Un-Stuck

I could smell her… That foul stench of rot and decay. That potent and familiar smell of the undead was one I would never remove from my senses, no matter how strong the tonics. The entire stretch of the hallway was bathed in that horrid odor and yet, I still found myself creeping closer and closer to my goal. Each step echoed softly along the slime soaked walls, my hands trailed along to keep my balance firm and my bearings locked. The darkness would swallow one in an instant, fortunately for me, my heritage gave me the gifts to be able to pierce the darkness somewhat and traverse it without the need for torch or flint. I knew I grew closer, every step down the wretched hallway underneath this castle, to my one goal. Vaal’Una, the Witch, would die tonight. That horrible, horrible smell… That festering notion in my mind kept my pace slow to a crawl, however. “What if she has yet to change fully,” I asked myself aloud against my better judgement. No, I thought better, she is gone f...

She ran past countless pine trees that snapped back in her face and poke holes all over her body. There was sweat dripping down from her forehead, leaking into her eyes and blurring her vision. All she had to do was keep running. She should hear heavy footsteps behind her, weaving in and out of the uneven rows of trees, jumping occasionally over lightening struck branches. He was gaining on her. The soft wood from her basket was shredding into her arm, wedging shards beneath her skin. Deciding to ditch it, hoping that she could catch him by surprise, she threw it behind her only to hear it shatter into pieces as it collided with a tree. So much for lunch. Faint growls emerged from the right of her and she could almost feel his breath on her cheek. She pushed further. Her lungs began to burn just as she saw her safe point, Grandma's house. Come on, almost there. Eyes burning, she ran faster than ever, past the white wooden fence her grandfather made before he died, up th...