Page 97 of Of Wind and Terror

I need to follow it.

The others are still asleep, but that’s okay. This journey isn’t meant for them.

I close my eyes and focus on the twinkling lullaby. But instead of lulling me to sleep, it energizes me, propels me forward. I move without conscious thought.

Twigs and leaves crackle beneath my feet, and I have a feeling that the Forest is angry at me for disturbing the tranquility. An almost malevolent presence hovers in the air.

But I don’t slow down.

I need to find the source of this music.

Farther and farther I walk. The music is almost deafening now, but I can’t see the source of it. The Forest is still and empty. There are no critters scuttling through the underbrush. No crickets chirping in the distance. No birds singing. No owls hooting. Just…silence. The absence of sound is more terrifying than anything else I’ve encountered so far.

I move in a daze towards the largest tree, where the music seems to be emitting from.

“She’ll never forgive you…” The raspy, insidious voice carries on the wind, surrounding me almost instantly.

I swear I hear it coming from all directions. To the side of me. Above me. Underneath me. It’s everywhere.

“She’ll never forgive me,” I whisper brokenly as the music continues to play and play and play.

I can’t tell what instrument it is, but it’s soft and melodic, the thrumming of strings combined with a discordant piano chord, out of tune and strangely hollow. It shouldn’t sound beautiful, yet it does—eerily so.

“She’ll hate you forever,” the voice continues in a sibilant hiss.

Once again, it seems to come from all directions, almost as if the trees themselves are whispering to me. Mocking me.

This is wrong.

The errant thought penetrates the mindless haze I’ve found myself in.

I shouldn’t be here.

Confusion jolts through me, though it's quickly replaced by peace once more.

The music plays on.

“You’re a monster. A failure. You don’t deserve to live.”

“I don’t deserve to live…”

Tall trees lean together overhead, their branches knotted. Through the tapestry, I catch a glimpse of the moon—large and white and brilliant. The sight of it stirs something within me.

A feeling, perhaps?

A premonition?

I shouldn’t be here.

A strange feeling arrows through me.

Why am I here?

How did I get here?

Why am I?—?

“You need to die.”

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