All I could feel was the bitter wind against my cheeks and the tears in my eyes. The moon was so big and beautiful in the sky tonight, shrouded by mist as it peeked over the rolling hills of endless moor. I could hear the distant moaning of the cold sea crashing against the tall grey cliffs, but saw nothing else in the eerie darkness.
I counted my heartbeats as I walked slowly, my skin shining like a warm autumn moon in the midnight black. My logic did not make sense any more, all that mattered was the longing to see the truth. 
The thoughts raced through my head as I grew closer to the deep valley of the moor. I remembered that my name was Scarlett. Scarlett, like the color of their blood against the white daisies. I remember the nights of the storm, when no lights were lit and all was silent in the village. Silent because when the storm comes so does the beasts. Such fear filled the air those nights.  Why? Why? They never told me, my father, my governess, they never told me how mama died five years ago. Nut I felt her haunting the long hallways of our homes, a white face in my window at night. I had thought, what is this silent fear they never speak of? But now I knew. Because the little girls told me before they were lost in the moor. Before their blood stained the lovely white daisies. Before the wails of their mother echoed through the rolling, empty lands around. Before so many were lost to the beasts because of me. Because of my foolishness. I needed to see the answer before my eyes, and praise him. Praise him for his wicked greatness.
Memories began to blur together, the darkness in my eyes and the manic in my mind clouded any memory of before. All that mattered was seeing this undeniable truth before I was lost to the shadow of Abaddon.
I reached the deep valley, where the hills surronded me and the fog hid the stars, their light barely seeping in, the ground beneath my bare feet soft and wet, the thick mud covering the bodies of the ones lost to the beast long ago. I thought I could almost see their faces through the thick black bog, but maybe I was just hallucinating. 
I finally stopped, ready for whatever lurked in the shadows. I looked up towards the sky, tears rolling down my cheeks, the night air softer than the starlight on my eyes. Ready for my own crusifiction. 
I waited, expecting a four legged hairy beast with red eyes to appear. amy breaths grew more rapid. 
I heard their cackles on the cliffs around me. They began to surrond me, their demented faces jeering out of the shadows, such haunting faces. Distorted, masked with crude burlap masks, tall, tall as the trees. They giggled in a child like, chilling way, their eerie faces jeering down at me. Their shadows casting long shadows on the cliffsides. Stuff of nightmeres and the dark caves that flanked the sea. They were but a myth to the children, stories you hear when you are little, the Scotish moor monsters. Beasts, shadows of the dark ages. The creatures that eat your heart. 
They ate my heart, my organs, drank my blood, before I could really feel very much pain. The last thing I saw was their nightmereish faces and beyond those the vast, inky Scottish highland sky.
They sank by remains in the bog, and so I joined the ones from before in an endless haunting eternity. 
The Scottish moor monsters still hide in the cliffs, the crevasses of the hills, as the wind moans across the lands. They kill one by one, slowly, until the bog is full. Feared by the locals to the point where people hurl themselves off the mountainsides rather than be eaten by the cannibals of Abaddon. 
Abaddon has faded off any maps, since the final scrap of villagers were killed in 1909. Empty land now, haunted by the ghosts of the pale faces left drowning in the marshes. For now they have no heart.