The days you remember most are the ones that you expect to be ordinary. You wake and embrace a new morning as you always would, with a monotony, a dullness.

You trudge forward and let the events phase through you, acting on autopilot, a passenger in the story of your own life.

You don't expect it when things drift; you don't even notice it mainly. It happens quickly, a swiftness that later embeds itself in your memory, refusing to give you reprieve despite how much you wish it to stop its haunting. When you come to realize things are different, you've been awakened from that dream. That dream that wasn't a dream at all, but a nightmare. You feel terror gripping at your heart, fear so palpable that you can't even speak, can't think, can't do a single thing to halt this calamity.

The world you see ebbs at your vision, every shadowy figure leaving you cold.

And you shake.

Shake.

Shake.

.

.

.

With a gasp, a hand shoots out of quilted sheets. Pale palms indented with half moons, as a boy clenches his fist. The velvety material sodden with sweat that comes from his fevered body. His dark hair a matted mess, sticking to his reddened skin in a odious way, the same way his clothing clings to him.

Heavy gasps fill the silence of the room, bright light peeking through an uncovered window. It's warm in this serene place but he shivers, a coldness wracking his body. A gut wrenching feeling. As if the terrors that wracked his mind are here with, lurking in the shadows that light casts.

Feeling something is wrong, he can only wander out of bed, small footsteps hardly making a sound on the carpeted floor.

Once he leaves his bedroom he's in the hall, and despite his disconcertment, the house is already awake, maids walking to and fro, doing their daily routines. They seem unaware of his qualms, hardly paying him mind despite the fact he looks terror-stricken. He walks down the stairs, his feet involuntarily lead him to the kitchen.

His mother is there, humming quietly, her soft brown hair in a loose bun. She stood tall over the stove, fire burning wildly. She loved cooking despite the fact she could easily have others do it in her stead, loving the feeling of giving to those she held dear.

In his state of wonder he knocks over a few plates from the counter, the priceless porcelain plummeting to the ground, breaking into countless shards. It catches the attention of his mother, the clatter much too disruptive to be ignored.

She turned to him with a smile, eyes tender and a beautiful amber. She pays no mind to the broken china, instead approaching him with calm. There's already a maid rushing to sweep away the glass before it can harm anyone, he watches as the once valued item is thrown away, discarded and regarded as trash.

" Good morning, my love. Awake so early? " His mother questioned, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead.

He turns away with a frown, a little embarrassed at the sign of affection. He'd told his mother he was far too old to be coddled, but she insisted on doting on him. 

" Yes, my dreams were too unpleasant to stay asleep." A frown lined his lips at the memory of it.

He had been falling through the sky endlessly, the blue of the sky neverending, hypnotizing, serene.  His descent would be infinite the vastness of the azure. Or so it seemed. A sudden gust of wind spiraled him to face the ground, and his boundless blue sky faded, a sea of black instead emerged. A forest of blackened trees, a place of atrocity.

 When he'd finally fallen to the ground, he'd landed on a tree. The branch being so sharp it has pierced right through him, leaving a gaping hole through his belly. Droplets of blood dripped to the ground, they made a pattering sound as they fell onto a pool of blood already coating the lifeless dirt. The blood wasn't his own, it belonged to the numerous other bodies surrounding the tree. Their limbs were mangled, contorted into odd shapes as if they were a circle of runes set to summon a devil, and he the sacrifice.

And suddenly from behind the thick swell of trees in the forest, he could see them, a pair of eerie yellow eyes staring back. They were bloodshot, a wildness to them that struck fear into him. He could hear the monster growling, snapping its jaw as it chewed on another creature that had fallen prey to it.

He couldn't move, nor could he speak. But he had no doubt in his mind that he was the beast's next prey. It stared at him with eyes full of hunger, as if it'd been waiting for days for its meal. And there he was, trapped. 

But there were no monsters here. It was a dream, and he was no longer asleep.

His mother tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, her face a tad flush from the heat of the stove. She ushered him out of the kitchen and back towards the stairs.

" Why don't you go get dressed? We can eat breakfast outside today. The weather is quite pleasant. "

His mother then called for a couple of maids, instructing them to carry some things out, paying him mind no more as she followed behind them.

