Oh we are so tantalisingly close to the end. And as we are drawing to a close, I want you to write from the perspective of the hunted victim while they are trying to escape or survive their tormentor.
Huntress
Her song in the wind - a lullaby like a wolf's howl; a warning sign. Tree branches claw and catch, beast like in this pearlescent lit midnight. The moon watching impassive, as if expecting what is coming. Lulled by the melody. There's a cleaving; steel splitting wood. A pause. Silence. Wind... just wind. I run. I run and run until it feels like fire and bile are going to explode through my chest. Until the blood is so loud in my ears I can't hear her song. I double over, leaning against a tree. That's when I feel it, slick against my palm. That's when I feel the gouge from her axe - the wound in the bark.
That's when I hear her song humming right behind my ear.
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