TK JOHNSON

She found him trapped, tangled in a snare stitched from burrs and black briars.

​

He could be a handsome man if one were looking, with almond eyes and a firm bottom lip that would look rather comely tucked between his even, white teeth. Those teeth were bared in a snarl, though, and his eyes wide and wild with fear. Long, tapered fingers---oh, how the court poets must love those---were white at the knuckles, twisted and twining in the snarled net, stained with smears of blood.

​

The canopies closed in, shuddered in her wake, shivered with anticipation as she approached. She could feel the writhing, wriggling tendrils burrow like worms in the tender trunks of her trees, even without touching them. They were so hungry…

​

"Hush, darling," was the hum between sharp hisses of shallow breath and grim grin. She curled her clawed fingers beneath his chin and pressed dry, cracked lips to the soft underside of his quivering jaw.

​

The wooden club in her fist sagged, so terribly heavy.  

​

"This will all be over soon…"