VIII
POV:Y/N
His irises burned into my soul, their icy brilliance piercing my consciousness. That mutual gaze chilled me to the bone, an oppressive shiver running through me. After a few seconds, as if awakened from a feverish dream, I reconnected with reality. My eyes searched for the source of those haunting irises.
Before me stood a strange, almost spectral figure. His face, partially veiled by shadow, exuded a menacing aura. Dark red hair clung to his forehead under the pouring rain, droplets tracing rivulets down to his soaked black bolero and drenched straight-cut pants. But it was his hands that immobilized me: one gripped a long rifle, tense and unyielding, while the other swung slightly, as if weighed down by the burden of a recent crime.
My heart clenched as I glanced back at the deer—its flank pierced, its body sprawled, still warm. The man took a step forward, a predatory smirk twisting his lips.
"Good evening, miss," he drawled, his tone slow and almost mocking. "If I may say so, staying near that corpse will soon leave you with a... rather distinctive fragrance."
His remark struck a nerve. I gently placed my hand on the deer, feeling its warm blood trickling between my fingers. Mechanically, I tore a strip from my nightgown and covered the gaping wound.
"Farewell," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Your run was brief but magnificent. May your spirit find skies kinder than this forest."
I carefully tied the fabric and brushed my fingers lightly over the animal's head. Rising to my feet, I heard a low chuckle behind me. A guttural, almost inhuman laugh vibrated through the damp forest air.
"What a touching scene," he muttered, his smirk widening into a parody of benevolence. "We don't often witness such spectacles here, my dear."
I turned slowly toward him, narrowing my eyes to suppress the discomfort welling up inside me.
"Why did you kill this creature?" I asked, my voice firmer than I expected.
His expression barely shifted. He raised an eyebrow, shadows flickering in his gaze.
"I have a question for you, my dear," he purred. "Do you enjoy... fresh meat?"
The tension rose another notch. My stomach twisted, but I refused to look away.
"I imagine you, on the other hand, feast on deer," I replied, a hint of irony in my tone.
His laughter died abruptly.
"Perhaps," he answered enigmatically. "I usually content myself with the hunt. But tell me, would you recommend their flesh, my dear?"
I arched an eyebrow, masking my unease.
"You have quite a charming smile. It suits you better than that sinister expression."
I stepped back slightly, trying to regain control of the situation.
"But I'm in a hurry. Could you point me to the hotel?"
His grin widened grotesquely.
"Oh, so you're headed to the hotel? And may I ask why?"
His tone was deceptively light, but every word carried an underlying menace.
"Must one have a reason to stay somewhere?" I replied, suspicion creeping into my voice.
"Let's just say it's rare to meet someone... as intriguing as you here," he murmured, his words slithering like a snake through the underbrush.
I clenched my teeth, refusing to falter.
"I have a message to deliver."
At that, his smile stretched further, almost deranged.
"Perhaps I can help you find this... person?" he pressed, the word "person" lingering on his tongue like a veiled threat.
A detail flashed in my mind. Rosie. The man in red. Taking a deep breath, I decided to gamble.
"Do you know someone named Rosie?"
At the mention of the name, his expression shifted ever so slightly. His lips curved further as he placed one hand on his hip, extending the other toward me.
"Quite possibly," he murmured, almost purring. "And why do you ask?"
I pulled the scrap of paper from my pocket and held it out to him. He took it delicately between his fingers, unfolding it with deliberate slowness. His eyes skimmed the words as if they danced before him, and his smile grew, a disconcerting gleam lighting up his gaze.
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