He started his ascent up the stairs, noticing someone peeking from behind the staircase.

It was the son of a maid, Simon. He was the same age as him, a tad younger, much more gaunt.

They were unlikely friends. He liked to bully the younger boy, feeling a sense of delight when his every word was regarded as truth.

" You'd surely be dead if you were being hunted. Monsters don't wait for their prey to stop hiding. "

Simon jumped, eyes wide and frightened, a small squeak escaping his chapped lips. He walked out from behind the stairs after being caught, head low in disappointment.

" A-are there monsters here, sire? "

With a smile, he continued walking up the stairs.

The monsters in their minds differed. Simon pictured them as large, ferocious beasts. Those creatures were senseless, easy to defeat with wit and resolve. The monsters in his mind were far worse, greedy and unrelenting.

" Of course, you just can't see them yet, Simon. "

Simon scampered up the stairs behind him, shaking as he looked around in panic. He stifled his laughter, wanting to give the boy the best scare he could manage, his face stoic.

" Have you seen one, then? "

He nodded his head.

" They're all around us, you know. You can never tell because they look exactly like we do. "

When he finally reached the door, he turned back to look at Simon. The younger boy wasn't quite as shaken as he hoped.

" It's quite a pity. Their favorite snack is skinny little boys. "

He pointed his finger at the younger boy. Simon's eyes crossing as he followed the motion, giving him a foolish appearance.

" Just. Like. You. "

He flicked his finger, smacking the boy's forehead. Simon looked absolutely terrified, shaking as he ran back down the stairs to find his mother crying all the while.

With a laugh, he shut his door and dressed for the day.

He walked out to the garden when he was done, his mother and father already seated at the table. A maid pulled out a chair, his mother sitting beside him.

His mother began brushing through his hair with her slender fingers, making him wince as she pulled the occasional knot.

" Mother, please stop that. " he mumbled, pushing her hand away.

Answering his wishes, she moved away, instead filling his plate.

They had an enjoyable breakfast. His father being back only for a few days meant he had to spend as much time as he could with him. His father was a part of the king's council, an advisor on matters of finances. His father been on the council since before he was born, serving both the newly appointed king, and the late one.

The sun was almost out of the sky, a brilliant array of orange and red, when the telltale sound of hooves beating against the dirt came into notice.

He was alone in the front yard, a wooden sword in his hand. He dropped it after recognizing the horse carriage that belonged to none other than his brother.

His brother had been gone for months, off to be a soldier in a neverending war. They had written to each other often, his brother would tell him about his prevalences against both beasts and men alike, and he would read every word with vigor. Dreaming of the day when he too would weild a sword and lead men into battle.

With a feeling of elation, he ran up to the carriage, waiting for his kin to step out.

A black boot touched the ground, a man different to who he expecting standing tall. The man took a few steps, a few others stepping out as well, all faces grim and none that resembled his brother.

" Well, if it isn't little master Raust, I say it's been some time since I've last seen you, lad. "

The last man to step out was one he could identify.

It was a friend of his brother's, Keir. They had both gone to war together, determined to do most things in life at each other's side. Although Keir wasn't from a noble family, his brother and he were friends since childhood.

He wasn't particularly close to the man, but he'd met him enough to be slightly at ease.

" Has my brother come with you? " he questioned, no one else appearing out of the carriage.

Keir smiled at him, and for some inexplicable reason. It was... chilling. It felt as if the man had nefarious intentions, despite having a friendly attitude.

" Don't worry, you'll see him soon enough. Ah,actually, "

With a chuckle, Keir leaned back into the carriage, reappearing with a black box in hand.

" This was for your father, but seeing you now, I'd quite like you to open it. "

Keir held the box out to him. Part of him was giddy at the thought of a gift, but he also didn't wish his father to be upset.

" My father wouldn't like me to open his things. "

He knew from experience, having opened numerous letters of his father's in the past. Though there wasn't much anger, he could still see the disappointment, and he abhorred the idea of being regarded so lowly, as if he were some petty thief.

" Don't be so glum chap, I won't tell if u won't. "

Keir then handed him the box, too eager to wait for his response. He wished protest more, but seeing as how none of the other men seemed opposed to him opening it, he gave into temptation.

