Warped (Maurissa Guibord)

son. There had to be a young maid for the hunt, a virgin. She had been chosen for the honor. The village was small and the choices few, she thought wryly. And her aunt had not objected to accepting the heavy purse of coins the earl had thrust forward. It was a handsome payment.
    So the girl had put on the fine gown she was given; it had belonged to the earl's wife, who had died. She unbraided her hair and brushed it till it shone in cascading ripples down her back. Dressed in finery as she was, and polished so, it was hard not to feel like bait. Or sacrifice.
    You must wait here in the clearing. The unicorn will come to you .
    The unicorn. That was the monster. A terrible beast with searing eyes and a single horn that could slash a man to ribbons.
    But why should it come to her? Would it try to kill her too? No, they'd told her she was in no danger. She would be surrounded by armed men. They were hiding, even now, in the shadows.
    The silence broke. She straightened, suddenly alert. There was a shout and a tangle of harsh voices nearby, then the blare of a hunter's horn. But it was the barking that made her jump. She stiffened, then leapt to her feet. The yelps and snarls came closer. She whirled toward the sound. Dogs. Of course there were dogs in the hunt. Her fingers curled into fists and her breath came faster.
    She was afraid of dogs. She cried out and began to run. All the careful instructions she had been given were dashed away by fright. She ran from the clearing and into the denser forest, stumbling through brambles. Faster. She had to get away. She had to hide. She had no idea of her direction, nor where the hunters were hidden.
    She plunged deeper into the woods, where black vines clutched at her ankles and the skeletal trees creaked and snapped overhead. She kept running.
    Gradually the voices and barking grew more distant. But now there was another sound.
    Hoofbeats .
    There were hoofbeats behind her, along the path she'd just torn through. It was the unicorn, the monster. She'd been a fool to run from the safety of the clearing. Now it would surely kill her, just as it had the young master. She could feel the pounding of the monster's hooves on the earth as she ran. It drew closer. Closer, until she was sure she felt the creature's hot breath sluice down the back of her neck as she ran. She wouldn't turn to look at it.
    But the gown! The mud-stained velvet twisted around her legs like ropes, slowing her progress. The tight laces of the bodice were iron bands, binding her breasts and making her breath come in short, exhausted bleats. She staggered at last, falling against a young sapling. She clutched the cold, yielding support of its trunk and pulled herself upright. She was about to die. She must see it. She twisted around, one arm raised to shield herself. The pale form exploded from the dark as the unicorn galloped from the dense cover of the woods, its head low, barreling toward her. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain.
    But she felt only a rush of air and heat and the patter of a clod of dirt on her arm. She opened her eyes to see the unicorn land and shudder to a halt some yards away. She stared at it, dazed. She had never seen anything so beautiful. So terrible.
    The unicorn looked like madness. Blood-flecked sputum frothed from its mouth, and its eyes rolled toward her, their whites showing all around. With a snort the unicorn reared and stamped down once more; the ground trembled. It stepped closer, tossing its head, and its long horn slashed the air like a sword. A step more and it would stab into her. But still she stood, frozen.
    The unicorn stopped. It raised its head and its gaze locked on hers. She could not look away. There was something more than madness there. Something ... familiar. The unicorn's eyes were a deep golden brown color. Strange. They weren't the eyes of an animal at all. They looked just like--
    She screamed.
    Tessa's eyes flew open. She was huddled on the floor of her room, her arms clutched closely around her knees, shivering.

    The Norn stood together.
    "Another disturbance in the Wyrd," said Weavyr. She sighed and bent over the fabric.
    "There must be an explanation," said Spyn.
    "This one." Weavyr spoke as she fingered a single strand in the Wyrd. "This girl. There is some connection between her and the missing threads."
    Spyn bent closer to peer at the path the thread took. She nodded. "Yes. She was there when the threads were stolen. In another life, five