Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMFY1J8DN3Z0K3NHZTEH8S

The standing stones loomed like ancient teeth against the night sky as Rory approached the grove's entrance. Her heartbeat quickened - she'd only ever come here during daylight hours before. But the pendant had been pulsing with unusual intensity all evening, and she couldn't ignore it any longer. Moonlight filtered through Richmond Park's centuries-old oaks, casting dappled shadows that seemed to writhe across the leaf-strewn path. The Heartstone's warmth pressed against her chest through her thin jacket, its crimson glow visible even through her shirt. She touched it briefly, drawing comfort from its familiar presence. The standing stones grew more distinct as she approached, their weathered surfaces etched with spiraling patterns that seemed to shift when viewed directly. Rory hesitated at the threshold. Time moved strangely in the grove - what if she emerged days later? But the pendant's insistent pulse spurred her forward. As she stepped between the stones, the air changed. The ambient sounds of London - distant traffic, the hum of aircraft, the urban wind - fell away completely. The silence pressed against her eardrums like cotton wool. Even her footsteps seemed muffled as she walked deeper into the grove. Wildflowers bloomed impossibly in the November night, their petals luminous under the strange, filtered moonlight. The scent was overwhelming - too sweet, too thick, like perfume in a funeral home. Rory's hand strayed to her left wrist, fingers tracing the familiar crescent scar there. Something rustled in the undergrowth behind her. She spun, heart hammering, but saw only shadows between the trees. The pendant's warmth had increased to an almost uncomfortable level. "Hello?" Her voice sounded wrong - flat and dead in the unnatural quiet. No response, but as she turned back to the path, she caught a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision. When she looked directly at it, there was nothing there. Just flowers and shadows and the increasingly oppressive darkness between the trees. The grove wasn't large - she'd walked its circumference several times before - but tonight it seemed to stretch endlessly. The standing stones that marked the exit should have been visible, but she could no longer see them. The pendant's pulse had synchronized with her racing heart. A soft sound reached her ears - like breathing, but not quite. More like the whisper of silk against silk, or scales against stone. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Rory forced herself to stand still, closing her eyes to focus on the sound. When she opened them again, the flowers had changed. Where before they had been a riot of colors, now they were all the same shade of deep crimson - the exact color of her pendant. They seemed to pulse in time with it, their petals opening and closing like tiny, hungry mouths. The sweet smell had taken on a metallic edge. Something brushed against the back of her neck - light as a spider's web, cold as grave dirt. Rory jerked away, her hand flying to the spot, but there was nothing there. Nothing visible, at least. But she could feel it now - eyes watching from every direction. The darkness between the trees had become absolute, as if the grove was slowly being swallowed by a void. The whispering sound grew louder, resolving into almost-words that scraped at the edges of comprehension. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps that frosted in the suddenly frigid air. The pendant burned against her skin, its glow now bright enough to cast shadows. A twig snapped behind her - a mundane sound that sparked primitive terror. Rory broke into a run, no longer caring about direction or purpose. The crimson flowers seemed to reach for her as she passed, their petals brushing against her legs like grasping fingers. The whispering followed, growing in volume and urgency. Her foot caught on something - a root, a stone, a hand reaching from the earth - and she stumbled. As she fought to regain her balance, she saw them. Figures in the darkness between the trees, tall and wrong, moving in ways that hurt her eyes to witness. The pendant's light caught them for just a moment, revealing shapes that her mind refused to process. Rory ran. The grove seemed to twist around her, paths splitting and rejoining in impossible ways. The crimson flowers multiplied, their pulsing light drowning out the pendant's glow. The whispering had become a chorus, and now she could almost understand the words. Almost, but not quite, and that was perhaps the most terrifying thing of all. When the standing stones finally appeared ahead of her, she nearly wept with relief. She burst through them at full speed, not slowing until the familiar sounds of London rushed back in. Only then did she dare to look back. The grove looked peaceful in the moonlight. Ordinary. But as she watched, a single crimson petal drifted out between the stones and landed at her feet. When she bent to examine it, it crumbled to ash at her touch. The pendant's pulse had stopped completely. Rory touched it gingerly through her shirt, feeling only the normal, cool surface of the stone. But she could still hear the whispers, just at the edge of memory, trying to tell her something she wasn't ready to know.