The Forest: Fairytale

It pressed against her back in a warm, furry lump of love. She froze, afraid at any moment to feel the rip of teeth yanking out her spinal column. She imagined how the blood would spray, the white bone shards falling to land on the snow before it licked them clean, the red droplets that would mark the site of her death until the next snowfall. Birds would land beside them at peck at the drops as if they were cherries. It began to purr. She could not relax. She might have fled to the forest because she knew that none would follow her here, but she also knew well why they wouldn't. Nobody had come out of the forest alive in two generations. She deserved to die, but she didn't want to. Suddenly, desperately, she didn't want to. She wanted to live. The purr changed to a rumble of warning. She bowed her head, the first movement she'd made since she smelled the rank musk of the cat, and admitted the truth to herself. She did want to die.

Inspiration: My coat's pressing into my back.
Story Potential: Medium-high.
Notes: Living or dying depends on the state of mind. The desired state is to be at peace with life or death. Interesting fairytale possibilities.