite and a least favorite person to kill you was as ridiculous to you as it probably was.
Because really, where to even start? If you were to be killed, what would it matter who did it to you?
You had a list, of course. Just like everyone had, you supposed.
Your favorite? Probably someone simple and scary like the chainsaw-guy, that looked like someone mashed all the bad horror movie tropes from all the worst movies you ever watched together. Gross, loud, but pretty quickly getting the job done. What's not to like, besides the entire fucking thing itself?
Your least favorite, though? Someone that made you feel anxious just thinking about facing in a trial? Well, let’s just say, you weren't quite ready to dive into that with someone else any time soon.
***
Sometimes it looked like she wore the skin and bones of animals (at least you hoped they were animals) other times she wore torn eastern looking clothing but no matter what, she gave you the fucking creeps. And really, who gives a shit about what she's wearing, if you'd somehow gotten close enough to make out the patterns of her shirt that she chose for the current round of hide-and-kill, you were already as good as dead. Or very, very lucky and she had sneaked around you without actually noticing you, her eyes already set upon another prey.
You hate the place she called hers, too. You've completely lost track of time ever since you've been trapped here in purgatory, but you still remember the first time you entered her forest as if it was yesterday.
During these trials you've made it a habit to quickly check your starting point, as Feng Min once called it, before diving into the nearest bush or behind the nearest tree, just to take a deep breath and clear your head. (And also to get at least one lung full of something else but ashes and grass from the campfire, you're allowed to enjoy one single thing about the trials, alright.) You were fucked without a clear head, have been in your life before and are certainly now.
The first time you've seen the forest you remember trying to figure out where exactly you've landed, like you always did. You were sure you had never been in this particular forest before and yeah, it was creepy as fuck but you thought well, what wasn't, in this place?
There was more to that, though.
The thing is, you're good at noticing your surroundings. Your memory is the one thing that you could always trust in – at least before all of this. You hardly ever got lost, you know how to keep track of where you are, where you already have been. That kind of skill had always been useful to you up until now, but here? Here it’s worth its weight in gold.
The killers change, the places do too, but once you actually had a good feel for the forest, field or town you were forced into, you’re good.
At least until you’re spotted by a killer, maimed and then hung up on that altar-hook. Apart from that, though? Great. Lovely. Good.
You were not good the first time you set a foot into the Red Forest.
In fact, you never were.
It was as if the thing that made you stand out of the crowd of survivors, the one thing you could feel useful with, as if you were of help, didn't work in here. As if this entire place wasn't only wrong but actually out to get you. As if it weren't here to be read by you, to be used to your advantage but to be used against you.
You tried explaining that to Yui once, the feeling that something was wrong but she had only grimly nodded in a way that told you she didn't quite get what you were saying. Which was actually just fine because you weren't sure that you were getting it either.
Every place during the trials feels wrong. You know for a fact that they were based on real places, but whatever power holds you here changed them into some sick and perverted version of what they must have been before. And that forest? That one really gave you chills. Pretty quickly, when you were crawling out of your hideout for the very first time, telling yourself to pull yourself together and work on a generator.
And then you heard it. The same sound that to this day still haunts you, even when sitting at the campfire.
That freaking singing.
When you first heard it, you remember that you stopped dead right in your tracks as if someone froze time. That – that had never happened before. Not the freezing, hell no, that happened anytime you hear a noise close to you, anytime you missed one of those fucking birds and they ended up basically shouting your position out loud. But you never heard anyone sing during a trial.
Fuck that, you've never even heard anyone talk in a normal tone before, not even one of your co-survivors. Screaming in pain, yelling for the killer to pay attention to you instead of your allies, sure, like, every day, but singing? You weren't that crazy.
For a whole second you were sure you were imagining it but then it sounded like it was moving. And suddenly coming from somewhere on your right. Still to far away to actually hear what was being sung, but close enough to make you shiver. Fuck, to keep you shivering.
You ducked down without thinking, nearly pressed yourself to the ground, breath going shallow. Your mind was spinning. Was that one of you? One of the survivors, having made up a weird new plan? One of them completely losing their mind? (It was bound to happen at one point, and you could bet that it probably already had happened before.)
Or maybe a new killer, with some new kind of forest-themed trial and some new kind of villain superpower that – that, what? Drove you mad via their voice like the Doctor did with his sick little mind games? Death by singing? Fuck, you have no idea.
The possibility that was scaring you the most was that this was just you losing your mind. Finally, once and for all. And that in a second Jake was going to pass you by, throwing you a look of disgust and confusion for lying here like a freaking bug that someone turned onto its back, completely lost in your own head.
Before you even had the chance to make a move though, any move at all, not that you were in your right mind to think of doing anything, you heard something that sounded like an incredibly fast movement. Something flying through the air with a speed that you weren’t even sure if you actually just felt a harsh breeze of the wind or imagined things. It went right over your hiding spot.
At first you thought it must have been one of those ugly ass birds but you quickly changed your mind mid-thought when that sudden flying thing was followed by a more familiar noise. An intense cry of pain in a male voice (Dwight, if you had to guess), and the sound of a body falling to the ground.
Your eyes, still focused on the dirty ground under and tall grass in front of you, grew wide.
Your shivering stopped, but only because you're too frozen in place to keep it up.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no nononono -
Out of nowhere you heard careful steps behind you, hardly making a sound, only noticeable to you because you concentrated on them, because fuck, you concentrated on literally anything that sounded like anything edging closer, like anything else but Dwight's cries. Hoping against hope that maybe this wasn't actually happening, that this wasn't real, that this wasn’t what you thought it was but that you're really just going crazy. Tough luck that this actually turned your preferred option.
The humming had stopped.
You only realised that as it started again, closer to you this time. Close enough that you wanted to scream, wanted to get up and run, as far away as possible. But you just couldn't fucking get up. You stayed there on your belly like some kind of rookie in this game, some helpless and stupid deer standing in the headlights of a car.
You didn't even notice that you stopped breathing until you allowed yourself the first inhales as soon as you're 100% sure that this new, humming killer kept passing you to stalk into the direction of Dwight's barely held back cursing and moaning.
