Elena ran with urgency in her feet and fire on her skin, the sunlight of the afternoon searing her as if the sky itself wanted her gone. She barely made it back to the forest before the pain became unbearable. Hidden beneath the cool shadows of the trees, she collapsed, panting. The voice of the little girl echoed in her head.
"What's your name?"
"Elena..." she had replied — a whisper between fear and hope.
The forest embraced her again like a cursed friend. She sat under a crooked tree, watching the light shift through the leaves. The clock in her mind told her it was nearing 3 PM. Slowly, carefully, she stepped into a patch of sunlight. Her skin didn't burn — it tingled, like pins gently pressing into her nerves. It was bearable now, the UV lowering.
"Maybe… maybe I can do it," she thought. "I controlled myself around those kids. Maybe… I can control it completely."
But then the memory of the old man crept in, like blood dripping down a wall. She saw again the horror in his eyes, the strength draining from his body, her own teeth deep in his neck. She had tried to stop. She didn't want to do it.
Elena sat on a mossy rock and began to cry.
"Why did I do that? Why me? Why this... curse?"
The tears came quickly, but just as suddenly… they stopped. Her heart wasn't racing. Her sorrow was still there, but she didn't feel the flood of emotion like before. It was like something inside her was dulling, becoming distant.
"Maybe it's because they're old anyway," she told herself, almost to justify it. "He… he would've died soon, right?"
The thought horrified her, but she clung to it, not out of cruelty, but out of desperation. She wasn't ready to face the truth. Not yet.
She took a deep breath. "Mom. I need to see mom."
At nearly 4 PM, Elena crept back to the edge of the village. The golden light of the sun glistened on rooftops, but it no longer seared her skin. She walked along the shaded alley behind her house and peeked through the window in the backyard.
Her mother sat on the floor of the living room, clutching a photo of Elena, her eyes swollen from days of crying. Her father stood in the kitchen, silent and distant, like he'd already buried his emotions. And her little brother — he was playing a game, smiling to himself, unaware of the storm in the room.
Then she noticed a painting beside him. A girl in a red coat. A snowman behind her. It was her.
Elena's heart ached.
She moved closer, about to knock on the glass, when her instincts screamed again — the subtle gnawing in her chest. Hunger. Not wild, but growing. The sun had drained her energy. Her bloodlust was stirring.
Before she could turn away, her little brother looked up… and saw her.
"Elena?" he said, standing up quickly and pointing at the window. "Mom! Dad! It's Elena! She's over there! Elena!"
His mother stood up, shocked by the outburst. His father turned sharply.
"Stop it!" their mother snapped, her voice shaking. "You think this is funny?!"
"No, I swear I saw her! Just now! She was at the window!" the boy cried.
But the slap came faster than the words. His mother struck him across the cheek. "Enough! You were just playing games! Now you want to joke about your sister's death?!"
Tears welled in his eyes. He wasn't lying.
"She was there… she was really there," he whispered.
But by then, Elena was already gone — running back into the woods, heart pounding with sorrow and guilt.
Back into the forest.
Back into the loneliness.
Back into the curse.
---