Then suddenly she screamed, “Help!”
The groom slowly turned toward her.
His eyes glowed red.
His teeth lengthened, sharp and unnatural.
“If I hear your voice again,” he growled, “I will feast on your flesh.”
Isidora covered her mouth instantly.
One of the men behind them laughed.
“Let her scream. No one will come.”
The horses suddenly burst into a violent run. The chariot flew deeper into the forest, and whatever Isidora had married was no longer pretending to be human.
But far away, Sarah had not died.
The next morning, in a village many miles away, an old woman went to the river to wash clothes. As she stepped into the shallow water, she noticed something pale lying near the bank.
At first she thought it was a log.
Then she saw long dark hair.
She screamed and ran as fast as her bent old legs could carry her. On the path, she nearly collided with a young man.
It was the prince.
“Grandmother, what is wrong?”
“There is a girl by the river,” she cried. “She looks dead!”
The prince and his guards rushed there at once.
When they reached the riverbank, they saw Sarah lying half on the sand, soaked and still. Her body looked as if the river had carried her gently over a great distance and laid her there.
The prince knelt beside her and touched her neck.
“There is a pulse,” he said quietly. “She is alive.”
They carried her carefully to the palace and summoned the royal herbalist.
The old healer treated her with herbs, bitter medicine, warm oils, and patience.
One day passed.
Then two.
On the third day, Sarah’s fingers moved.
The prince, who had been sitting nearby, saw it first.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She looked up at a decorated ceiling she had never seen before, panic flooding her instantly.
“Where am I? Please don’t hurt me!”
“You are safe,” the prince said gently.
Safe.
The word sounded strange to her.
Later, after she had eaten soft rice and light soup, the king himself came to see her.
The room filled with quiet, kind faces.
“What is your name, my child?” the king asked.
“My name is Sarah,” she whispered.
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