The humming was louder than before, interrupted by chuckling in between, as if all of this was the most fucking amusing thing this asshole has ever seen. As if this was all some kind of child's play, them being the child and you all acting as the toys that they could do with whatever pleased them. You felt cold sweat running down your spine.
It wasn't only you hearing the humming, judging from David's increased whining, desperately trying to get up again to at least give it one last try to make a run for it, and somehow the cries that came from him were even worse than the humming.
Tears were silently falling down on your cheeks, and you automatically put your hand over your mouth to hide your uneven breathing.
This was what you hated the most. Out of everything.
Not only watching your only friends in this place getting hurt or killed, but the fucking feeling of relief that you feel anytime it's certain that it's gonna be them and not you.
You hardly dared looking up, prayed that if you stayed completely still they wouldn’t see you. Your clothes weren't exactly camouflage but it could have been worse, and maybe if you stayed down, if you stayed absolutely silent–
Your head went up almost automatically, though, once you heard Dwight cry out, as if hit once again. It sounded wetter this time, and you choked down the bile you tasted in the back of your throat when you realised that they must have removed the thrown weapon from Dwight's body.
Slowly, you risked getting up on your knees, and only when that worked without problems, you put yourself back on your feet, still mostly crouched behind a tree. In between the fog and trees, you saw a big figure, possibly the tallest woman that you had ever seen, dressed in a torn white shirt, with her dirty dark hair flowing over it, almost gently.
How the fuck you even missed her in the first place with a bright shirt like that was beyond you. But you also saw a bloody hatchet in one of her hands. It was being turned around again and again with a movement that looked so swift and well-trained that you immediately knew had that killer spotted you instead of Dwight, you wouldn't have had a chance of escaping either. She could have probably run around in a neon pink bodysuit without you being none the wiser, seeing how quiet and stealthily she moved around the forest. All of that completely barefoot.
(And you have no idea why that fact even stood out to you in the first place but you caught yourself thinking „That must be fucking uncomfortable“, before you realised that you couldn't care less if the freak that just threw an axe right into Dwight's back with a precision that you didn't think was possible, accidently got a splinter.)
What you also knew was that there was no freaking way for you helping your friend out, not without ending up with one of those hatchets in your back, too. Fuck, you weren't even sure that you'd be able to make a run for it now. What would be stopping her from simply throwing another one of those hatchets that you saw hanging on her belt?
The option of just lying here until the trial was over never sounded so attractive.
And so stupid.
The trial had been going on for what, two minutes tops, and before you even really understood where you were, this killer was already throwing weapons into moving targets? You standing perfectly still would only make it easier for her.
You contemplated your limited options, wasted precious fucking seconds doing it, trying to tune out Dwight and the humming when she suddenly cocked their head to the side, as if having heard something you didn't, and she's visible to you in profile for the first time and you see that fucking mask.
Freaky masks in a place like this aren't something new to you, they really aren't, they really shouldn’t, but for some reason it was throwing you off. Literally, because you stumbled back as if this was your first trial, you heard a branch crack under your feet and held back a curse, scared shitless that you have just been the biggest fucking idiot in the history of mankind right after being the luckiest.
She turned around almost too slowly, like she had all the time in the world and fuck, didn't she? She turned with the laziness that came from being all too aware of you having been there in the first place and you didn’t even know if that's actually true or just your brain and this fucking place messing with your head, but you were openly crying now.
In a millisecond where you swear Dwight eyes met yours, you ducked back down again, sure that any moment your heart was going to jump right out of your chest. You hoped that you were still able to die from a heart attack in this place seeing that this might just be a better way to go than the alternative (Please, please, please, pleaseplease.)
You saw the hurt and disappointment in Dwight's eyes and told yourself that maybe there was some sort of understanding in them as well. You hoped there was.
Her humming had never even stopped.
Apart from that, your mind was absolutely empty, both of your hands were covering your face as if she wouldn‘t be able to see you, if you couldn‘t see her. You weren‘t sure how much time passed but it felt like an eternity to you, waiting for anything to happen, anything at all, until you heard Dwight yell out, followed by another hit with a hatchet. And then there is only the too familiar sound of someone trying to breathe through torn lungs.
You were hardly even ashamed of the relief that rushed through you when you heard the killer pick up a weakly thrashing Dwight, her humming not once wavering through the added weight on her shoulders. From the looks of it, she could probably carry the both of you without breaking a sweat.
You lied there for a very long time afterwards, trying to move, trying to get a fucking hold of yourself but not being able to. Distantly, you heard the humming sound in turns get closer to you and then more distant. You think you heard Dwight being hooked. Someone taking him down again, his pained grunts as someone tended to his wounds. You heard the startled birds. The comforting noises of repaired generators. One or two explosions when someone failed their check of the machine.
Over all of that you heard the humming and the swooshing sounds of a hatchet being thrown over and over again, followed by the cries of one of your friends, every single time.
Then you heard the alarm of the exit gate.
That's what woke you up again, out of whatever state you just couldn't find your way out of.
Instantly a whole load of shame filled you up (I just left all the others to fight on their own, I left Dwight, I failed them all) but also something close to common sense. Fucking finally, you thought before you did what you should have done a long time ago.
You took a deep breath.
And then you sat up, still crouched down and looked around, trying to locate the gate. Figuring out the safest route to take as your way out.
You weren‘t a rookie. You were able to do this. You‘ve got out of worse.
How the hell you managed that you couldn’t really say, but you did, somehow. Even stumbling into Jake, who's pace was slowed down by a limp. Without missing a beat you pulled his arm over your shoulder, not daring to waste any time healing him. The gate was already in sight when you heard the humming from somewhere behind you, and you ducked as soon as you heard something being thrown in your direction. And yep, there went a hatchet right through where you head had been a moment before.
You pulled harder at Jake, not minding his cries, and you two barely passed beyond the border, back to the illusion of safety, when you heard him cry out even harder, directly into your ear, as another hatchet found a way into Jake's side. The force of the impact nearly pulled you down with him.
From the sound of it and guessing by how much blood seeped out of him, it hurt like a motherfucker, but you both knew that this wouldn't matter in a second because now you were safe, and yeah, you fucked up big time today but you also made it. Even helped Jake make it.
