The cold bites harshly against Angie. Like the claws of an animal, it digs it's way into her flesh and irritates the outer skin, leaving redness in it's wake. Snow surrounds her, melting into her clothes and hair, as she lays in the middle of it all.
How could she have ended up like this? Just a month ago she had moved from living in the vast city to a little village in the woods. It was an easy decision to make at the time; The city was always busy, bursting with people and noises all around. The only reason she stayed there was because it was close to her job at the time as well as an easy access to the many stores, both new and old, but it wasn't a comfortable life. It didn't feel safe. Everything was too much. Too chaotic.
Once she moved, everything felt a lot more calm. It was a whole lot different from what she was used to: no crowds, fewer shops, more nature. The complete opposite of everything she knew.
The villagers were welcoming too, albeit strange. Their words were warm and friendly, but their gazes were intense. She knew it was normal for someone to be curious when a new person moves in, especially to such a small place, but she couldn't deny that it felt a bit off-putting too.
Like today, when one of her neighbours- a kindly old woman named Clara- had knocked on her door and beckoned her over.
As soon as she shut the door and began to follow, the first thing she noticed was how dark everything was. The only noise she could hear was the snow crunching underneath her steps. She had moved here in the beginning of November, to which the snow had surprisingly quickly started to fall under the month. She suspected December would be even worse when it came to the weather, if there's already so much of it now.
The sun was only starting to set, yet the lights to everyone's houses were already turned off. All their windows were closed, thick curtains draped over them from inside, and all doors now locked tight.
Where was everyone? Did they lock themselves inside? For what?
Briefly, Angie wondered if she should go back and do the same, or ask what all of this was about, or why she was inviting only her over, but she didn't want to keep Clara waiting or intrude either.
Clara opened the door to her house and gestured for her to step in first. Inside, she saw all the other villagers- who were talking among themselves- turning their heads to look at her. Their expressions varied: Some were surprised, some were relieved, and others were more hard to read.
Angie felt frozen. She was never a fan of having too much attention on her. With how much everyone was staring, it felt like she was expected to say something, but nothing came to mind. Why were they all gathered here in the first place? Why were they so shocked to see her?
What the hell is going on?
A hand was placed on her shoulder, snapping her from her thoughts. Clara stood beside her, the elderly woman offering her a reassuring smile. Angie forced herself to copy it, if only to try and settle her own nerves.
A voice interrupts.
"Is this everyone?" Someone- Henry, she thinks- asks.
He sounds nervous, wringing his hands in front of him as everyone else looks at each other as if to all confirm the question together.
Clara nods.
With that, the tension drops immediately.
Before Angie knows it, everyone is back to talking. Some of them start to go into the other rooms or up the stairs, while others stay rooted in the current positions. They exchange topics with the other, smile and laugh, gesture wildly and-
And it doesn't make any sense.
Angie stays where she is too. She doesn't dare move, less she draws attention to herself again as soon as she takes one step forward.
She feels like a fish out of water. Everyone knew everyone here, except for her. She had only gotten to known so much of them over the past month, but they all had probably known each other for years.
It makes her feel a bit isolated.
Being surrounded by so many, yet still feeling lonely.
Again, Clara snaps her out of it by gently grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. Angie faintly wonders if the woman has some sort of ability to sense other people's worries, or if she's just easy to read. Maybe both.
Regardless, it helps ground her a bit, remind her that she isn't as alone as she thinks. Angie gives her a smile, one that feels more natural.
Clara takes her to the living room, where a table is already set and ready. She gestures to the chairs, and Angie sits down on one in the farthest corner, closest to the door. Easier to get up and book it if something were to happen that way.
The others start to arrive too. One after one, they take their seats at the table. Only a few stayed behind to help Clara carry out all the food and drinks she's prepared.
The food tastes divine. Angie already knew Clara was a good cook- and baker, too- she would occasionally come over and share any left overs with her and the others, should she have made too much by accident or not. A chocolate cake was a welcoming gift she had given Angie when she first arrived. She ate it in one day.
