Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPF8FGFYJXRTKTACSS04B4

Aurora Carter, Rory to her friends, stood at the edge of the Fae Grove, her fingers brushing the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist out of habit. Beneath the dappled moonlight filtering through the boughs of ancient trees, tension coiled in her muscles. A sharp autumn night whispered around her, sending shivers racing down her spine, not just from the chill but from the creeping sense of being watched. The clearing shimmered with an otherworldly luminescence, wildflowers blooming even as the rest of Richmond Park slumbered in the dying grasp of October. The standing stones, seven oaks twisted into statuesque pillars, marked the invisible boundary between the mundane world and this Fae-touched enclave. Rory had come here to find answers, driven by the throbbing warmth of the Heartstone Pendant resting beneath her simple black turtleneck. It had led her, pulse by pulse, through the moonless night streets of London to this hidden grove. She hesitated at the fringe, fingers tightening around the silver chain at her neck. She’s always been more rational than superstitious, but something about the grove felt like a half-remembered nightmare. The trees loomed, their silhouettes dark and heavy against the sky, and the air held a faint, unsettling energy. Even the ordinary sounds of the park seemed muted here—no rustling leaves, distant traffic, or hooting owls. Only still, suffocating silence. Steeling herself, Rory stepped forward. The soil crunched softly beneath her shoes. The moment she crossed the threshold, a subtle dissonance slithered into her ears, like whispers just beyond comprehension. She turned her head quickly, certain she saw movement from the corner of her eye, but found nothing. Only shadows. "Focus, Rory," she muttered, her own voice jarring in the hushed atmosphere. She walked deeper into the grove, each step measured and cautious. The pendant’s warmth guided her toward the center, where it pulsed painfully hot against her skin. The inner crimson glow breaking through her turtleneck’s fabric was a beacon, casting eerie, shifting lights across the wildflowers. A sudden crackle, like dry twigs snapping, halted her. She scanned the area, her breath catching in her throat. Branches swayed ever so slightly, but no wind stirred. Silence dripped heavy and thick, as if the grove itself held its breath. She continued, feeling the weight of invisible eyes tracking her every move. "Why did I agree to this, Eva?" Rory whispered under her breath, as if her old friend would somehow answer her in this haunted place. It was Eva who had coaxed her into their shared ventures into the abnormal, who had always found a thrill in the mysterious. But tonight, Rory didn’t feel the excitement, only a gnawing dread. She found herself in a small clearing at the heart of the grove, the standing stones forming a sort of natural amphitheater. Strange moss glowed faintly at their bases, casting a sickly green pallor over the ground. She felt a tangible pressure here, something old and sentient. Her heart pounded in her chest as she fumbled for the pendant, pulling it free. It bathed the area in soft red light, and the whispers grew louder, still unintelligible but closer, too close. Her breath fogged the air as a chill descended. She clenched her jaw, scanning the shifting shadows. This wasn’t just fear; she knew she wasn't alone. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but something rooted her to the spot. "Show yourself," she commanded, voice steadier than she felt. The whispering halted abruptly, replaced by a low, mocking laugh that reverberated through the grove. It was everywhere and nowhere at once, seeping through her bones. "You shouldn’t have come here alone, mortal." The voice was both ancient and serenely cruel. Rory clenched the pendant tighter, its heat almost unbearable now. "Why?” she demanded, forcing herself to sound braver than she felt. She scanned the stones, their hulking forms now seeming almost menacing, as if they watched with unseen eyes. "We guard the threshold," the voice seemed to come from the stones, but the shadows among them remained impenetrable. "We let nothing pass without tribute." Rory’s pulse raced. She took a step back instinctively, the edges of the clearing feeling impossibly far. "What kind of tribute?" The laugh echoed again, and the pendant’s light grew dimmer as if eclipsed by an unseen hand. "Life. Or soul. You neglected to bring either." The shadows congealed, pooling at the base of one stone before stretching upward, forming into a figure cloaked in darkness. Its eyes glowed a distant, starving blue. Rory’s heart stuttered. The coldness of the grove seeped into her bones, numbing her fingers and filling her with a bone-deep terror. She couldn’t move. The thing took a step forward, shadowy tendrils reaching towards her. Her mouth felt dry, and the words she wanted to shout caught in her throat. Then, in a final clarion of desperate clarity, she wrenched the pendant from her neck and thrust it forward. "Take this!" she cried. The light from the Heartstone flared intensely, bathing the area in searing crimson. The figure recoiled with a hiss, its form seeming to writhe and dissolve before her eyes. Pain shot through her palm from the pendant’s heat, but she held fast. The ancient presence shrieked, the sound piercing and otherworldly. The light grew brighter, pushing back the encroaching shadows. With a final, echoing wail, the figure disintegrated into nothingness. Rory’s knees buckled, the pendant slipping from her grasp to lay smoldering in the grass. She gasped for breath, the suffocating weight lifting from the grove. The whispers had ceased, and she was alone once more, truly alone. She sank to the ground, ignoring the cold earth against her knees, and covered her face with trembling hands. The pendant’s light dimmed to a soft glow, its warmth now bearable. She stayed there for several minutes, heart racing, mind whirling. Finally, she forced herself to stand, her legs shaking. The grove seemed less hostile now, the oppressive weight lifted. She had what she came for—a confrontation with the unknown, and the knowledge that sometimes, courage and a bit of irrationality are the key to survival. Walking back through the grove, she glanced back once at the stones. They stood innocently silent, the shadows no longer moving among them. Rory tightened her grip on the pendant and picked up her pace, eager to rejoin the world where shadows were mere absences of light, and whispers stayed confined to memories.