With that knowledge you finally dared to look back, directly at your enemy for the very first time in this night.
She stood in between trees, a good distance away from the gate, coming out of the fog like some manifestation. Probably instantly feeling that whatever damage she'd do to them now won't matter in the long run by how she made no move to get closer.
You stared at that creepy mask, with nothing else visible behind it. Maybe that was for the best, you thought with a shudder.
Her head was tilted to the side like she thought something through, like she was still figuring out the rules of this place, and suddenly you're not only relieved that this is finally over, but you're also fucking furious. Not only with her, not only with this trial or this killer but with just absolutely everything. But also definitely with her.
You still don‘t know what came over you, but what you do know is that it wasn't very smart when you picked up the hatchet Jake pulled out of his side, took a big step back to take a run-up and threw it right back at her.
You've never thrown around much in your life, much less a weapon of any sorts and the hatchet was surprisingly heavy, so it didn't surprise you that your aim could only be described as poor at best. You didn't actually expect to hit her, that wasn’t even your intention, you just felt the need to do fucking something.
All of your fake bravado was immediately lost though when the killer, not even for a second in danger of her own weapon, took a quick step forward. It made you staggering back in an embarrassing way.
You weren't afraid to admit that even though you knew the worst she could do was to throw another hatchet at you, you were still scared shitless. It didn’t stop you from being relieved when you looked over your shoulder and saw that Jake had already made it out. That nobody but you actually witnessed your stupid attempt of some kind of power play (with both of you knowing that she'd win without trying). Swallowing hard and throwing the killer one last glance full of loathing, you stumbled after Jake into the fog.
You didn't see for how long she kept staring at where you left.
***
Before all of you sat back around the campfire to discuss the Huntress, as Meg had named her, you did your round of apologizing. Holding grudges didn't help you in this place so nobody actually called you out on your behaviour (gifting Dwight one of your last flashlights definitely helped your case) but you were honestly sorry for what it counted.
The atmosphere was a lot tenser than what you were used to before, with a new killer in sight. And yet somehow you ended up being unable to stop laughing over the comment of Claudette. Something about being all for more women in all the possible job positions, but not really being into the idea of one as a new killer.
Even Dwight let out a chuckle at that one.
***
The next trial you see her in, you think you're prepared. You think to yourself that you're not even doing a bad job, only hearing her humming now and then before immediately changing course and finding a new generator to work on.
You've just finished taking care of Claudette in between taking a long needed breather, when you hear groans followed by a familiar humming come closer and closer to you. Both of you share only a look before scattering into different directions.
With you accidently running right into the Huntress.
You only manage to push yourself away from her and turn around before a hatchet sinks into you, right between your shoulder blades. It hurts, of fucking course it does, the harsh momentum of the hit alone knocks your breath right out of you and leaves you unable to even scream.
Moaning weakly you internally let out a curse as you’re lying on the ground like a bug, not even strong enough to try and crawl away. The only thing you can do is hope that Claudette is still close enough to you to get you off the hook you're soon to be hanging from.
And yet, nothing happens.
You're lying there, the puddle of blood oozing out of your back and through your clothes growing bigger and bigger, the humming a constant and annoying background noise. And yet the Huntress is simply standing there, not making a move for picking you up.
You're torn in between wanting to look back at her and see what the fuck she thinks she's doing, and in between wanting to flip her the bird. Since you like to believe you’re smart, you’re doing neither.
An explosion from a generator not too far away from you makes you flinch, having expected a hit or hands on you, and not that. You recognize it for what it is; a distraction. The huntress apparently does so too, or she really doesn't care because she is still not moving.
And then she does, and suddenly the pain in your back intensifies. For a horrifying second you think she's pushing her hatchet harder into you, before you realise that she is actually pulling it out. You’re not sure what would hurt more but you can't help but quietly groan out in pain, wanting to do nothing more but curl up into yourself. Or, preferably, turn around and scratch her eyes out. No such luck though, once the hatchet is free again you're swiftly picked up by one muscular arm before landing on her shoulder.
You at least try to keep up the fight, useless at it may be. Weakly kicking her, hammering your fists into her back, going through the motions before you end up scratching through her shirt until you can feel her flesh give in. And still she manages to keep a tight grip on you, unwavering in both her walk and humming. The only signs that she's not completely unfazed by you is her painfully tightened grip on your waist and the slight chuckling in between her hums.
You're infuriated by that. Here you are, fighting for your fucking life and she's having a laugh.
When she finally impales you on a hook, you're nearly relieved, if it weren't for your hurt pride. And the pain from getting a hook right through your chest. This fucking bitch actually had the nerve to pass about three or four hooks, maybe looking for her fucking favourite one, and you still didn't manage to wiggle off of her.
Out of spite you're trying your best to hold your cries back when you’re hooked, instead whining through your clenched teeth as quietly as possible. Trying to look her dead in the eyes, not wanting to admit defeat. Because you're not. You're not going to die here.
You're surrounded by your friends, two of which must have seen you getting hit. That are probably waiting for this freak of nature to leave before coming out and getting you off this thing. This just isn’t happening. You can feel your eyes tear up, your teeth hurt from being clenched together like this but this. just. isn’t. happening.
But the only thing the huntress does, is to keep on standing there, humming that creepy ass song, tilting her head, as if she's never seen anything more interesting before. She's not even pulling out another hatchet or looking for one of the other survivors, no, she just intends to watch you die apparently and you really don't –
and then it clicks.
Is this about you throwing her own hatchet? About you trying to get back at her? Good fucking lord, was she really that fucking petty?!
It's getting harder and harder to hide the pain from the hook that's going right through your chest. You're pretty sure you're crying already, and distantly you realise that you're probably too far gone to be saved, having bleed out a shit ton of blood before, with her standing over you after hitting you and then with taking her sweet time to get a hook into you.
You're going to die here after all, watched by the huntress because there is no way one of your friends is stupid enough to risk getting too close to you now. They're going to make use of the distracted killer and are going to try and repair as many generators as possible while you're unintentionally buying them time.
And honestly? You're fine with that. Fuck, you'd do the same, feeling bad all the way, but still going for it.
