Entry 9

The baying hounds were close but I dared not spare a glance and slow my fervent digging. My knuckles were raw and bloody from the sharp stones in the earth and my delicate fingertips felt like little more than boney stubs. A hot rain began to pour down. When I reached her body, the linens around here were soaked with telltale crimson stains and newer splotches of brown mud.

My pursuers were close. I could hear their heavy paws pounding across the fields, the cobblestoned paths, and over the graves of villagers long past. I was tormented by their guttural, slavering taunts, loud as thunder in my ears. Dianne’s black hair still flowed from the wrappings and I was thankful that she had not been burned. I was satisfied to very shortly meet my own demise here next to her. Their growls had grown ever present, but only now could I see the rain turning to steam around me. They were above us, around us, upon us. As I felt the first white hot teeth dig into my shoulder, I embraced my death.