Still unsure, he removed his coat and gently laid it over a patch of grass. He bent down and placed the infant carefully atop the fabric, arranging it to cushion him from the cold ground.
“I’ll come back,” he promised, already backing away. “I’ll explain everything.”
And with that, he vanished into the trees, disappearing into the night. My breaths came fast and shallow, panic clawing at my throat as I stared at my baby lying alone beneath the moonlight. His tiny cries pierced the air—each one carving into my soul.
Then I heard it. A faint rustle.
My stomach sank.
Every instinct screamed in alarm. The air grew heavier, colder. A presence stirred in the shadows.
Then she appeared.
Amara.
My heart crashed against my ribs as she stepped out of the dark, her lips curling into a smile both slow and malicious.
“Isn’t this tragic?” she mused, cocking her head as she looked up at me. “Dangling like a shattered puppet… forced to witness it all without being able to stop any of it.”
My voice shook. “Don’t touch him,” I warned, barely managing to speak.
She laughed softly, a mocking sound. “Oh, Marian…” she said, stepping closer. “You know I wouldn’t hurt a child. I’m not heartless.”