If this killer decides that this is worth her time, that this is, what, the highlight of her day, your punishment for having dared to make a joke of yourself by trying to hurt her, then so be it.
But man, you can't help yourself letting out something close a laugh, spitting out more blood while doing so, because that is actually fucking sad. And somehow fucking hilarious.
That is when the humming stops.
Technically, you know that this means this is all getting serious now. You really do get it. You get that you’re just wading deeper and deeper into the pile of shit you stumbled into by accident, but you can't stop laughing.
Not even when your laugh turns into a cough, not even when you taste more blood in your mouth than you think you ever did before, not even when it hurts. When these creepy thorn-arm-things appear from behind and above you because you're trashing around as if you try to escape even though you’re almost choking. Fuck, not even when the huntress steps closer to you, not even when you actually want to stop laughing.
You try kicking her to keep her at bay (and fuck, that really hurts because it pushes you deeper onto the hook) but she just gets a hold of your leg when you weakly attempt to put it up. Before you know it, her hand is on your neck, grips it tightly while the other one grabs the hook coming out of your chest.
You're finally able to stop laughing and instead there is an unhealthy sound coming out of your throat and nothing else. Not that it matters any more. It's too late because the thorns are on you now, pushing their way right into and through you.
Right into the Huntress as well because she's still trying to get a hold of you. You can hear her groan in pain, you're actually fucking startled by that because you've never seen anything like that before, but then she's drowned out by your own screams, and then everything turns dark.
You're still shaking when you arrive at the campfire.
When the others return, no one says a thing to you at first.
They all made it out without any problems.
***
After that incident you don‘t meet the Huntress after that for a very long time.
Whenever the others do none of them make it out alive, at least the first three or four times. They tell you about how she hunted each of them down. That she wore a boar or bear head or something with bones covering her face instead of a mask. That she struck them down relentlessly, one by one, not once giving them a break.
After that it starts.
***
You're scared during the first trial in which you recognize the forest, recognize the air, feel the heavy fog surrounding you, but you somehow make it out without any accidents. No incidents either. Instead, you're able to keep your distance, help your friends and manage to only get grazed by a hatchet once or twice.
The same goes for the rounds after that. She's not stalking you especially, thank god, you're not having any laughing fits, thank god, so it's basically as peachy as it can fucking get in this place.
Too peachy, as it turns out.
It's not that obvious to you at first until Ace, out of all the people, points it out to you.
"Don't take it personally, but I'd rather not get hit by a fucking axe just because I'm standing too close to you,“ he says, correcting his dirty pair of sunglasses. Then he finger guns in your direction and heads off into god knows where.
You stare after him, dumbfounded, before you go your own way, heading to a generator or whatever else you stumble across. If you’re being honest you’re feeling a little bit attacked. It's not like you hid behind others constantly or intentionally brought anyone into any danger so what the fuck was wrong with him?
You try to shrug the weird comment off as Ace being Ace.
Until you find out that he's right.
Because you and Quentin are working on a generator in the Red Forest, both of you trying to keep an ear out for any humming, when you hear the sound of a hatchet being thrown, only a couple of inches away from your shoulder. Landing right in Quentin's.
Before you can react, he’s already letting out a cry and it takes you a second to understand what just happened. You stagger back, helplessly looking around for the Huntress.
She's still a good distance away from you, stalking towards you, visible even through the fog with her bright white mask. You don't wait around to see her coming any closer to you or if she’s already grabbing another hatchet, you're putting your hands on Quentin's back to get him and yourself as far away from her as possible.
You keep your head down while trying to run, generator forgotten, when you hear another hatchet flying right at you. The only reason it doesn't hit Quentin is because he's stumbling so much that nobody could predict where his next step might take him.
It’s a fucking miracle that you manage to get enough distance in between you and her to catch your breath.
It does help that Ace had the great idea to hide himself in a locker (in a trial with the fucking Huntress) and you hear him scream once she is pulling him out of there. Probably the last time he’s repeating that mistake, you think.
Since Quentin points out that Feng Min is already trailing Ace and your current killer, you're taking a minute to patch him up without feeling too bad about it. You're not an expert on tending to wounds but even you have to admit that you're doing a particularly bad job right now. Accidently putting too much pressure on the cut or taking less care than necessary, but your mind is running.
There had been at least two or three moments back then where you must have been a pretty clear target. From where she stood at the edge of the forest, you had been the easier hit out of the two of you, with your back had been turned towards her. Fuck, you could have just as well had a fucking target sign on your back, with how you didn't even hear her creeping closer.
And still she went for Quentin.
Twice.
Whatever the fuck that meant you didn’t even want to know.
But when actually paying attention during the following trials with the her you didn't want to see a pattern and still sure fucking did.
It always went the same. If someone was with you, they would get hit, not you. If you patched someone up and you were found, they got hit.
They got hit.
You didn't always go out unharmed of the trials, mind you. You did eventually run into her a couple of times, and you weren't constantly with the others, you weren't that fucking stupid. But even then none of the wounds the huntress inflicted on you were actually fatal.
None of them brought you down for long, fuck, she didn't even try to catch and hook you and – and you had no idea why she did any of that. What the hell was she trying to do? Where was this going? And why?
Once you figured out her sick little pattern, you tried avoiding the others as best as you could, without outright making them suspicious. And who knew how well you managed that? If you were able to get it – shit, if Ace did, then who's to say that they didn't know already? That it was less you avoiding them but the other way around?
You knew that you were probably being paranoid, reading too much into their glances, their comments and their behaviour but fuck. Any time you started another trial in the Red Forest you felt as if all eyes were on you. As if all of them knew that whatever happened here was on you.
In the end you didn't even dare to help the others when they were being hooked, too afraid that you'd somehow make it even worse. You held yourself back. Quietly working on generators, destroying these totem-things or looking through chests. Quickly turning into another direction whenever you spotted one of your friends, trying to make up for it in other trials, at the camp fire but even then –
you‘ve never felt so lonely before.
***
In hindsight you tried to remember if there was anything that felt off to you from the beginning of the trial that changed everything. If there had been something in the air, something you had missed, if you should have known better, if you could have – and then you remember how limited your power, if you even want to call it that, in this place actually is. And that it probably would have happened anyway, maybe only at a later point.
During this trial you behaved no different from any other when facing the Huntress.
She did.
***
A trial like any other, you tell yourself when you feel like it’s your turn to go out there and try to make it out alive. The same thing you always tell yourself.
Then you recognize the forest.
A trial like any other, you repeat in your head. Sure, with a few minor changes, to avoid absolutely everyone, but still. Nothing you can’t do. Nothing you didn’t manage just fine before.
So you do what you always do in a new trial. You take a deep breath.
You try not to make a face or wallow in self-pity for more than strictly necessary before you get your head back in the game and head for a generator.
A trial like any other.
And you’re making progress. As much progress as you can make on your own, at least.
Sitting down next to the first generator you find, you’re not wasting time, trying to keep an eye open for friend or foe. Ready to run from both.
Without messing up, you complete it. With hopefully no one being any wiser about your presence. After that you nearly run into Nea and quickly part ways again when you both start hearing a humming creeping closer. You don’t turn around looking in which direction your friend heads, you make a run for it on your own, as quietly as you can. You make a mental note to apologize to her for that later.
When you hear a scream that sounds an awful lot like Quentin, you hesitate. Before you can make any decision though, you already spot Meg heading in the direction of the first victim of your killer, and decide that you don’t need to put two people in danger. Meg can handle herself. She’ll manage saving Quentin.
So you keep your head down, looking for another generator.
And really, things are going fine. Until they don‘t.
You don’t really know how the hell everything turns to shit in only a couple of minutes. But you feel like you just sat down in front of the next generator, when shit hits the fan. And it doesn’t stop.
You think you hear Meg scream out which doesn’t really make much sense to you. None of you really know how it works exactly but you can always feel when one of you gets hooked or unhooked. And you’d bet anything that you didn’t miss Quentin being pulled down again. You weren’t that much out of it, which means he’s still holding out. Which means Meg failed.
You hesitate.
In every other trial you’d be out and about, trying to edge closer to where you heard her cry out. Try to either trail them or to use the distraction to your advantage and figure out where Quentin is probably still thrashing somewhere on a hook. And normally Meg isn’t someone that’s easy to catch. She knows when to distract someone and when to hide.
Apparently the Huntress is on fire today. Great.
When you feel Meg getting hooked as well, your fingers twitch and you mess up something on the generator causing sparks to hit your face. You’re up and running away before you can think it through, generator and the progress you made left behind, less because you just made your position known but more because it’s not like that matters right now.
You’ve been in this trial for what, about five minutes? And already it’s just down Nea and you, and nothing against her, she’s capable as hell but those are some fucked up odds. Screw your best intentions, shit just got a bit too real so you hope that it’s unrealistic you could make things any worse right now by intervening.
You’re not sure in which direction to go, and there’s no way to tell if Nea is standing somewhere thinking the same thing or already trying to get to one of them. But the fact is that Quentin’s time is running out, getting shorter by the second so he’s your first choice. Even if you end up being the fifth wheel and your friend is already on the case, at least you’d feel better knowing someone is already taking care of Quentin. Compared to him Meg can wait.
Minding the crows (or ravens, you’ve never been able to tell the difference) on your way, you try to remember where you’ve last seen your friend. Which route could be the smartest to take, but you’re not even half-way there when you stop mid-step. Because a lot is happening at once.
There’s a weight falling off your chest and you’re certain that this means Nea arrived at your apparently shared destination first. Quentin is literally off the hook. Not even a few seconds go by until the feeling is back, and a moment later it even intensifies, and you’re stumbling from this emotional back and forth.
What the fuck is going on?
You know in your heart what is going on, you know it, you can feel it in your blood, your head is buzzing with it, but you can’t believe it. It’s impossible that all three of your friends are– there’s just no way.
You’ve been alright a minute ago. You have done everything right, you have kept your distance, you have done everything to keep the others safe, there is no way– there’s a pressure on your chest that’s making it harder and harder to breathe and you know you must be hyperventilating. This is the worst fucking possible time for that because now more than ever you need a clear head.
But nothing is clear, nothing makes sense, nothing of this should be happening.
A couple of jarring caws come from your left causing you to nearly lose your footing. It’s whats ripping you out of your panic attack though. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been backing away from whatever is happening in front of you, and now the fucking crowsravens are scattering into the air.
That’s also when you hear a familiar sound coming from the same direction. It’s a humming, approaching you slowly, deliberately, as if the cause of it has all the time in the world getting closer.
Which you both know she does.
The fucking birds gave away what little bit of advantage you‘ve had, and now you’re standing there, shaking like a leaf when you should be running. Already you can make out the silhouette of your soon-to-be-killer stepping out between the trees and fog. An animal skull of some sorts is the first thing that you see. You don’t feel the need to see it up close.
She’s wearing a dirty white blouse and even from your distance you can spot the stains of blood on it, dripping down onto her skirt. A hatchet is in her hand and you don’t need to look at it to know that she’s turning it over and over again, as if she’s contemplating whether to throw it or not.
It’s when she interrupts her humming to let out a rough chuckle that you decide to not want to find out what option she prefers, you alive or dead. And that you do not want to know if she finally decided to end her weird little game of letting you escape partially unharmed. Your body makes that choice for you because you’re running before you know it.
You’re not even thinking of your friends anymore, that you need to unhook whichever one you can reach, you’re not thinking period.
A hatchet flies past your head and you can’t explain how you know it, but you know that she missed on purpose. She’s a good shot and while you’re trying to sidestep, you know you’re not doing the best job right now.
It doesn’t take long for another one to miss your leg by only inches. While you’re not hit you still lose your footing from the force of it passing you. It leaves you nearly falling onto the ground head first before you catch yourself. Those few precious seconds are enough time for her.
There’s a pull on your hair that sweeps you off your feet, knocking the wind right out of you.
Suddenly, there is a hand at your throat and a solid mass behind you, pressing you tightly against her right side. Helplessly, you start thrashing and screaming until she presses down on your windpipe, cutting you off mid-scream. It only intensifies your struggling though. You’re scratching her arms, trying to get a hold of her mask, her skin, anything you can reach, trying to kick her or turn around to gain better access to defend yourself, but to no avail.
Despite your best efforts the only reaction you’re getting from her is that she grips you harder. Fuck, to make you even angrier, she’s even still humming, like this is fucking nothing to her, like you are fucking nothing to her. She’s only interrupting it whenever you actually manage to put your nails directly into her skin or mask, which isn’t that often.
She’s pulling you along with her, but you couldn’t say for the life of you say where exactly to. You feel lost as fuck. Right now you wouldn’t even be sure about where’s up and where’s down, if it weren’t for these damn hands on you and the skull she’s wearing scratching your face.
But if you’re lucky the next hook is probably not that far away, and that means the end of this trial is hopefully walking hand in hand with it.
An uncomfortable feeling hits you, gets worse and worse, and you know what that means. You’re feeling your friends die, one after the other. And there is nothing you can do against it, except to hope that you’re going to join them soon.
Again you think she’s forcing the air right out of you when you’re suddenly roughly being pushed against the bark of a tree. A gasp leaves you when the harsh wood makes contact with your head and back and you swear you‘re seeing stars for a second. Without even hesitating to think about what the fuck is happening and why there isn’t a hook piercing right through you already, you’re back at it. Your hands trying to get a hold of her arm, trying to claw yourself out of her grip. So far without any luck.
Your feet are desperately wiggling around to get some decent footing again, but right now the huntress' hands around your throat and hair are the only things keeping you up.
And from the tilt of her head in that giant fucking skull she's more than aware of that. Fucking tall people.
At least she’s no longer actively choking you anymore, but she's still applying pressure because you're still struggling.
And she's still humming.
That is until she apparently decides that she's had enough, and she roughly speaks out to you in a language you don't understand. You don't want to be racist and say that it sounds Russian to you just because it's harsh and clipped and you don't know any better, but– yeah, you have no idea what the fuck she is speaking one way or the other. And it’s not because it’s muffled through her mask.
That's the thing that actually gets you to stop moving, though. Your eyes are instantly on her, wide as saucers because you've been doing this for a while now and never heard her speak before. It was only ever the hum.
And if you think about it, you kinda preferred the humming, now that you have heard anything else from her.
The hand that’s keeping a tight grip of a strand of your hair that escaped your bun feels just as dirty and rough as the one around your neck. Until a second it had been keeping your head still but now – now it's going through your hair like – like a fucking wannabe tender gesture or something.
You're shaking but at the same time you feel like you're as still as you could possibly be in a moment like that.
It's fucking eery in general in that fucking forest but even more with her being dead silent. Her head is still turned and only now that she's shutting up you can hear her breathe quite heavily. Even though the bone of that mask. Normally you'd feel some kind of satisfaction knowing that you did that, that you actually got her catch her breath after chasing you. But every fiber in your body knows that whatever this here is, you don't want this. You don't want any of this.
For your friends to be dead, for you to be here, for her to be here, so close to you. You don’t want her stare at you like this, without trying to kill you.
You never wanted to hear her voice. You never wanted to feel her bare hands on you, on your fucking cheek right now, caressing your skin as if she's– as if she's a person.
Your eyes water up and you want to go back, just go back anywhere but here because she's a killer. She is your killer, for fuck's sake. She has been before and will be soon enough. She's dragged you with her without caring for your yelling and fighting, she doesn't give a shit about you, she doesn't know you and you don't want her to. And you certainly don’t want her touching you like she does.
You’re about to be stupid again. You feel it in your bones.
Like spit in her face or try and pull that mask down to beat her with it-kind of stupid or whatever else comes to your mind, because stupid gets you killed and the only thing you want to right now is to be killed, thank you very much. Like yeah, you know it’s only going to feel good for a second until she buries a hatchet right in your rib cage but at least that’s something you’re used to. Before you can do anything though she finally seems to get a grip on herself, pushes up that skull up with a growl, and goes in for the kill.
Just– just not how you imagined she would.
You think she is trying to kiss you but that she doesn’t really know how. At least that is what you’re getting from her biting into your lips, teeth hitting against teeth, her breathing into your mouth tasting like blood and raw meat. As if this was a thing that this is actually happening to you right now.
You could have laughed about her being a what, a fucking inexperienced killer version of a virgin. If you weren’t being held by said inexperienced killer against a tree, her nails biting into your neck and now your waist, your shirt hastily being pulled up so that her hand reaches more of your skin. And you know, if you didn’t have the entire fucking tongue of said killer in your mouth right now.
If she wasn’t some kind of big strong mask-wearing freak basically carved out of stone, unyielding and probably able to crush you without even noticing.
That has killed you multiple times.
That will continue killing you multiple times. (At least you hope so because if this here becomes the norm? You might try harder to find a way to kill yourself permanently, once an for all.)
Your eyes are still wide open and you’re making some kind of pained noise, not sure if it’s from the actual pain of her bites, that you feel like you’re choking on her, or from seeing more of her face that you ever wanted to. And you know, from this happening in general. Because shit, you know you somehow must have fucked this up. You must have because how the fuck is this even happening?
Shouldn’t she be, you don’t know, punching you right in the face or breaking your skull by hitting it on the tree? Instead, she only moves from your face to your neck and shit, she gives you a nasty bite that makes you cry out. You’re not sure if this is some kind of reprimand or her idea of giving you a hickey and you don’t even want to know. What you do know is that it hurts like a motherfucker.
And that some part of the skull she’s wearing is nearly poking your eye out from this angle.
Your arms, having gripped the bark of the tree, desperately trying to hold onto anything that isn’t her, are moving on their own, reflexively once her teeth sink into you. You’re grabbing onto her, pulling on her hair, the horns of her mask, trying to get her head away from you. Your hits are throwing the mask off of her completely and you’re pulling on her hair, scratching her neck and fuck, you just– you just want to cry when you hear her groan and you’re sure that it’s not from pain.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
You really do not know how to feel about this, but then her leg is in between yours. First you’re merely gasping out loud, not having seen this coming even though you probably should have if you weren’t being the fucking idiot that you are. But then you make a noise you can’t even remember when you last made it, and you’re– fuck, you want to die when you hear the– the pleased sigh that comes out of your throat when she moves it against you.
