Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPDMEXHVW5R8VS3TTNQFSK

The air in Richmond Park carried a sharp bite as Rory stepped onto the footpath, her breath fogging in the moonlight. She tugged her jacket tighter around her shoulders, the silver chain of the Heartstone pendant cool against her collarbone. She hadn’t wanted to come here, not tonight, not alone. But the pendant had pulsed insistently, a faint warmth bleeding through her shirt as she’d walked past the park gates earlier that evening. Something about it had felt unmistakably urgent. Now, standing at the edge of the Fae Grove, she hesitated. The ancient oak standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled frames twisted and crooked like the fingers of a long-dead giant. Beyond them, the grove stretched into darkness, the canopy overhead blocking out the stars. The wildflowers that carpeted the ground year-round seemed duller tonight, their colors muted beneath the pale light of the moon. Rory glanced at her phone. No service. Of course. She slipped it back into her pocket and took a deep breath. “Alright,” she muttered under her breath. “Let’s get this over with.” She stepped between the standing stones, the air shifting instantly. It was warmer here, heavier, as if the grove itself was alive and breathing. The faint hum of insects filled the silence, though she couldn’t see any. The Heartstone pendant warmed against her skin, its crimson glow faint but steady. She touched it absently, her fingers brushing the small crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. The path through the grove was narrow, the undergrowth pressing in on both sides. She moved slowly, her footsteps crunching softly on the dry leaves beneath her feet. The wind rustled the branches overhead, a sound that should have been comforting but instead sent a cold prickle down her spine. It wasn’t natural, the way the leaves shifted — too rhythmic, too deliberate, like the grove was tracking her movements. She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. The standing stones were still visible behind her, though they seemed farther away than they should have. The air smelled different here too, earthy and sweet, like damp moss and something faintly metallic. She shook her head, forcing herself to keep moving. Whatever was in here, she wasn’t going to find it by standing around. The grove deepened as she walked, the trees growing thicker and taller, their trunks twisted into impossible shapes. She tried to focus on the path ahead, but her gaze kept darting to the shadows at the edges of her vision. Something moved there, quick and fleeting, just beyond the reach of the moonlight. She froze, her heart thudding in her chest. “Hello?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper. Silence answered her. She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to keep walking. The pendant grew warmer against her skin, its glow pulsing faintly. She wrapped her fingers around it, the heat grounding her. “Keep it together,” she muttered. “It’s just your imagination.” But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint sound of laughter — high-pitched and airy, like chimes in the breeze. Rory stopped again, her pulse quickening. The sound was coming from ahead, deeper into the grove. She glanced back the way she’d come, the standing stones now completely out of sight. She was too far in to turn back now. She moved forward, the path narrowing until she was squeezing between gnarled roots and low-hanging branches. The laughter grew louder, more distinct, though it still sounded impossibly far away. The pendant burned hot against her chest, its glow brightening with each step. She pushed through a thicket of brambles, the thorns snagging her jacket, and emerged into a small clearing. The air here was unnaturally still, the silence heavy and oppressive. The laughter had stopped. Rory’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the scene before her. The clearing was ringed by more oak trees, their trunks twisted together to form a canopy overhead. In the center stood a massive stone altar, its surface smooth and worn with age. Wildflowers grew around its base, their petals unnaturally vibrant in the moonlight. She approached the altar cautiously, her footsteps echoing in the silence. The pendant pulsed brighter, its crimson glow illuminating the stone surface. She stopped a few feet away, her gaze fixed on the symbols carved into the altar — ancient, twisting patterns that seemed to shift and writhe when she looked at them too long. A sound broke the silence, soft but unmistakable — the crunch of leaves behind her. Rory spun around, her heart hammering in her chest. The clearing was empty, the shadows still and silent. She scanned the trees, her gaze darting from one dark shape to another. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice trembling slightly. No answer. She backed away from the altar, her hand clutching the pendant tightly. The air grew colder, the warmth of the grove replaced by a biting chill. The wind rustled the branches overhead again, the sound sharper now, almost like whispers. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes searching the darkness. Something was here. She could feel it. The laughter returned, louder this time, closer. It was coming from all around her, echoing through the clearing. Rory’s breath came in short, shallow gasps as she backed toward the path she’d come from. The pendant burned hotter, its glow casting flickering shadows on the trees. She stumbled over a root, catching herself before she fell, and turned to run. The path was gone. She stared at the mass of gnarled roots and twisted branches where the entrance to the clearing should have been, her chest tightening with panic. The laughter grew louder, more insistent, the shadows in the trees seeming to shift and move on their own. She spun around, her back to the altar, her gaze darting wildly around the clearing. “Show yourself!” she shouted, her voice cracking with fear. The laughter stopped abruptly, the silence deafening. Rory stood frozen, her heart pounding in her ears. The pendant pulsed once, twice, then flared brightly, its crimson light illuminating the entire clearing. For a brief moment, she saw them — shapes moving in the shadows, tall and slender, their faces obscured by darkness. Then the light faded, and they were gone. She didn’t wait to see what would happen next. She turned and ran, crashing through the undergrowth blindly. Branches whipped at her face, thorns tore at her jacket, but she didn’t stop. The pendant burned against her skin, its glow flickering erratically as she fled. Behind her, the laughter returned, louder and more frenzied, echoing through the trees. She broke through the edge of the grove, stumbling onto the footpath and collapsing to her knees. She gasped for breath, her hands trembling as she clutched the pendant. The standing stones loomed behind her, silent and still. The warmth of the Heartstone faded, its glow dimming to a soft, steady light. Rory looked back at the grove, her chest heaving. The darkness within seemed impossibly deep, the shadows thick and impenetrable. She shuddered, pushing herself to her feet and backing away slowly. Whatever was in there, it wasn’t done with her. She could feel it. She turned and walked quickly toward the park gates, the pendant cool against her skin once more. But the memory of the laughter lingered, echoing in her mind long after she’d left the grove behind.