Kellen Crawford

Báal

Persephone’s panicked breath left a trail of suspended vapor behind her as she sprinted frantically through the thick underbrush of the moonlit forest. The frigid snow beneath her bare feet crunched and cracked with each hasty step. Rogue branches tore at her hair and nightgown, leaving a helter-skelter array of fresh cuts and scratches across her thin frame. The bitter cold festered her anxiety—it was close; she could not tarry. She could hear the pursuit of footsteps trudging relentlessly behind her.