You would have put your hands in front of your mouth like some horror movie victim seeing the first body drop if you weren’t too busy being absolutely frozen in place. If you weren’t so keenly aware that the huntress is, too.
And once your brain catches up and you feel like you can act like a proper human being again, like someone with a brain, someone that realises where exactly they are, she’s doing it again and again and you’re- you’re helpless.
Utterly helpless because there is no way in hell that you enjoy any of this, that you want any of this, but she has stopped biting you, she’s now sucking on your neck, has stopped holding you so tightly in a way that hurts. Her leg feels like thick and solid muscle between yours, pressing you back against the tree, back against her.
It’s not like you were anything close to horny to begin with, it’s not that you’re dripping through your panties right now. But there is a constant heavy pressure against your core, hitting a good spot every now and then, and– and you tell yourself that you’re holding still because you’re afraid, you’ve always been afraid. That’s the one of two states you’re ever in, there’s only afraid and less afraid. You’re holding still because you don’t know what else to do, but also because it’s– it’s actually feeling quite good.
Good, and like you’ve finally lost your marbles.
She’s breathing right next to your ear, pretty heavily, and you don’t want to hear it but you think maybe you actually do. Which doesn’t really make sense because this is the last thing that you want, but it doesn’t really matter. None of this actually matters, you’re sure of that, there’s no other explanation for this.
This isn’t happening.
You’re looking over her shoulder at the trees, into the endless fog, unfocusing your eyes and you’re nearly able to drown her out because this isn’t happening.
And if this isn’t real, then what’s the fucking harm in just focusing on the feeling that slowly builds up in you? The feeling she put in you, that she keeps drawing out of you, that is crawling up to your stomach and your chest.
You have no idea when her hand slipped up into your bra, kneading your breast, a lot harsher than you would have preferred but it’s something. And right now that could just as well be everything to you. It feels needy, like you’re needed, like this is something that had to happen eventually.
And then her other hand pulls your head back, pulls you back. Reminds you of the cold and rough texture of the tree behind you, the air around you, and then she’s back to licking your neck, biting it more softly in between. That’s the moment when you admit to yourself that Yeah, you’ve started grinding against her thigh. That you might have been doing this for god fucking knows how long.
So you’re actually playing a pretty fucking active role in this now, and there’s no point in telling yourself otherwise. Granted, your feet are still up in the air, they haven’t touched the ground in a while, and she is still not letting you get anywhere she doesn’t want you to. Which means there is no where for you to go but practically sit on her leg. Getting your rocks off of it, though? That’s a choice you made.
That your body made, alright, partially without your consent, but now that you feel like you almost feel like yourself again, only better, there really is no excuse to keep that up.
And yet here you are.
That’s your last coherent thought for a while when her other hand leaves your chest, leaves your bra uncomfortably hanging over your breast like you hastily got dressed in the morning and didn’t pull it on right or something, and when her hand instead slides into your pants. And then in your panties.
You’re rocking harder against her fingers, making an embarrassing sound, not having known that you needed her hand on you this badly but feeling fucking relieved now that they‘re on you.
Until you catch yourself mumbling a curse when her hand is right where you want it and yet doing everything but actually getting you off. So you grip her shirt with one of your hands to at least hold yourself onto something that’s not her thigh or part of the tree, and you put your other hand on hers. Trying to guide her without even thinking twice about it.
She goes still for only a second and if you weren’t too damn into it already, your heart would have probably stopped, fearing that you crossed a line by hinting at her not having a clue of what she’s doing. But you’re not thinking clearly, right now you‘re not sure you ever did, and so you mindlessly press her fingers to where you need them the most. She follows your lead and has you shamelessly gasping into her shoulder as roll your hips against her.
You don’t remember when you started to mouth at her neck, when your fingers started to claw at her hair in something else but as a means to try and escape. When her own gasps and moans started to be less something to drown out but something that edged you on. When you started to lazily kiss her, for real this time. When her tongue wasn‘t trying to reach down your throat but actually feels good in your mouth, like this is where it belongs. Like this is where you belong.
Her fingers are as long and big just like the rest of her and you’re wailing as you’re fucking yourself on them, on her thigh. When you realise that she never once put you down but that she’s been holding you up this entire time, not faltering even once. That she’s only breathing this heavily because you made her.
You’re not seeing stars when you’re reaching your peak.
You have no idea how long it has been since you last saw stars, there are none at the campfire, there are none over the fields or over the circus, and there are certainly none over the Red Forest.
But your head is leaned back, the huntress is mouthing at your nipple, and you can’t tell when the fuck she got there but you’re pretty sure she tore your shirt to gain better access.
For a second, a beautiful and long and short second, you’re not here anymore.
You’re not with your killer.
You’re not here in this forest, certainly not in this fucking place.
You’re not a lamb lead to the endless cycle of slaughter again and again and again. Instead, you’re nothing and you’re nowhere and you’re feeling good. You’re weightless and you‘re mindless, and you’re feeling good.
And that‘s all.
When you’re next opening your eyes again, it takes you a moment to distantly feel that the Huntress and her nimble fingers are still working you through it. That no matter how much you weakly try to push her hand away once you’re aware and it starts to border too much on pain rather than pleasure, there is no budging. Your second orgasm is making you shudder, but it also hurts slightly.
And you’re pretty sure that by now you’re openly drooling on her shirt, that she’s not wearing anything beneath it, and that she completely, with absolute certainty, fucked the lights out of you. You still feel like you’re throbbing when that she finally pulls her fingers out and off of you. Not because of your pathetic whining, but because she chose to do so, you’re very much aware of that. While this is what you wanted, you can’t hide the embarrassing groan that leaves you at that.
You pray that she won’t misinterpret that for a sign that you could stand another round.
Maybe there actually is a god though, somewhere out there, far away from this place, because instead of coaxing another orgasm out of you, she humps against you a couple of times, even though she’s too tall for this to properly work in getting her off. She seems to come to the same realisation not much later and lets out a frustrated growl you feel more than you hear it.
You can only see her profile from where your head rests against her chest (you try not to pay attention to the fact that she does have a beating heart, or that up this close she’s not…actually that ugly) but even from there you can practically feel the weight of her eyes on you. Know that she looks down at you while she puts her fingers, the ones that were in you not too long ago, in her mouth.
