Hunted Shadows Poem by Lilith Van'Nightinveil

The forest is dense, the canopy a tangle of ancient branches, twisted and gnarled, fingers reaching down to ensnare me. Shadows dance in the moonlight, flickering, teasing, always just at the edge of my vision. The night air is thick, oppressive, filled with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.

I can feel it. The presence. The hunter. Somewhere out there, it stalks, eyes piercing through the darkness, locked onto me. Every rustle of the underbrush, every snap of a twig, sends a jolt of fear through my veins. The forest is alive with whispers, the wind carrying secrets and threats, blending with the pounding of my heart.

I start to run. My breaths come quick and shallow, a frantic rhythm that matches the thudding of my feet against the ground. The forest floor is a treacherous maze of roots and fallen branches, each step a gamble, each stride a desperate bid for survival.

Branches slap against my face, leaving stinging welts, but I don't slow down. The predator is out there, somewhere, unseen but always felt, a looming presence that drives me forward. My legs burn, muscles screaming for respite, but I can't stop. Not now. Not ever.

The moon peers through the canopy, casting eerie silver beams that slice through the darkness, illuminating patches of the forest floor. I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see glowing
eyes or a shadowy form, but there's nothing. Just the black void and the sense of being watched. Hunted.

Panic rises like bile in my throat, a suffocating force that threatens to overwhelm me. I stumble, nearly falling, but catch myself and push on. I can't afford to fall. I can't afford to be caught. The predator is patient, relentless, and I am nothing but prey.

The forest seems endless, an infinite labyrinth of terror and despair. My lungs burn, my vision blurs, but I don't stop. I can't stop. The predator is everywhere and nowhere, a phantom that haunts my every step.

Run. Run. Run.

The words pound in my head, a mantra of survival. I leap over a fallen log, dodge around a towering oak, my body moving on instinct, driven by the primal need to escape. The forest blurs around me, a nightmarish swirl of shadows and moonlight.

And still, I run.

The predator is close. I can feel its breath, hot and rancid, on the back of my neck. I push harder, faster, my body a vessel of pure adrenaline and fear. The world narrows to a single point, the act of running, of fleeing, of surviving.

I am prey. And the forest is my arena.

But I won't stop. I can't stop.

Run. Run. Run.