The gnarly tendrils of the oaks came down again and again, sucking any remaining life out of me; but my lungs had long stopped producing enough air to cry out. I could feel my now-shriveled limbs sticking gruesomely out of the fine gossamer dress that had been pristine just hours before.

Just hours before, when I hadn’t yet been picked to be the offering to the forest.

The forest supposedly protected my village from all depravity; but the trees themselves presented the true evil. Every year one of the most beautiful youths, usually ranging anywhere from fourteen to eighteen winters old, were chosen to be brought into the woods. The Elders proclaimed it was the greatest honor, to supply life to the forces keeping us safe, but we all knew what it truly was: a death sentence.

I had been dragged to an overgrown altar in the middle of a thick copse, kicking and screaming, my thick brown hair catching in my mouth - my red, red mouth that was the envy of every village girl.

The first branch had snuck down only seconds after the guard disappeared from view. He must have heard my anguished shrieks - but he didn’t return.

No one would, not for another year; and by then I would be a mere puddle of bones.