Unnamed Story, Prologue

My name is Emma Cardolet. Save me.

       As I scrawled the message with a shaking hand, I knew he was coming for me. I knew it was too late. I was too far away-no one would read this, no one would hear my scream, I would die, and no one would ever understand how. They would blame some sick murderer when they found my body, lifeless, grotesque, in the clearing. He wasn't a murderer-he wasn't even human! He would be long gone, and if he weren't, no one would ever know we had associated. No one would know he existed. They would say it was an accident, a strange accident. Stupid little Emma was playing with fire.
      But what fire was capable of commiting the horrors I had grown to expect from the devil that now stood, looming behind me? Who would guess that I had once loved him, and was still incapable of hating him? Even as his eyes took in the words my panicked hands had scribbled on the dirty scrap of paper and his face became dark with scorn. Even as he snorted and ripped it from my fingers with enough force to knock me over. Even as he held the paper in his hand and watched it burn with a malevolent glint in his eyes. Even as his palm, bright with heat and unwavering, turned over and dropped the ashes of my one hope onto the meadow grass. Even as he turned those burning hands to me, I knew I could not kill him if I tried. He was too powerful, I was too weak, and as he touched a single scorching finger gently to my cheek, I did not recioil. I screamed in agony at the searing pain, but I could not help but think of another time. Those hands had once run through my hair as he offered a sweet kiss. Those arms had held me as I cried. Those eyes had held the purest of love and the simplest of joy. That mouth had showed me the meaning of life just by smiling, had told me I was great, I was me, I was everything to him.
       Even as I died, I could not bring myself to despise him.