The other guests seemed to enjoy it as much as she did. The noisy exchanges from before had now changed into the sound of utensils scraping against plates and gentle chatter.
It still felt strange, like something was off. She just couldn't place her finger on what that could be. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe this was just something they did every month.
As soon as she's finished eating, Angie grabs her plate and goes to place it in the kitchen sink. She knows the polite thing to do would be wash it herself but by now all she really wants is to go to her own home.
The dinner hadn't been bad, and it wasn't as awkward as it was when she first stepped inside, sure, but it still didn't feel right. She couldn't shake off the state of the houses when she first followed Clara here, or the villagers reactions to seeing here, or just... everything, really.
Something was wrong, and she was the only one who didn't know what.
Taking a deep breath, Angie steps into the living room again. A man from the table looks up at her. James, she remembers his name was. She found him to look a bit intimidating when they first met, but his voice was cordial when introducing himself and his wife, Beatrice.
James stood up, clinking metal against the glass in his hand to catch everyone's attention. The voices died down as they all looked up at him.
"I'd just like to thank Clara for this wonderful dinner," He began, turning his eyes towards Clara who sat at the end of the table." Your cooking never fails to impress any of us."
Clara smiled warmly and nodded in response.
He turned to face Angie, who straightened in response. Raising the glass above his head, he said "And a toast to our newest member of the family, Angie. It hasn't been so long since you joined, but it's been nothing if not delightful to have you here. Already one month has gone by, so we thought we should celebrate it with you."
Ah. So that's was this was.
Angie feels her shoulders slump in relief. All the worries building up inside of her washing away in an instant.
There wasn't anything wrong. She wasn't going crazy. Relax.
They just wanted to surprise her with a nice gesture and delicious food. The thought of that replaces the relief with shame. They went to the trouble of preparing this surprise for her and she judged them for it with disdain and mistrust.
Everyone is looking at her. Angie steels herself and answers as best as she can with "Thank you, everyone. This was... unexpected- but not unwelcome! Not at all, just, uh... Yeah. Thanks."
It's definitely wasn't the best response to give, but it was the best she could think of at the moment. Nobody comments on it either way, to her relief.
James goes to stand beside and hands her a glass as all the other guests takes a hold of theirs and raise it high.
The taste was weird. Somewhat sweet, yet odd. She suspected it to be some sort of wine. Angie never drank much, only at special occasions or celebrations, with others or alone-
"Goodnight, Angelica."
What?
"What-"
She didn't know she was falling until she felt herself being lifted under the arms by James, who was saying something to the others. She couldn't hear what it was.
Panic was quick to start, her arms and legs flailing in order to find balance and get out of his grip, but exhaustion was quicker. Her eyelids were growing heavy, try as she might to stay awake.
The last thing she saw was Clara mouthing something at her with a haunted yet defeated look in her eyes.
Then everything went dark.
She doesn't know how long she was asleep for after that, just that when she did finally wake up, she was lying in the middle of a forest on the cold snow, with nobody else in sight. Her limbs felt heavy, her clothes wet, and it was a struggle to move. Everything hurt.
She would have screamed for help if she didn't think that the only people who would hear her were the ones who thrown her out here in the first place.
How could they do this?
Why did they do this? What the hell had she done to deserve this from them?
She tried to be polite with them when she first arrived. She was friendly, helpful, matching with the attitude of the others here to fit in, even if she felt like she would never be seen as an equal between them.
Clara was always the easiest to talk to. While the elderly woman didn't talk much herself, she was a good listener, lending an ear and sharing advice just as often as she would share her cooking, or once teach her a recipe that had caught Angie's eye. Like a grandmother, Angie thought. She doesn't remember anything about her own grandmother, too young when she passed away, but she once hoped she was as kind as Clara is.
Now all of that was thrown out the window, and the only thing Angie could think about when she thought of Clara was they way she looked at her before she fainted as James presumably dragged and left her all the way out here.
She would never have a chance to ask Clara about it. If she felt any guilt, if any of them did, over what they've done. James certainly didn't seem to have any.
But if they did, it would probably be too late to save her now. She would die before anyone could reach her.
