As Dusk descended upon the rolling hills of Crestmoore a fire tore through the Stokes manor. Dark billowing clouds of smoke could be seen for miles as drifting embers threatened to consume the nearby forest. Within the manor a small child came out of hiding.

He pushed himself to run though the blazing fire. Smoke nearly suffocated him as his blood soaked feet left foot print on the once pristine marble floors. His clothes and hair became singed as he tore through room after room. Somehow he managed to find an open window and just narrowly escaped though it before the walls began to collapse.

Outside he stumbled uncertain, he fell to his knees but pushed himself to get back up, to keep moving no matter what. Tears streamed down his face as his eyes stung. He could barely see as he entered the forest. He quickly lost himself inside as the sky began to darken.

Twigs and rocks cut at the poor child’s bare feet as he scrambled through the forest. He had no idea where he was going, only seeking to get away as fast and as far as he could. His lungs burned as his small body trembled with terror. Endless shadows and dangers popped out at him as he weaved though the trees. His heart pounded nearly bursting in his chest. Yet he kept running, moving. It was all he could do.

While most children would have surrendered to their circumstances, he pressed on. Deep emotions boiled within him, twisting and turning, they changed his very essence, forcing him to carry on well after his body should have given out. He lost track of time and space as he just kept running.

Bursting through the woods it took him a few minutes to realize he’d made it out.

Once he did he kept on going. Near exhaustion he sought out the tallest hill he could find and climbed it. His body shook uncontrollably and his lungs heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. He forced himself to look back upon the only home, the only life he’d ever known as it went up in flames.

In the moonlight, the small child looked down at his hand. A wad of hair was still clenched in his fist. Twas all that was left of her now. He raised it to his face whimpering as he breathed it in.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them looking out at the fire once more. He vowed, he swore, that one day he would return. One day Crestmoore would know his wrath, his vengeance, for hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Thank you for reading^^