Shroud of Darkness
After two days had passed, most people seemed unbothered by my disappearance, except for my mother who loved and cared for me deeply.
Posters of me were plastered everywhere, but it wasn't until two days of silence that I felt a sudden rush of air being forced back into my body.
I awoke to find myself under a tree in a cave with an opening above, still dressed only in my undergarments.
I could hear a woman's voice reciting a mysterious and poetic incantation.
"Vitam revocare ex tenebris,
In lucem etiam redire.
Anima revirescit,
Mortem devictam sentire."
Every inch of my being throbbed with pain as my wound slowly began to heal, causing the skin around it to stretch uncomfortably.
The broken bones in my body shifted back into place, mending themselves.
I couldn't help but moan and squirm, overwhelmed by a mix of confusion, restlessness, and unease.
As the sensations faded, tears welled up in my eyes, dampening my hair.
I reached out to touch the ground, trying to figure out where I was.
In a hushed voice, I whispered, "Am I still alive?"
A girl approached me, her blonde hair flowing beautifully, her eyes captivating and seductive.
Her long lashes and natural blush added to her charm, making her irresistible.
"Indeed, you are alive, babe," she replied.
I began to recall this face as I blinked rapidly.
"Wait, I know you! You're in my class!" I exclaimed, remembering her as someone who never got involved in anyone's affairs, never speaking up for or against me.
She had been bullied in the past because of her surname, "Christine Hagsen." I exclaimed.
"Call me Christine," she said, extending her hand to help me up.
"Why did you help me when you never interfere in anything?" I asked, a gasp escaping my lips as I realized the gravity of what had just occurred. "How am I still alive?"
"I will explain everything, but first, we need to clean you up. Your mother is worried sick about you, and we must get you back home," she said, smiling.
As soon as I dressed up, I couldn't wear my glasses anymore, they were not only cracked but I could see better without them.
She guided me back to my house, where my mother's tears flowed freely upon seeing me. "What happened to you, sweetheart?" she cried out.
"You know I rarely go out, so I got lost and fell down the hills. My knee was dislocated, but Christine found me and took care of me," I reassured my mother, a smile gracing my face.
"Thank God you're alright!" she exclaimed, relieved.
"Mom, I want to show Christine my room," I requested, using the opportunity to bring her into my personal space.
"You must tidy up," she suggested.
"Not until you explain what just happened, who you are, and how and why you helped me!" I declared.
"If I were to tell you that I am the first witch, would you believe me?" She gazed into my eyes.
After a moment of deep thought, I exclaimed, "Yes! Because I have just been brought back to life!" I declared.
"I decided to help you because when I was in your position, no one was there to help me!" She gazed at me.
"Similar to you, I was once targeted by similar predators! The men!" She pursed her lips.
I settled back as she began.
"Have you ever thought why some books state that God values man more than woman, while in other places it is said that he despises women? Have you ever wondered why?
To make women realize how people take advantage of the privileges granted to them, to demonstrate how they exploit those who are less fortunate, and how they lick the feet of those in power.
That is precisely what happened to me. It was the year 1690 when my tale began.
Christine Michelson, a lovely peasant girl surrounded by heartless men, eager to grow up, eager to become a bride just for the sake of a chance to dress up and look pretty.
She still played with dolls, admired herself in the mirror, and adorned herself with her mother's beads, mimicking the wealthy ladies who socialized with counts.
I was the baker's daughter, and I used to help my father by gathering fresh fruits for his pies, much like the innocent Little Red Riding Hood.
Little did I know that I was not facing a wolf, but a pack of wolves.
As usual, I picked berries, while a group of men who often observed me coming and going from the bakery watched me from the window of the tavern.
Their lustful gaze would disgust an animal, let alone a woman, lost in her joy she left the bakery with empty basket hanging by her shoulder. Her golden long braid resting on her shoulder with flowers tucked in its loops.
16 year old poor Christine, made her way to her home, but one of those men from the group, blocked her path, his cigar squeezed in between his lips, he wore a cap, one of his hands buried in the pocket of his long coat.
He started to walk toward Christine, poor girl, shaken with the fear tried to escape this hideous creature of a man, and turned around only to find another one blocking her path.
Constantly failing to escape, Christine knew there was no escape, so with her already broken body language she mustered up some courage to speak “What do you want?” Her voice shaking helplessly.
“You! We want you!” The man answered.
I made the last attempt to escape yelling “Father!” and finally succeed in escaping.
I was perfectly warned not to cross path with any of these men ever again.
At night I snuggled my pillow and slept, but in the dead of the night, an unknown presence fluttered my eyes open.
As soon as I got up, a hand grabbed my mouth, it was dark but I knew who could that be. So the other man grabbed me by my legs and the snuck me out of the window.
They took me into the woods nearby and there all 6 of them… raped me until I died.
Leaving the scene of the crime as if nothing happened, they remained satisfied, their spirits as high as ever.