She should have listened to her gut instinct and just gone home. Maybe then none of this would happen. Maybe then they wouldn't leave her to die in the cold for some unknown reasons.
Her eyes start to drift close when something shakes the ground.
Her eyes snap open. She moves her head to try and find the source of the noise. At first, she thought it might a bear or a wolf, but they can't make the ground shake like that, can they?
Her second thought was it might be an earthquake, yet she can't feel the ground cracking beneath her. The shaking right now was sporadic too, occurring a few seconds after another, like slow footsteps.
Footsteps that were gradually becoming louder.
They were coming closer.
Angie tries to calm her breathing as the ground continues to shake, something closing in. Whatever it is, it's big. Bigger than any animal she can think off.
She can't hold back a scream when something crashes close to her, closing her eyes and embracing for whatever happens next.
God, she's going to die now, she's dead, there's-
There's nothing happening.
She waits a few seconds to see if something will, but when nothing does, she cautiously opens her eyes.
What she sees makes her wish she didn't.
The first thing she notices are two enormous snow boots on either side of her, just a few feet in front of where she's laying. She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sight, but can't drag herself much but a few centimeters away from them. The thought of being crushed underneath one of them makes bile rise in her throat and she let's out an involuntary whimper.
Hesitantly, her eyes trail upwards. Dangling above the boots she can see the end of a long cloak, still swaying a little even after the thing stopped walking.
Between them she could see some sort of fabric, folding around the legs of this massive...
...Human? No fucking way. No, No no no what the fuck -
Her eyes dart up quicker, flinching when she sees the two gigantic hands connected to arms as tall as skyscrapers hanging on either side of it's body. Forget being crushed underfoot, she's more scared of being grabbed by one of those things now. They could do anything to her and she'd be helpless to stop it.
The face is the final thing she focuses on. Or it would be, if she could see it. But combined with how far away it is and the hood casting a large shadow over it, all she can take of note is the wavy, brown hair that reaches over its shoulders.
That confirms it, then. Whatever this thing is, it has the anatomy of a human. The only thing that differs it from being one was it's height.
Angie's breathing hitches. She tries to get up, tries to get her legs to work so she can get away from this- this giant- but it hurts. It hurts to move, hurts to breathe. She can barely sit up, much less run away. It would probably catch her with ease should she try, anyway.
Another rumble comes above her. She looks away from its face and immediately lets out another scream and closes her eyes as soon as she sees the hands moving, coming down. She doesn't see which direction they were going too, only that they were close- too close for comfort.
She could feel gusts of air surrounding her as the ground shakes with it. Not strong enough to blow her away, but enough to send her hair and clothes flowing in different directions, in turn only serving to make her more cold.
Then it's quiet.
After a few seconds of nothing happening, Angie slowly opens her eyes. Instead of the same boots from before standing in front of her, she sees two knees bigger then her entire body taking up her vision, seemingly uncaring of the snow melting into its pants.
Turning her head, she can see the two hands with it's palms flat on either side of her. Christ, she's barely as tall as it's thumbs. The hands weren't touching her- thank god- but they were near, almost caging her in.
She realizes that the giant is kneeling down in order to see her closer.
She's scared to look. Like this, she would be able to see its face and confirm if it, like the rest of it, really is like a human, or if it's something else entirely.
She feels something breathe above her, and she can't contain it: Her head snaps forward and she makes eye contact with-
It looks like a woman. It has the face of one, at least, similar to someone her age. Its eyes are green and massive, it feels like she's staring into a black hole when she looks into it's pupils as the eyes scrutinize her, taking in every little detail of her state in a matter of seconds.
It's (her?) eyes widen, then soften.
Angie doesn't know how to interpret that.
She tries to speak, but she can't form the words in fear of saying the wrong thing. The last thing she wants is to piss off someone who can kill her with just a finger.
The head moves up, no longer towering directly over her. Angie wonders if she's lost interest in her. She almost hopes so. Dying from the cold is not the way she wants to go, but there are far worse deaths the giant in front of her can cause her.
