Editing Prompt September 2021 (section)

== Sarah Grace Patrick ==
Times had changed. A gorgeous landscape turned horrid by war time had brought, a dark and deep dusted cover it had laid across it all. Yet even as the sun began to set and the magnificent colors were sketched across the sky by an unseen hand, the people were reminded of what had once been. Before it all fell, before the darkness came and covered it all for good.

A small figure, dressed in white, cut through the fading sunset, her eyes on the ground and her footsteps silent. Some may have thought her a ghost, an illusion, a trick of the light as night descended upon the place. She was neither, only a girl, almost a memory.

She moved along the edge of a wooded area, walking close to the path but never quite stepping upon it. She kept her distance from the village and crossed the same distance over and over, back and forth as if waiting for something.

That something was the sun—or more accurately—its departure from the sky above. Only once the light had faded altogether and only the moon’s glow remained did she enter the village.

Men from elsewhere knew the poor town had nothing left to give, no grand secrets waiting to be uncovered, no riches left to spare, but it did appear as though the girl either did not know or did not care. For she descended upon the place with a hunger like a beast from stories mothers tell to their children to keep them behaved.

The townspeople did not fear the dark, nor did they believe they should. As so, they wandered about with their torches and candles, continuing on as though the sun were merely another distraction nature provided man during his time. And the girl wandered about them and slipped into their midst without notice. In the darkness, she was shrouded from view; she did not carry any sort of light to show her the path ahead. One could only see her dress, as it stood out amongst the dark colors of the street and its inhabitants.

It wasn’t long before she was recognized as a stranger, but even then, most paid her no mind save to step aside and stare for a moment before continuing on. They did not know she was a girl with a mission. They did not know of the monsters she knew.

It was coming.

She had to prepare.

First, she found her way to the center of the village. She found the heart of the market with its shops and its stands, all run by humble country folk and their blissfully ignorant minds. She made a silent promise not to disturb them if she could manage it. The hunger inside of her persisted, urged on by the coming crisis and what it could mean for her life, but she tamed it as best she could and held back. Now was not the time to lose control, but the time was fast approaching her.

Taking a long look around, she managed to find what it was she sought—a great many things that was, but for that moment, it was simple. She gathered herself and slipped through the crowds, reaching a silent and unseen hand to snatch a loaf of bread, a cloak, a knife meant for whittling wood. She found a long staff, alone and unattended, leaning beside a building. She gathered what she could and tucked it all away, out of reach, using the staff as a walking stick to hold herself up and appear fragile as to be paid even less attention than before.

This village, she knew, had seen its days of war and hunger, a time of oppression, empty promises of freedom. She would make none of that, for they had suffered enough. And if she was to fail, if her enemy was to take the town into its clutches and burn it to ash, then she would not prolong their fear and worry—there was no point to it. Any amount of terror would not save them if she could not hold it back.

She had found what she could and then sought out a quiet alleyway in which to lay down her burdens. She did so, taking a quick account to be sure she knew what was at her disposal. Then, turning her eyes skyward, she sought out the moon.

It had changed, as time often made things, and shrunk in size, climbing high to the center of the sky where it peaked and stood ever so still and stoic.

For the girl, everything froze.

The time had come.

Just as the thought came upon her, a grand crack split the sky, and the ground began to quiver. The girl jumped to her feet and gathered in her arms what she had acquired. The cloak became a shield against any light that could give her away. The knives became tiny warriors around her belt that she could deploy. Her staff became a spear in her hands—its ends whittled to points as sharp as she could make them. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to give out beneath the strain of anticipation. Her hunger would be cured this night.

She set off back the way she had come, moving wordlessly, keeping her eyes away from the men and women who stood and stared—at the sky, at the forest, at each other—all looking for answers of their own and wondering whether or not to fear.

Finally, the girl reached the edge of the village and gazed off into the forest from which she had come. For a long moment, the very stars held their breath and awaited the next strike of lightning across the nighttime sky. No one but she knew the darkness that was coming, and no one but she could stop it.

Each time, she said, “One last battle.” A wish? A prayer? A lie? It was never quite true, as the one last battle bled into the next and the next, turning the tides back and forth between her and an ancient foe. They had battled for centuries, and so they would continue for centuries more to come.

And yet, she still believed that time came for them all eventually.

The curious murmurs turned to shrieks in an instant, and running footsteps sounded behind her as all retreated in fear. A figure stepped out from the treeline, almost like smoke rising from a fire and swirling about in the atmosphere. The girl held herself steady and tried to keep her breathing even.

“Hello,” she said softly.

No reply came.

“Time comes for us all, my friend,” she whispered again, bowing her head almost in resignation.

And then the creature launched itself at her, and the battle began.