There was a third deterrent. Citrus. I gasped, releasing one hand to reach into the pocket of my dress for the orange half the blessed Niall had granted to me only moments before. It would not be enough acidity to kill the monster, but not always does a woman need to conquer. Sometimes, a woman needs, just barely, to escape.

In order to reach the slobbering tentacle that had wrapped itself around my leg, sizzling through my leather boot, I had to release the root to which I held. To free myself, I had to let go.

With one last deep breath to strengthen my resolve, I released the large root that served as my anchor and slid across the ground toward the gleaming monster. I crunched forward, squeezing the orange half with all of my strength, aiming for the tentacle around my leg.

The frog thing crooked and squelched and shook repulsively, attempting to splash me with its burning goo.

I used my skirts to protect myself just in time, hiding my upper body in them and allowing my legs to be harmed rather than my face. The spots of slime burned my skin. That is when I knew not only did the monster burn, but it poisoned as well. My vision began to blur on impact.

Nonetheless, it released me, and I scrambled away, heading deeper into the forest. All seemed as if it would be well until I ran directly into a bare-chested boulder of a pyre. He was foreign to me, and he wore a blank look of destitution on his face I had never witnessed on a pyre before.

Without my permission, he grabbed my arm, gripping far too tightly so as to ensure I would bruise, and threw me to the ground.

What happened next—I wished I could think it strange, but it was far beyond that—he bore long, needled fangs, his mouth opened wider than any human’s jaws could bear to be stretched, and, with strong hands pinning me to the ground, drove his fangs down into me.

One fang sank into the soft flesh of my throat, and another plunged deep into the bone of my chest, sending a cracking sound into the humid air.

I could no longer fight after this, for the pain was too great and my body succumbed to numbness. I supposed the latter was an effect of the frog-monster’s poison.

The pyre removed his fangs, proving that he was not attempting to drink from me, but only to spill my blood and leave me dead. Perhaps I trespassed on his territory. Perhaps he was friends with the frog.

All the perhapses in all of Lykke could not stop my eyes from closing and my mind from falling back into itself as the bright morning light was drowned by the dark of wicked, relentless sleep.

Episode 65: The Revisiting Of Dungeon Cells