Her hope is crushed in an instant as the fingers surrounding her suddenly shift and she's scooped up into two cupped hands. She doesn't have any time to protest before the giant starts walking.
Her stomach churns, leaving her scrambling for something to grab onto or a way to get off. Being kept directly in the middle of the palms with fingers hovering protectively over her rather than on the edge is her only comfort.
A thumb gently presses against her abdomen, really covering her entire torso to lessen her shaking and flailing. Her hands scramble to grab onto it with both arms. Her heart beats furiously in her chest, struggling to calm down. She wonders if the giant could feel it like this.
Angie closes her eyes for what feels like the hundred time and tries to focus on her breathing and what's around her. She moves one of her hands from the thumb still pressed against her to feel the palm underneath her.
The hands are, to the giant's credit, surprisingly sturdy. It's not as bumpy as she thought it would be to be carried like this.
Her hands are warm too, more than a normal human's would be. It's a weird sensation combined with how cold she feels, but it beats the snow. She can't help but press her cheek against the palm she's on, trying to soak up as much warmth as she can.
In the back of her mind, she realizes that the giant technically hasn't hurt her. Not yet, at least; But she hasn't come close to doing anything worse than what James and the others done. Drugging her, leaving her for dead, without any sort of explanation or apology from anyone.
There's still a sense of dread, of what the giant has planned. Angie doesn't know where she's taking her or why, and that scares her more than she like to admit. The villagers were pretty clear that they wanted her to die for whatever reason, either from the cold or by getting eaten by an animal or something else, she just doesn't know their reasoning for it.
The giant hasn't hurt her, but neither has she spoken a single word since she found her. No explanation, no justification, nothing.
The hands start to move back a little, turning her away from her thoughts.
Angie opens her eyes again when she feels something wash over her, like a gust of air.
She blinks blearily, noticing herself being brought closer to the giant's two colossal lips, which starts to gradually part, opening up to reveal all of her gigantic molars, a twitching tongue and fuck what the fuck she's going to fucking eat me I'm going to DIE-
Angie screams. This time, it's a lot more raw and guttural then the previous ones, as all her previous calmness evaporates in an instant, flailing her arms desperately and trying to push and punch the thumb keeping her pinned.
Of course this happens. Of fucking course it does. She knew shouldn't have left her guard down. It's what got her into this whole mess in the first place. It's never safe.
The hands stop moving.
She doesn't try to look at the monster holding her trapped, too scared to see what she might find.
Instead, she opts to plead.
"Please," She says, her voice feels hoarse, it hurts, but she has to make herself known. "Please let me go, fuck, please, just let me go, I don't want to die, please, don't eat me, don't-please-please-please!" A wail escapes her as the tears starts falling, the rest of her sentence becoming an incoherent mumbling.
If she would ever live through this, she knows she would look back at this moment of her bawling and pleading in embarrassment, but right now she doesn't care. She's tired, she's scared and she just wants to know what the fuck is going on.
The hands move closer again and she let's out another whimper, closing her eyes tightly. She imagines the teeth closing in, from below and above her, tearing her in half. Or maybe she'll be swallowed whole, left to slowly burn in stomach acid in excruciating pain until nothing of her remains.
A warm breath of air washes over her.
She doesn't look. Her eyes are shut tightly, waiting for the inventible blow of pain.
Another breath arrives instead, sending her hair flying backwards and sending more warmth her way. At the third breath, she opens one eye to look.
Her mouth is still open, so close she could reach out and touch the lower lip if she dared. But she's out here, still in the middle of her hands with fingers closed around her to block out any wind outside of the warm ones send out from in front of her. She hasn't been eaten. She hasn't been thrown in, hasn't been crushed to bits or anything of the sort.
And Angie doesn't understand any of it.
Most of her tears have been blown away at this point, even the more recent ones. She lets out a shaky breath, waiting for another breath, before steeling her nerves and asking,
"What do you want from me?"
She's surprised she has any strength left in her voice to speak. Her throat feels sore, yet she forces herself to ask.
There's nothing she can give her. Nothing comes without a price.
She'll have to want something from her. Why else would she save her life?
"I just want to help."
