September 1821
September 1821September 1821Ruritania
RuritaniaRuritaniaAnna Zelensky was lost. Dark branches reached overhead to block the crescent moon. Roots protruded from the black soil to trip her as she tried to run. She couldn’t say what she was running from, but she knew if she didn’t escape it she would die.
“Help.” Her voice was reduced to a raspy whisper. “Someone, please, help me.”
HelpIt seemed she was always running from something in her dreams. Something was coming. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
The shadows of the trees lengthened, and she heard breathing in the dark wood.
She started to run again, fleeing whatever now lurked in the dark.
She skidded to an unceremonious halt as her eyes lit on the old oak tree. She knew it, had passed by it many times throughout he
