panic

oh noes! make-believe bad things!

        Her thundering heartbeat pounded in her ears, impossibly loud in the silent night. Every single muscle in her body screamed for rest as she pushed them, aching, straining, to run harder, to move faster. She could feel the panic emanating from the two shadowy Terrors in diligent pursuit. Irrational panic clutched at her heart, nearly causing her steps to falter. In her mind, she distantly acknowledged a different figure on the rooftops pacing her. The man had been tailing her before the Terrors had appeared but was of little concern. He was, afterall, a mere mortal. She had heard of Terrors before: Creatures borne of purest fear and anguish and hatred. Materialized by inexplicable evils in the minds of all mortals, Terrors exist only to delve into one’s mind to single out the person’s most deepest fear. They feed on fear. Once they have discovered this fear, they exaggerate it, exacerbate it, and build it up until the person is completely consumed.
        And so: Shariah ran for the sake of her sanity; with the fear of losing her mind.
        She turned to look back once and nearly screamed. The Terrors were gaining on her, dark greedy tendrils reaching for her terrified mind. She closed her mind to them, and through sheer will power, forced her exhausted body to run faster. She darted through the dark alley blindly, not knowing where she was running to, running simply to run. Anything to put distance between herself and the horrific creatures hunting her.
        In any other situation she would have seen him coming. This particular night, she did not see him coming. Before she knew what was happening, a dark figure jumped off the roof from her right, cloak flowing like angel wings. The man forced her into a doorway and wrapped his cloak around her. He stood with both feet planted firmly between her splayed legs, his left arm wrapped around her, over her right shoulderblade diagonal down her back to her waist, where the biting point of a dagger convinced her not to move a muscle; his right arm pulled the cloak over her head. The corners of his cloak were held fast in his two hands; one hand with a dagger, the other with a fistful of her hair. His body was flush with hers but her cheek only reached the tall figure’s chest. She didn’t struggle- partly due to the dagger aimed at her gut, partly because intuition argued this stranger would somehow free her of her stalkers. His steady heartbeat calmed her. She could feel a vague nuance of subsiding panic as the Terrors hissed by, angry, having lost their prey.
        The moon passed quietly out of its zenith, preparing to descend. The dagger point became unnecessary. He simply held her.
        Abruptly, he released her. He dropped his dagger and held his arms out wide, backing up. As he backed out of the shadows she saw a tall, lanky figure clad in form-fitting clothing of some enchanted material. The moonlight threw shadows across the angular features of his face, kissing his patrician nose, caressing his arrogant jaw line. Even with the scarce lighting, she could tell his smooth skin was colored a creamy, lightly sunned brown. His eyes were a darker brown, the same shade as the wavey hair framing his face, and they were fixated on her own. She found herself transfixed.
        Deriius glared at this strange man he’d found holding Shariah so intimately, opening his mouth to speak.
        With a toss of his arm, pulling his shimmering cloak around him, the stranger disappeared.
        Shariah snapped out of her stupor and tossed a glance towards Deriius. The brooding form turned on his heels and stalked off.
        Her tiny black cat mewled at her feet. The dagger had disappeared with the man.