Moved

You had hoped the beating of the rain outside the cottage would drown out the violent cacophony, only for your ears to be greeted with the crackling of lighting and thunder.

Anna is sound asleep beside you, a strong arm draped around your waist loosely, gentle breaths fanning the back of your head. Careful not to stir her, you slither out from underneath her hold and tip-toe to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water, knowing you won’t be joining her in slumber any time soon.

To pass the time, you fidget with the various trinkets dotted about the cottage. You straighten the masks hanging proudly from the pegs above Anna’s workstation, changing the murky pot of water she uses to rinse her paintbrushes. You re-organise the kitchen drawers. You pick up your lover’s Russian dictionary, hoping to test your knowledge of the language. Just as you find a word you recognise, the book is plucked from your grasp, scaring the daylight out of you.

“What’re you doing up?” Anna murmurs from behind you, voice slurring with sleep. She tosses the leather-bound book onto the sofa before effortlessly lifting you into a bridal carry.

You rest your head against her shoulder with a sigh. “Too loud to sleep,” you mutter, head heavy from exhaustion even if your mind won’t allow you to rest.

A ferocious roar echoes through the cottage windows, evoking a shiver from you, which Anna notices.

“Scared?” she chuckles. Groaning, you weakly slap her chest, making her grin. Anna sweetly kisses your forehead. “Definitely scared.”

“Forgive me for not revelling in the angry sounds of creatures that can kill me,” you complain, allowing her to carry you back to the bedroom.

“You know you are perfectly safe here, милашка.” She lays you down on the bed, rolling onto the other side. Within seconds you’re nestled in her arms, legs tangled and chest-to-chest. “I will protect,” she whispers.

Smiling, you run your fingers through her bedhead; she began to grow the top of her buzzcut since you started cutting her hair, leaving the short dark hair adorably tousled. “I know, Anna. It’s just unsettling.” Her large hands trace soothing patterns on your back through your nightshirt - her shirt - and you relax slightly.

“It is Mother Nature,” she hums. “Without ecosystem, there would be no rabbits. No squirrels. Too many predators, not enough prey.” Listening intently, you bury your face in the crook of her neck. “This is sound of balance.”

You hum pensively. “Why are they so loud tonight, though?”

Anna tugs the thick woolly blanket over your shoulders, keeping you snug and warm. “Boar mating season,” she explains. “Boar must attract sow, fight for mate. Wakes up all the other animals in the process. A wolf hears, thinks there is predator, howls to his pack to safeguard.”

Her absentminded caresses gradually lull your eyelids shut. “That’s pretty interesting.” You half-yawn, half-chuckle, “So I won’t get mauled in my sleep?”

“Not unless you leave me for pig, no,” Anna laughs, kissing the top of your head.

The soft vibrations of her laughter rumble against you. Slowly, slowly, the chorus of beasts meddles with the steady rainfall, a haze sweeping over your mind.

“Сладких снов¹,” Anna whispers at some point during your descent. With a soft smile, you finally slip away into slumber.

.

The Huntress simply stares down at her, her own mind racing in a way she’s unused to in this reality she’d found herself in. The girl below her seems far too young to deserve to die this way. At most, she’s barely reached her twentieth year. Not a child, definitely not, but not quite an adult.

The Huntress’s hands readjust their grip on the ax, thumbs running over the familiar carvings in the handle. The wood is worn, comfortable in her grip. But this does not bring the usual security to Anna, who for once is uncertain.

Has she seen this girl before? Or is she new, another soul sent to be her personal prey? She cocks her head to the side, trying to take in every inch of the girl and the skin that her outfit reveals. It’s dirty- the mud and blood combining on her skin like a macabre work of art.

With unflinching familiarity, Anna reaches down and picks up the girl, hefting her onto her shoulder to carry.

She doesn’t even struggle, doesn’t try to heave herself off of Anna’s shoulder. Her body is limp, helpless.

Without a second thought, Anna passes by each hook in her way, her ears straining to hear the Hatch. She never does this, but something about the thought of actually killing the girl made her insides twist and churn. The Entity may dislike it but Anna couldn’t care less about Her opinions.

On the lone hill in the forest, the metal trapdoor lays open, beckoning them closer with it’s mouth opening into nothing. The Hatch continues to sing its beautiful song, and Anna holds the girl out, her large hands under her armpits. The younger woman’s legs dangle above the black abyss, and Anna briefly wonders what it’s like for them to jump in. For all they’re subjected to, the Survivors somehow have enough faith that they trust the Hatch isn’t another sick trick from the Entity.

It’s miraculous, isn’t it? The amount of hope that humans are able to muster even in seemingly hopeless situations is part of what makes them so fascinating to hunt.

The girl trembles, pushing with all her strength against Anna. She must think that the larger woman will snap the Hatch closed, that she’s toying with the smaller girl.

“Крошка,” She breathes the word, unthinking. The Survivor briefly stops her struggle, peering through tousled strands of baby hair into the black eyes of the Huntress’s mask.

“What?”

And Anna lets her fall, the tiny wisps of her hair the last thing to pass into the inky darkness.

______

Mother’s Dwelling is supposed to be cold.

It looks like it should be cold, the fire raging in it’s hearth, but Anna does not feel anything but the warmth radiating from her own body. The head of the ax leaning on the wall reflects the orange glow of the flames, a mimicry of her life before.

Not that she’s complaining, of course. She enjoys the hunt and everything that comes with it. But today… today offered a challenge she hadn’t faced before. Where’s the fun in killing a rabbit once you’ve killed wolves?

She’s never been one to toy with her food. She enjoyed the chase, the thrill of the hunt, the only thing that ignited her blood and made her feel alive, but she knew when to stop and finish the job. Some of the others, who occasionally try to speak with her only to realize she doesn’t crave the company of narcissists who care more about how the survivors see them than actually perfecting the craft as she has, let the chase go on far too long.

At least the tall quiet one understood how to balance the two, but she wasn’t a fan of being a silent hunter. It was necessary with game, but humans were so much more satisfying to hunt when they knew they were being tracked. The fear in their every move, the fatal mistakes they made, the way they tried to fight back until they couldn’t anymore. It was all very amusing.

But why, when it came down to it, could she not deliver the killing blow to the girl? She was not a child, Anna knew that. There was no reason to spare her, and yet she did. She felt a sudden yearning to protect the girl, though she’s sure she must’ve killed her before. The tired resignation in the girl’s eyes did not come from someone who was being hunted for the first time, especially not by someone like Anna.

There was no one else like Anna here.

And she was sure there was no one else like that girl here, either.

___