carefully with two hands—
The bloodied girl rushes towards him—
“Stop!” he wails, unable to believe what he is about to do … but the undead girl lurches within reach of his vulnerable flesh, and with his hands gripping the sword’s blade he swings the hilt towards her head. It glints in the darkness before coming down hard on the girl’s scalp. Her skull explodes across the mine rails. Her small body drops like wood to the ground, completely still.
Daer lumbers around the horse, rubbing his head. His face is a perfect picture of agony. The Prince can only guess how he feels. All of his six friends are dead, and so is Snow White.
The Prince wipes the sword’s bloody hilt on the grass, then sheathes it.
What terrible evil has taken hold of the Deep Forest? The mutilated deer, earlier, had also been infected by this evil sickness. But what was its source, and how many other undead victims are walking this land, ready to pass on the foul infection…?
The Prince approaches the corpse of the girl. She is most definitely dead, now, her skull caved in by his sword’s iron handle. There are multiple contusions and tears in her flesh, which would have debilitated any living thing. But not her … Something has stripped her of her soul and occupied her broken, rotting body. What malevolent hellspawn could have created such a being?
He drops to his knees, mourning the beautiful young girl that this monster had once been. Never has he loved, except Snow White, and now she is gone from him forever.
As the Prince mourns, he does not notice the shadow looming over him from behind … It is only with the heavy clatter of a hoof against a rock that he is startled, and turns.
The horse…!
Once white and beautiful, the stallion is now drenched in its own clotting blood. Infected, it too has white eyes and a snarling mouth, turned vulgar as its lips snarl back to reveal its large crooked teeth. It clambers desperately with its hoofs, trying to stand, but Snow White’s attacks had been to damaging. Only its hind legs retain their memory of motor skills.
Repulsed and sickened, the Prince once again draws his sword.
“Forgive me,” he says, and wishes he could close his eyes to strike, but he cannot. The blade swings down against the horse’s muscular neck. Once, twice. Finally the blade splits the spinal column and the heavy body collapses into the mire created by dust and blood. The animal breathes its last, undead or otherwise.
A squeak makes the Prince whirl around again, but it is only Daer. The simple little man is troubled by the violence, and doesn’t seem to understand what has transpired. The Prince wipes, then sheathes his sword. He holds out his head to Daer.
“Come on, my friend. My horse is done for, but we can get another at the next town. I’ll take you to safety.”
Daer slowly follows the Prince, but his eyes are glued to the body of Snow White. “She said you’d come.”
But the Prince doesn’t hear. His mind is full of confusion and darkness, and uncertainty as to what to do next. What if this malady has spread to the neighbouring cities? How can he be sure that he is not infected himself, although he sustained no wounds?
He becomes aware that the little man is speaking to him. “I’m sorry, friend. What did you say?”
“She said that her prince would come to send her suffering.”
“Well,” said the Prince, turning his eyes to the horizon. “I suppose I did.”
~
THE END
~
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Susan Sontag, Victor Serge, Willard R. Trask
Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson