Chapter 42 The Poisoner
THE POISONER
The footpath of the forest was already beaten many times before, though I admit I couldn’t tell if it was others before me or my own trail I’d forgotten I’d taken.
The snow made it so the moonlight was enough for the lorn trail, shining through my damp nightgown. The coolness of the fabric threatened to slow my joints, freeze my bones, to rust me to a halt.
There was a shallow pond just beyond the trees, creating a glass clearing.
In the center was a stag, recently passed as a result of a leg through the ice, broken. He was still warm, judging by the steam that steadily rose, lending his warmth to the sky until he would have no more.
I stepped onto the ice; it was solid. A murky reflection of myself shined in the surface, water weeds and bubbles of air shifting beneath, frozen in their hibernation.
Kneeling beside the stag, I ran my fingers through its hide, petting apologetically as if I could comfort the dead. I could feel its heat radiate through my palms. I could even feel a pumping, a pulsing.
With a sudden surge of force, one hand plunged through the skin, then the other.
Hot. So hot. I’m burning.
The joints in my wrist and elbows thawed, feeling returning to my fingertips, the warmth heating something inside me, a different sensation.
My stomach growled, the smell of tannins and blood overwhelming me like a wet sheet pulled taut around my face.
Inside, I could feel a thrumming. I tore, the wetness making it hard to catch a grip. Finally, I grabbed it, nails dug into it as I pulled.
In my hands was a heart. It was small for a beast of its size, the aorta pushing and pulling as it pumped.
The twitches of the organ were slow at first. I brought it closer to my lips; the blood dripping down my elbow was hot, viscous, and thick.
As it neared my teeth, it beat faster, faster, two hundred beats in a single moment.
My mouth watered, salivating before finally having a taste. It was a timid bite at first, then a mouthful. It was a flavor like no other, the taste of life. So sweet was the flesh, I couldn’t put it down.
The repast warmed me to my core, the chill fleeing from my body. I smeared it from my mouth to my neck, then over my chest. It was like wearing a blanket, a warm bath, healing in a way I couldn’t ignore.
I plunged my hands back into the chest cavity, feeling for the ribs and cracking one in frustration as I scratched and dug. I bit down on the hide, the skin, the tendons, the organs.
The honeyed flesh was fragrant, but not in the way you would imagine. A complex taste, like wine, the scent of peonies . . . the skin soft, touchable.
I licked over the skin, not daring to waste a drop, but not wanting to waste the warmth either. I cupped a breast, kissing the skin of the sternum up to the neck.
I opened my eyes: a woman, not a beast.
My body threw itself back. Staggering, scrambling, the warmth leeching the further the distance. I could be sick, but my body wasn’t willing to give up the meal.
Her identity was possibly horribly distorted, yet I had the overwhelming feeling that I was forgetting. Her recognition at the tip of my tongue, my mind, but it escaped me when I got too close. I couldn’t tell if this was a way of protecting my psyche or a bad case of déjà vu.
Her chest cavity was broken open.
Could that have been my doing? No, an animal must have done that.
The wind called me awake, my body heat fading as fast as the memory of the dream itself.
The body melted into the landscape, the blood bleaching until it matched the pure midnight snow.
I looked down at my feet, the edges of the skin red from the freeze.
I knew this field.
I turned around; the old farmhouse stood before me. Within the home was a family, a new one. They were in the living room. I could see their vague shadows puppeteering in front of the fire.
Somehow, a deep loneliness took root. The loneliness extended past physicality, a certain yearning for something familiar. As quiet as a shadow, I returned to the Nest.