Angie flinches, her eyes shot open. For a moment, she thinks she might have been imagining the voice. She wasn't expecting an actual response from her. The voice was barely above a whisper, as if afraid of being heard or hurting her by speaking too loudly.
She turns her head to look. The woman was smiling down at her, her eyes soft like when she first saw her down on the ground, shivering, cold and in pain. The thumb above her loosens, it's firm yet gentle pressure now a feather-light touch as it reassuringly starts to stroke her arm.
"I won't hurt you, I promise. I never will."
Her words are gentle. They feel genuine, but it's hard to know for sure.
Angie wants to believe her. She wants to have something or someone to put her trust in, but it's hard. It's hard and it's scary; This day has been nothing but a never-ending nightmare.
And ironically, out of all the things that has happened today, those words are what finally breaks something in her.
Angie lays her head down on the palm underneath her and feels another wave of tears start to stream down as she starts sobbing. She doesn't know if she does it out sadness, relief, or defeat. All she can do is cry as she waits for whatever happens next.
The fingers close around a bit more. The lips in front of her pursue, soft hushing noises spilling out.
Angie feels stupid, being comforted like this. You're an adult, for fuck's sake, act like one. But at the same time, she can't bring herself to care anymore. She's too tired, so she allows herself to be comforted, listening to the quiet "Shh, sh, sh" as her sobs slowly but surely die down.
She doesn't even realize that they've stopped somewhere until the woman uncurls her fingers, revealing what looks like the inside of a house, furniture and all, except everything is way to big. She dreads the thought of walking around it on the ground all alone.
"Wh-Where-"
"Shh, it's okay. This is my home." She's moved to one hand, feeling herself be gently held against her before walking into what Angie assumes to be the living room.
The sight of a TV surprises her more than she'd like to admit, further adding to the many questions she has inside her mind. Where are they, exactly? Are there more giants here? How are they real? How is she real?
"I'm going to put you down now, okay?" She hears the woman's calm voice from above her as the hand she's seated on slowly starts to move down. "Please don't run."
She's gingerly placed on the couch, sinking slightly into the cushion under her. The woman walks around a bit and reaches to grab the smallest blanket she can find before crouching down in front of her, and Angie resists the urge to run. There wasn't really anywhere she could escape to while she was being carried, but now that she's free from that, she doesn't have to worry about being accidentally dropped from a height that could change at any time.
The woman wouldn't hurt her, she said as much, but she couldn't help the tiny bit of distrust left within her. She was still so much bigger than her, and she didn't know what she was thinking or wanted. She wanted to help, she said; But why?
"This is..." The woman before her starts, then sighs. She shoots her an apologetic smile. "This is going to sound bad, but please listen. I need you to take your clothes off as-"
Angie scrambles backwards with whatever little energy she has left, numerous scenarios of why that's the first thing she's asked to do after being brought here entering her mind.
The woman throws her hands up in a surrendering gesture in response. "No, no, hey- it's okay- It's just your clothes, they're still wet. I'm not sure how long you were out there, but I don't want to risk you getting hypothermia, so..." She holds the blanket in her hand up, carefully placing it besides Angie. She stands up slowly, watching in case any sudden movements startles her guest further.
"You can cover yourself with that once you're done, so I can dry your clothes. I'm gonna prepare something for you to eat and then I'll come back, okay? I won't take long."
Angie nods hesitantly, but it's draws a smile out of her regardless. She stands up, about to go to the kitchen before remembering something and turning back to her original position in front of her.
"Ah, wait, where are my manners? My name is Sylvie. What's yours?"
Sylvie drew her hand up, as if to see if Angie was okay with it. When she didn't react out of fear, she rests it on the edge of the couch and extended a finger towards her, the closest thing she could think of using as a handshake.
Angie swallows and, after a short moment of contemplation, anxiously reaches her hand forward, lightly grabbing a hold of it. Sylvie doesn't move, just waits patiently waits for her response. Angie wasn't sure what to truly make of Sylvie yet, but she could admit that she wasn't as bad as she had thought.
Thus, she answered.
"Angie."