Chapter 2

Shortly after, she leaves me behind, making her way through the cool, drifting air, that was quickly becoming a mist. The twilight hour had given way into the darkness of dusk, and the enchanted light that had passed through the old oaks had died off. Thus the forest revealed a far more sinister face, that seems to live just below the mask of twilight.

The dying crescent moon, that hung over my sweet girl's head, was devious with its glow. The lighting flows through the massive tangle of branches that tower over her small form, as it casts overlapping shadows that dance at her feet, hiding the roots within them, trying to trip her. The sinister man seems to drift effortlessly, passing completely unhindered. While random branches of the mighty oaks snag her, seizing and ripping at her small dress. As she looks about her, a chilling realization becomes as clear to her, as the tarnished, cracked glasses that line the shelves of their home. She has returned to the dark, drafty world which cloaks her life, now submerged deep within the shadows. This devilish being that she follows and calls Father, appeared so long ago. She knows he is not her daddy though. However, she only has a handful of memories of the man who properly owns that cherished title.

The mist begins to wrap its invisible fingers upon her, leaving droplets of water in its wake. The transparent pearls slowly drift over her soft, amber skin, clinging to every goose bump as they slide down around them, making their way under her short, dampening dress. Beginning to shiver from the coldness, she wraps her arms about herself, recalling a memory of warmth, a memory of love.

The sun was beating down upon her face, for it was high noon, yet it was bearable. The air was gently breathing upon her soft skin, as a lover would. It's gentle touch send a little chill screaming down her spine. It was only the two of them that day. Half asleep, she had rested her head upon her mothers loving lap. Enjoying the sensation of her mommy's silky fingers, tracing through her dark ruby curls. Whispering softly in her ear, as if there were deep secrets that none of the rest of the world should ever know. The words were of the tender love that her daddy has for the two of them, and how he would be home soon. For her mother knew no war could last forever and that they both would see him soon...

Then, with a blink of an eye, that memory ceased to exist. The touch of a cold, lifeless hand, upon her damp shoulder replaces that memory, while pulling her far of its warmth. Startled, looking up, she sees him, the devilish man that her mother had fallen in love with, towering over her. Her mothers love for him came to be in the mourning of he who would never came home. A wickedness lives within his smile, as he looks down upon her frail form, as they walk. While casting her tear stained eyes upon him, trying to understand his joy, she smiles back him in return.

His smile fades, upon seeing hers, as he looks away. Thus, showing for the first time, how time has truly cursed him, aging him far before his time. His olive skin no longer youthful, instead, it is cracked, leathery and seems to cling to tightly to his skull.

As she looks upon this man's disenchanted face, she sees how his eyes are graying, all but colorless, sunken deep into his misshapen head. Yet they shimmer like some strange silver gems.

At that moment, he knows that she sees him for who he really is, and yet he disregards it. He has known how she feels about him, even when she has never seen him in his true form. She rarely tries to hide her distrust of him. He stops mid-step, turning to face her once again. Sparing few words, since leaving me behind, he kneels down at her eye level.

She tries to turn, to look away from his graying eyes, that seem have been made of ice. They mirror his own soul: cold and lifeless. His bony fingers seize her chin, forcing her head to turn. Their eyes meet.

A harsh whisper asks, "Why have you so distrusted and hated me so?"

The fear of him strangles any words from passing from her young mind, through her lips. It is like his icy hands are upon her throat, not merely resting on her shoulder and chin.

"I asked you a question, child. Why don't you answer me? You must have a reason," the man demands, raising his harsh voice from a whisper as if were a hand to slap her with.