At that you‘re biting your lips because fuck, that really is something.
There’s the rustling of clothes, and you can count one and one together what her other hand is doing in her skirt, all the while she’s maintaining eye contact with you.
There’s no way that you’re able to go again, shit no, but you can’t help yourself but press yourself back on her thigh where you’re still sitting, and by the somewhat pleased look on her face she fucking knows.
She only closes her eyes when she comes. The hand that’s been in her mouth is suddenly reaching out and grabbing you by the waist, nails biting into your skin, holding you in place, pressing you against her. You’re glad that she groans as loud as she does so that she hopefully doesn‘t hear the little whine coming from you as her movement pushes you against her thigh in a way that feels like too much and not enough at the same time.
After you-don’t-know-how-long you swallow, and the noise is a bit too loud in the silence that follows. Only now the cold is getting to you, and you notice not only your partially torn but also sweaty clothes. You don’t even want to know how disheveled you must look. You certainly feel like a fucking mess. There’s a wet spot bleeding through your pants and her skirt and you’re feeling raw in between your legs. You’re pretty sure you must be actually bleeding from how you’ve been pushed around, bitten or scratched. If you didn’t know it any better you’d say your entire body is one big bruise. And you’re still sitting on the thigh of the person that did all of this, like it’s your assigned seat or something.
Now that you think about it, even though she is the one keeping you up, somehow your legs are feeling cramped, being forced apart still, so you don’t even want to know how she’s holding up.
You swallow once more when you realise your trail of thoughts and when what happened actually makes it through to your brain. What the fuck just happened. What the fuck you just did. What the fuck you just let her do to you.
Not knowing wether to expect a hatchet hitting your chest any moment or an awkward pat on the cheek after the weirdest one-night stand in the world, you take a deep breath and try not to look at anything in particular or draw too much attention to yourself.
While, you know, still sitting on her. Right.
Your eyes fall onto the skull mask lying on the ground right next to the both of you and your heart misses a beat. The mask that you threw there and that still lies there, looking back at you with dead empty eye sockets. Which meant that the huntress was still completely unmasked, face visible to you if you chose to look up. You chose not to, having no idea how she’d feel about that, how she’d feel about that now, when not being too horny to think straight, and not wanting to risk a negative reaction.
Out of the corner of your eye you see that her head is leaning against the bark of the tree. Her breath is still laboured but growing more evenly by the second. A thin line of sweat trails down her throat, and your eyes follow it until it seeps into the collar of her blouse. There’s a network of scratches and marks on her neck, and it takes you a bit before you recognize them as your handiwork. You’re not quite sure if they’re from your futile attempt of fighting her or from– you’re clearing your throat.
So much for trying to stay invisible.
Her hands, one gripping your waist and the other your thigh, are tightening before letting go when you make no move against them.
Embarrassingly enough, you are swaying when you’re let down and your feet touch the ground again. It’s been a while.
There’s no other way to describe the noise that the huntress makes when you’re leaning yourself against the tree to secure your footing as anything else but smug. Before you know it any better you’re throwing her a dirty look, seeing that she is the one that kept you off your legs. It’s only a short glance at her naked face (a fucking pretty face) before you both turn your faces away from each other.
You to internally berate yourself and her to pick up her mask.
Should you take that as your chance, as your cue, to make a run for it?
You’re torn in between looking at your possible escape route through the forest, and the large back of your killer, that‘s just adjusting the skull she wore on her head.
Are you supposed to just leave? Seize the moment and attack her? Wave awkwardly? Explain to her that this is not how you show interest in someone else? That the next time you meet she should please just kill you because once you‘ve had more than a minute to cope with that just happened you probably want nothing more but to die? Sure.
Fuck, you start to feel faint. Dizzy.
You couldn’t tell when your breathing turned as shallow as it is now but you try to blink and focus your eyes again. When you look down at yourself, past the state of your clothes (and oh shit, fuck, how could you let any of this happen, how could you ever stop fighting, why didn’t you fight harder, why–), your hands are shaking. Your nails are underlined with blood, and you can’t tell if it’s hers or yours, or the blood of your friends.
It takes all your strength to force down the laughter that threatens to overtake you at that sight. You know that if you’d let it come to the surface you wouldn’t be able to stop.
And you don’t have time for this.
You don’t have time for a fucking panic attack because you have no time to think about anything else but where the hatch might be, how to get out of here, how to get as much distance in between you and her as soon as possible.
With that in mind, you‘re hesitating only a second longer before throwing the huntress one last glance- And then you bolt.
No time to shake, no time to breathe, no time to think or to look back to check if she’s still standing there, running after you, hatchet already in her hand. You’re running and you’re flying past the trees, wracking your brain where the only escape you have could possibly be.
You can’t help but let out a humourless snort when you think you can hear humming from behind you. It’s still a distance away but you know how fast she is.
Apparently you’ve both come to the decision that you’re back in the game.
You don’t feel like laughing now.
You certainly don't when you hear a hatchet being thrown right past you, hitting a tree, bouncing off of it. Not even that stops you from running. Your heart is beating as if it’s trying to burst out of your chest when you think you make out the hatch not too far away from you. It makes you feel bold because while making a beeline for it, making sure the coast is clear and that you’re not going to run into a tree or fall over a root, you risk turning around.
She’s in between the trees. Crouched, yet still visible to you and she’s slowly creeping closer. The movement deliberate, as if wanting to make sure that you can‘t miss it. Can’t miss her.
As if she wants you to know that she has every chance to make a run for you or throw a hatchet at you but that she choses not to.
That fucking bitch.
You open the hatch while still keeping your eyes on her. She’s not gaining speed but she’s close enough that you can see a hatchet being turned around in her hand. Which is too fucking close for your taste.
There’s no way to tell who moved first. Which one of you blinked first and lost the game.
But you like to believe that she only raised her arm to try and hit you with her axe once you flipped her off. Right before you jumped into the sweet safety of the darkness beyond the hatch.
Acting smart was overrated, you decide.
Chances were, you were fucked the next time you saw her, anyway.