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Ian stared silently as the two other stalked off away from him.

He looked to the ground and didn't say anything, perhaps it was better this way. A glint caught his eye and he saw the watch, grabbing it he eyed it blankly and held it.

Leaving his spear on the ground by the dead tree Ian headed in the opposite direction back to where he had sat by the stream to think. He needed to sleep, perhaps he would think more clearly in the morning.

Emerwyn stumbled through the trees that night, completely lost, completely alone.

She had broken the heart of her dear friend, and probably destroyed what little sanity was left in him.
And Ian... She had denied him again, when it seemed that she could finally move on... Would she ever get another chance?

The Jabberwock. It was so frightening. He was still Julian... what happened to the boy...

The jungle became silent, and she crew chilly.
Sure, it was warm here, but in the dark of night, it did get cold.
Emerwyn rubbed her chest a little. It did not help that she was only wearing her long coat and undergarments. And she hadn't formed a layer of hair nearly thick enough to warm her yet.
Her breathing grew ragged. She felt a severe sore in her throat, and knew that her voice would be lost come tomorrow.

There was nothing to do now than to rest. She had forgotten how tired she was. She made no preperations for her sleeping place; she simply curled up in some large bushes, tucking her legs oddly underneath herself.
Her stomach growled, but she paid it no heed. She had more consuming things taking precidence in her mind now.

Dark slumbers filled her eyes.


"I'll only be gone three weeks." He smiled and brushed her hair out of her face. His touch was heaven; she smiled back as his hand ran softly down her neck.

Three weeks...

Three months later...

Her world was dark. She was trapped in her apartment room. The power was shut down, phones disconnected; she read books by candlelight.
Her eyes grew weary with the strain. She could guess it was well past two in the morning. But she stayed up, kept reading.
All she had left now were books. She was left alone, just like before...
So she turned back to the only thing that would never abandon her...
Her books, her characters, her ficticious plots.

But then, the words began to melt right off the pages. They dripped down like melting wax, out of the book, over her lap, her hands.
It burned. Emerwyn screamed and jumped up, throwing the book away.
The 'wax' stayed caked on her thick, clinging to her flesh. It was black and shimmered sickly. She tried desperately to tear it off, but it seemed to have melded with her flesh. The writing fused with the writer.
Gradually, it began to spread over her entire body, down her legs, up her arms. She struggled, kneeling down on the ground, crying and screaming.
It moved up her neck and began to cover her face.
In submission, Emerwyn lay herself on the floor. It wasn't any use anymore.
She brought this on herself. She deserved it. She'd let it come silently.

The White Stag ran away into the distance.

The dead tree crumbled to the ground, ash.

The green checkered paths withered away.

Everything she'd built up and destoyed left. Just as it should. Maybe now, she could stop the pain she'd caused, by giving into her own.

But the pain wasn't over. It was all her fault.
She knew it was all her fault.
Faces appeared. All of the people she'd met since the wreck.
Amaya, Colche, Emelyn, Lauren, and countless others whom she'd only met in passing, sneering at her, glaring at her in contempt.
She had hurt all of them, too.
Moreau appeared. It was a frightening sight.
He was a bloody mass, his once handsome face hardly discernable anymore.
He limped slowly toward her, in his hands was a large sword. One of his hands clutched the blade of the sword, and was trailing blood behind him.
Silver glints shone through the blood that covered the sword.
As he grew closer, Emerwyn grew more horrified to realize that most of the blood covering the Doctor was not his own. The crowd behind him were all doubled over, bleeding in several places, making moans of agony.
A manic grin appeared on Moreau's face.
He lifted the sword. It plunged into Emerwyn's right shoulder, pinning her to the wall. She gasped, kicking her legs, which were now raised off the gorund.
Moreau leaned in close. "It's all in your head... that's all... you're not sick.
... But you make everyone else sick. All of this." He gestured out with his free hand. "YOU did this."



"I did this..."

The next day, Emerwyn was not in the same place.
She couldn't have been.
The bush she had curled up to sleep in had grown over her. All she saw was a tangle of green, covering her on all sides. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her voice was drained, her throat dry and scratched, no doubt still lined with traces of blood.

She burst forth, breaking out in a sudden burst of movement. The bush gave way with almost no effort, and she sat up, breathing rapidly.
All around her, the jungle seemed to be moving, breathing... laughing.

The whole jungle had joined in the Cat's game. He was back, and he was stalking her again. She looked up, all about the trees. Her only concern was up in the trees. She crawled backwards, up against a trunk, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

There was someone watching her now... She knew it; it was far more than the paranoia that had been haunting her the past few days...
She began to get slowly to her feet. Her eyes trailed away from the high branches, closer to the earth. She could smell something on the air... Hear a faint, mencaing sound... And feel a pair of cold, hungry eyes upon her.

She scanned the area, soon resting straight ahead. Something was there, still among the writhing, reaching trees.

Her body froze up entirely. Fear prevented her from moving, making a sound. Her arms clung tightly to the tree. Her soft, brown eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open. The blood rushed in her face as her heart pounded, threatening to leak out of her unhealed cuts.

Emerwyn was terrified.
It was... another Islander...
Just like her... no, a predator. And he was on the hunt.

At first, she couldn't move. She wanted to speak to him, but couldn't find any voice.

What would happen if she ran? The whole jungle was looming over her, poised to strike as the man? with the yellow eyes.

He tried to warn her, but it was taking far too long for her to break away.

Slowly, her hands removed themselves from the tree trunk. Her whole body was tensed; it did not tremble. Her animal instinct made her too frightened to tremble. Her first thought was if she stayed perfectly still, she would not be seen. But she soon realized this was rediculous, and she side-stepped, oh so slowly, away from the tree, never removing her eyes from the predator. Whether she wanted to or not.

She stumbled backward as he lunged, and tripped.

A sharp pain shot through her spine as she landed, and it hurt to get up.
But she got up as fast as she could; she had to.

She wobbled around as she gained her footing again, and she turned and began to run, as fast as she could.


...But inside, she knew she could never outrun him.

Emerwyn dashed along; her own two legs surprising her as she went. However, the panic-induced speed was rapidly wearing off.
She could feel his ragged breath on her back, reminding her that she was so close to being killed. There was no other way to defend herself, but to run, and keep running.

He fell back. He spoke.
Emerwyn heard the human voice, and some emotion in her compelled her to stop running, a good twenty feet ahead of him. She leaned on a tree, panting for breath, looking at this creature created by a madman.
There was sorrow in her eyes.