Liz fell into a silence, her mind grappling with Daisy's explanation. The ancient legend of Wolfdale? Her healing being linked to it? Was she considered one of the fortunate ones in this situation?
Unintentionally, Liz burst into laughter. "I'm sorry," she managed to say through her giggles, "I didn't mean to laugh like that."
Daisy's expression remained stern, but there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "Care to share what's so amusing?"
Liz cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. "It's just... the whole situation. The idea that I'm somehow chosen by mystical beings or whatever to have my wounds miraculously heal. It's like something out of a fantasy novel."
Daisy's lips twitched, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Well, sometimes reality can be stranger than fiction."
Their moment of shared amusement was short-lived, as Daisy glanced at her wristwatch. "I should get back to the lab. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask."
As Daisy excused herself and walked away, Liz was left standing there, contemplating the conversation. Part of her couldn't shake off the thought that Daisy's words might hold some truth. It was difficult to dismiss the earnestness in her eyes.
Liz sighed and rubbed her temples, deep in thought. "Could it really be possible?" she mumbled to herself.
The doubts continued to plague her, leaving her torn between skepticism and a growing sense of wonder.
Daisy's explanation had left Liz's head feeling like it was about to explode. Countless questions swirled in her mind, like a whirlpool of thoughts that left her feeling dizzy. It was as if she wanted to scream out in frustration.
Exiting the lab building, Liz found herself sitting on a bench in the park, her expression gloomy. She absentmindedly touched her smooth face, still finding it hard to believe Daisy's words.
Her mind whirred as she desperately tried to come up with alternative explanations. The wind blew fiercely, slapping against her cheeks, and suddenly a thought struck her.
Gabriel, she thought.
Why had she only just thought of him now?
The strange occurrences with her wounds might indeed be the doing of that man.
After all, who else had touched her wounds?
She couldn't even remember the events of that night, and it was entirely possible that Gabriel had done something to her.
"Oh my goodness," Liz exclaimed, patting her cheeks with wide eyes. It was as if a realization had just hit her.
It could very well be Gabriel who possessed the elixir or whatever form the "blood of the moon" took in the prophecy.
There was no other plausible explanation left in Liz's mind.
Determination surged within her like a rising tide. She had never felt so convinced before. She needed to find out more, to confront Gabriel. She had to do something to make him talk, and maybe even show her the elixir.
Could she?
Liz stood up abruptly, her heart pounding with a newfound energy. She was resolute in her decision.
She was going to face her fears and confront the enigmatic man who had turned her world upside down. The moon hung above her in the darkening sky, casting its silvery glow, as if guiding her toward her next step.
***
Time frame: flashback
~~~~
Everything had come to an end.
The once-vibrant winter celebration had turned into a scene of unimaginable horror. The ground was littered with the aftermath of the brutal battle that had taken place. The moon's pale light cast eerie shadows on the gruesome tableau that had unfolded.
Blood formed dark puddles, staining the pristine snow with a stark contrast of red against white. Chunks of torn flesh were scattered haphazardly, evidence of the violence that had occurred. The metallic scent of iron hung heavily in the air, mingling with the chilling breeze that cut through the night.
The lifelessness that surrounded the area was haunting. The fallen bodies lay in twisted positions, their once-vibrant lives extinguished in an instant. Cold seeped into every crevice, turning the corpses into frozen statues amidst the desolation.
The Moonlit clan, known for their unity and strength, had been reduced to a tragic tableau of loss and destruction. The mirthful celebrations that had echoed through these woods had now been silenced, replaced by the somber aftermath of a ruthless attack.
The snow was no longer a pristine white, but a haunting shade of red. It was as if the very land itself was soaked in the blood that had been spilled. The flakes were now tainted with the life essence of those who had fallen, mingling with the tears of the girls who had lost their families. Their mournful cries echoed through the night, tearing through the eerie silence that had settled.
In the midst of the crimson-stained snow, the anguished wails of the survivors shattered the calm. The once-tranquil night was now filled with the sound of their cries, a heart-wrenching symphony of grief and despair.
The moon, a silent witness to the tragedy, continued to cast its pale glow over the scene, adding an ethereal quality to the somber tableau. The chilling wind carried both the scent of iron and the echoes of sorrow, as if the very elements themselves mourned the loss that had occurred.
Anguished sobs racked Freya's body as she lay helpless, bathed in the moonlight that cast an eerie glow over her blood-soaked form.
Her gaze was unfocused as she stared at the constellations above, their arrangement seemingly offering a hint that her life was destined to end on this very night.
The unending terror that had unfolded had torn away every ounce of hope within her heart, leaving her utterly bereft.
Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythms, each breath a struggle as her trembling hands reached out to touch the snow-covered ground beneath her.
The once-cold flakes were now dampened with her own life force, mingling with the crimson hue that painted the scene.
Freya's body felt heavy, every movement a reminder of the pain and devastation that had befallen her clan.