The box was a bit large, heavy as well. It had a strange odor. And he couldn't help but get that feeling of dread in his belly once more, but he didn't wish to be so spineless.

So despite the dread, he slowly peeled open the lid, the pungent smell overpowering now. Streaks of red lined the sides of the box, a pool of crimson puddling the bottom of it.

He felt bile ride in the back of his throat, eyes welling with tears as he stared into the lifeless ones of his brother's, head decapitated, lying in a mess of slit skin and bone. It had been severed awfully, as if someone had repeatedly swung a dull blade through it. Mangled capillaries dangling in the air like bloodworms.

The box fell to the ground with a thud, blood seeping into the ground as he trembled.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The sound of his heart racing reverberated through his ringing ears.

Keir picked up the fallen head, holding it up by the blood streaked strands of hair. Swinging it about, splashing blood across his face, he could taste it as he gasped for breath. The foul, metallic tones defiling his tastebuds.

" C'mon lad, you didn't enjoy your gift? Ain't happy to see your big brother? "

Keir's words were just as wretched as his smile, eyes manic as his actions. This man was indeed no friend to him and would surely take his life. Keir took a step closer as his free hand reached for the sword on his belt.

And whatever sense remained in his mind forced him to move his feet. Running fast back up the small pathway back into the safety of his home.

He ran and ran until he found his parents.

He sobbed into his mother's dress as he explained the horror he'd just witnessed. She held him tight as she held back tears of her own.

A bang came from the entryway, the wood hitting the walls with a large thud.

Keir's voice sounded all the way into his father's study upstairs.

" By order of the king, the entire family of Raust shall be condemned to death on the charge of high treason. You should all submit to these charges and accept your fate. "

He shook in his mother's arms. His father looked outraged as he paced the room. His mother shushed him as she brushed through his hair.

They were upstairs in the study. No one had inspected the upper level of the manor yet, so they were safe, if only for the moment. Downstairs was a terror, choirs of screams echoing, bodies thudding against the ground.

" It simply doesn't make sense. The charges have no reasoning or basis. I need to discuss with them. "

His father grabbed the door handle, his mother yelling for him to wait.

" You going out there would be insane! Those barbarians are out there swinging our son's head about, you think they'd listen to reason?! "

The memory of his brother looped in his mind repeatedly until he couldn't hold out any longer, rushing to the corner of the room to empty his stomach.

His father walked over to rub his back, an expression full of remorse.

" You both need to leave, go through the woods. Lilian lives a town away. She'll keep you safe. "

Lilian was his aunt. She came to visit quite often since they only lived a few hours apart.

" What about you, father? "

His father looked lost in thought, unbelieving of the situation as the rest of them.

" Take care of your mother, son. I love you both so, so much. "

That was the last thing his father said before he left the room.

They waited ten minutes, hopeful that his father would return and say the situation was resolved. But to no luck.

The hallway was eerily empty, silence resonating throughout the manor.

They crept down the stairs silently, being wary of any noise. The kitchen was towards the back of the manor, had a door that would lead out to the woods.

But they would have to cross through the main living room to get there. The living room was directly in the line of sight of the entryway where their executioners were surely waiting.

He trailed behind his mother, hiding behind the long skirts of her dress, nearly unseeable.

She walked quickly, braver than he could ever hope to be.

Hiding behind the wall they peeked in, a single man was in the room. His mother sucked in a breath, ushering him away from the door.

They walked down a few halls when in a cupboard, they could hear muffled crying. Once they opened it, they found a maid, in tears and utterly unconsolable, clutching Simon's lifeless body.

Another wave of nausea overtook him. He gagged, but didn't have anything left to expel.

His mother gave her condolences to the poor woman, looking at Simon with pity. But her gaze turned resolute as she faced him instead.

She knelt down, hand resting on his shoulder firmly while the other cupped his cheek lovingly.

" It's going to be alright my love, but you'll need to listen to my every word. You're going to get of here I swear, " her voice shook as she spoke, words determined yet sorrowful.

His heart hammered.

" You're coming with me, right? I can't leave here without you! " his breath hitched as she shook her head.

" I'm sorry. I have to stay or they'll chase us both. You're my strong boy, yes? " she placed a kiss on his forehead.

" Do you have your dagger? "

He patted his waist, retrieving it from his belt, feeling shame for not using it when Keir had first appeared.

The weapon was beautiful, blade black as the darkest night, curving into a delicate arch, the sharp edges of the metal coated in white, intricate golden patterns shaping the hilt. Something far too precious to be given to a coward such as him.

He watched in disbelief as his mother took it from his hand and promptly stabbed the blade into the maid's  throat, her eyes bulging as blood spewed from her mouth onto Simon's pale face.

It sprayed onto his face, giving the dried blood of his brother a new shine. His mother didn't as much as flinch at the warm fluid meeting her skin.

He felt dizzy, witnessing yet another grotesque scene. But it didn't stop there as his mother pulled Simon off the woman's lap. Tracing many lines across Simon's face, the same face he'd seen just this morning, weary but alive, and now he lay here being mutilated.

She pressed the blade more firmly when over his eyes, the skin splitting easily. She opened his eyelid, dead pupils unresponsive.

She stabbed right into it until blood spilled from his eye-sockets, his eyes filling with red until his brown eyes were no more.

" Mother... what- I don't understand! " he wheezed, unable to get air into his lungs.

She held his hand, pulling open his fist and placing the dagger in his palm, folding his fingers over it.

Her eyes no longer seemed kind as she looked at him. The blood painted across her normally soft face and the crimson stains on her hands made her look more savage than he'd ever known her.

" You must do whatever it takes to survive. Do you understand? You are no longer living for just yourself, my love. You must live on for all of us. "

The atrocities he'd witnessed in a single day slowly seeped into his being, and he now felt numb to it all. What were a few scratches to a dead boy?

" Hide in here until you're sure they've left. Leave through the woods. You remember where your aunt's home is, yes? "

He nodded.

" Good, don't come out for anything. They must think you've died here. "

She stood, carrying Simon's corpse. Not speaking another word.

He stood idly, watching her walk back towards the living room where one of the men awaited. She was walking to her death and all he do was hide and beg for the mercy of the Gods. Gods who were cruel enough to bestow them with such a wicked kismet.

Frustration and anger built inside him, roaring like ravenous waves slamming against a shore. He couldn't live while the rest of his family were butchered like animals. He would die here today, with them.

He would kill the child he was and be born anew as a man, only made to avenge. He would string all the heads of these murderers and hang them from his family's home.

But for now all he do was wait, listening to every footstep with bated breath. Hearing someone walk just outside the cupboard, he acted quickly, coating his hands in the maid's blood and smearing it over himself. Lying atop her body and ceasing all movement.

The door creaked open slowly, a piercing screech from rusting metal. He forced himself to not look, he'd already engraved all the faces of the bastards here today.

The man didn't spend much time there. It was surely a convincing scene, both of them lying in a pool of blood, the maid's throat gaping and still pouring red.

The man walked away but left the door ajar, forcing him to stay in the same position.

His nose burned the same as his throat, the smell repungent, and surrounding his every sense. He was there for hours before the men were satisfied, killing anyone they saw. Not a single person spared.

He forced himself to walk to the living room, punishing himself for his incompetence.

In the center of the room lay his family, all departed from the world, lifeless. His father's expression was one of calm, as if he'd accepted the fate bestowed unto him. And his mother clutched Simon close, furthering the performance for them to believe it was actually her son. His brother's head sat atop the throne of other bodies, crowned the prince of tragedy.

He allowed himself to weep one final time, clutching the hand of his mother and father tightly as he sobbed. Repeating to them the same vows he'd told himself.

He ran his thumbs over Simon's gashed skin, eyes feeling hollow. Just this morning he'd warned the boy of monsters, who'd have known he'd fallen victim to them so soon.

An uncontrollable, sudden laugh left his lips, bubbling over until he was in a state of madness, tears unending and repentive.

He tugged at his hair, pulling as if he could pull the demons haunting him out. Yanking so hard that handfuls came out, silky brown strands scattering like fallen leaves in the winter, void of life and at the mercy of the wind to guide them.

He finally stood after his tears dried, feeling apathetic, the sight of the bodies no longer repulsive, instead it was a motivation. A trigger for revenge, a promise to himself and them.

He took nothing but his dagger, the clothes on his body, and the thirst for blood.