#anna:threads

Anna dragged Chai by the hand into a small clearing. Laying before them, secluded by a wall of trees on every side, was a fairy ring made of mushrooms and within it, a picnic basket. "Are you ready to sacrifice your soul?" she asked, grinning as she walked backwards into the circle. She dropped her purse into the grass and its loud thump--much louder than a chapstick, wallet, or whatever else was usually found in a purse should have made--echoed around the clearing as she wove both arms around Chai's neck and drew him in for a kiss. She had spent much of the night before baking, exciting to be able to make food for someone who might actually eat it without fear, so the picnic basket was filled with pastries, cookies, sandwiches, and, of course, several bottles of expensive wine.

How the men had found her was worrying enough, but how they had known what she was--well, that was a different matter entirely. A frightening, terrifying mystery.

Anna never stayed in town for very long. She got in, got what she needed, and was on her merry way again--just a memory in the wind. What she needed was food and supplies, but Anna had always had an eye for shiny things and a difficult time taking only what she needed, when what she wanted was so much more fun. So maybe she pickpocketed a watch here and there that she could sell along the road, and maybe she sang to a poor man in a pub until he bought her pretty jewels and nice dresses. Maybe this time, she'd stayed just a day too long, let the man get too close. Not to her heart, of course--she would never allow that--but to her time, let him stay under her spell a moment too long. How else would her secret have gotten out, the word spread?

She had been working, as she usually did, as a singer in a jazz club. She'd stay for a few weeks, bring in the tips, meet wealthy, well-to-do patrons, and then she'd move on the second the whispers got too prevalent, when people started to wonder how did she bring in such a big crowd every night, and why couldn't they remember where they'd left their pocketbook? So she returned to the room she'd been renting (the inkeeper had so kindly given it to her for free once she'd sang him a short melody), and was packing up her things, when it happened--a piercing pressure on the side of her neck, the room spinning, and then endless blackness.

When Anna next woke, she was tied to a tree in the woods, her head groggy, her eyes adjusting to the dark. Stars glittered above and a group of five men whispered together around a campfire. She picked up snippets of the conversation: they were looking for someone, a woman, someone they couldn't harm. They couldn't find her but needed a way to draw her in.

That was when they realized Anna was awake. The men looked over, smirking, and approached the bound woman. "Is the little mermaid awake?" one jeered. Another crouched in front of her, a knife in hand, and placed it against her throat. "If you want to keep that pretty little voice, you'll sing for us."

It took a great effort not to smile. Oh the little fools, she thought. As a member of the fae world, Anna could not lie, but that did not mean she couldn't stretch the truth, play along. She put on a frightened expression and nodded. And she opened her mouth and sang, her voice filling the clearing and echoing out into the woods, a melody to make the rest of the world go quiet, a song to enchant and bewitch.

And that spell, of course, included the men around her. Anna locked eyes with the man with the knife, her own glowing a bright blue, and he froze. Without a word, he cut the ropes binding her then turned the knife right around so the handle was facing Anna instead. "Thank you, Darling," she purred, taking the weapon. And then she knocked him out with a sharp elbow to the temple.

Anna was quite glad she was alone as she scooped the black envelope off her porch and read the message inside. She stared around the neighborhood, feeling her heart start to pound in her chest. As much as she claimed to be fearless and unruffled, Anna had also been running most of her life--running from hunters, running from her past. Being 'found' was unlikely to be any good for her. Clearing her throat to rid it of the knot that had formed there, she ripped the letter into many pieces and went back inside, intending to throw the scraps into the fire at the first chance.