Fairspell Meadow she picked wild flowers

Ah, her attempts to free herself showed themselves to be futile, and the rapidly fearful thrum of her heart began to contribute to the violent shakes wracking her body. The ghost continued to struggle beneath the man, a wild thrash led by the desperate desire to flee, despite the knowledge that her escape was unlikely. He began to thrust against her pale, svelte body and the bloodied dove's face morphed into a combination of panic, disgust, and a heavy weight of uncertainty. She was stuck.

Eventually, somewhere during this horrific act, she lost the will to struggle and her movements ceased. There was no way for her to remove herself from this situation - she was not a fighter, and was not strong enough to break free from the boogeyman's grasp upon her nape, nor push away his large body. She simply let it happen, eyes squinted tightly shut and mind whirling as if she was trying to imagine another situation, a better place, a happy place. 

Finally the deed was over, and the thrusting halted - Gwen shivered, trembling beneath him. Her oceanic eyes shot open at his words but the girl made no comment, fear overriding each sense she had and claiming it. The flash of his fangs only worsened her terror, the wounds she bore long forgotten and pain numbing from the cold of the snow around them.