Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPG8YBYFZYQEWZ39TEH5E6

Aurora Carter stood at the threshold of The Fae Grove, her breath visible in the chill of the night. The ancient oak standing stones loomed around her, silhouettes against a restless sky. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a nervous habit from when she was young. Always a reminder. The air was thick, oppressive with the weight of untold secrets. Somewhere deep within the grove, wildflowers whispered among themselves, unswayed by the breeze that failed to reach her here. Rory glanced down at the Heartstone Pendant around her neck. The deep crimson gemstone glowed softly, pulsing with a faint warmth, its light a timid protest against the darkness. It had led her here, as if it knew more than she did. Her day had been unremarkable—another routine of deliveries across London, the constant company of the city’s chaos a comfort in its predictability. She had almost welcomed the calm of the grove, the promise of quiet to untangle her thoughts. But now that she was here, unease trickled into her veins. Her friends called her clever, resourceful. All the traits she had relied upon seemed distant in this place where time danced between minutes and hours or slipped swiftly into days. But she needed to understand. Something compelled her, a whisper too quiet to discern yet impossible to ignore. The path ahead lay shrouded in shadow, and Rory’s footsteps sounded too loud, each crunch on the leaf-strewn path like a declaration to whatever watched from the darkness. As if sensing her intrusion, the woods seemed to tighten around her, branches stretching like curious fingers weaving an intrusive net overhead. She walked on, clutching the pendant, its faint heat a bizarre comfort. Every few paces, the shadows shifted in the corners of her vision. Ordinary nocturnal noises—the rustle of wings, the scrape of unseen creatures among the underbrush—played different here, suggestive and deliberate. More than once, she paused, convinced she heard footsteps fall into the rhythm of her own. When she stopped, there was only silence—pregnant, waiting silence. A sudden breeze rustled the leaves; they whispered accusations she couldn't quite catch. Her heart pounded in response, a traitor revealing her fear, and she forced herself onward, determined to recall the reasons she had come. Rory Carter ran from her troubles, but the Grove would not be among them. Time was deceptive in this place, just as she had been warned. She glanced at her watch, but its hands spun wildly, a useless measure of the hours she might have lost already. She found herself more guided by instinct than direction, each step a deliberate act of will to uncover whatever it was that called to her here. The path twisted, the trees crowding together as though bent on conspiracy. In a sudden break between the gnarled trunks, the first glimmer of moonlight found her. It cast elongated shadows that danced around the grove, their movements unbound by the wind, uncomfortably aware of her presence. A sudden chill swept through her, a contrast to the pendant's warmth. Goosebumps prickled on her skin. Ahead, a clearing yawned open—a stage set for the kind of revelations she'd hoped to avoid. She stepped forward, a reluctant actor drawn by the lure of truth. There on the open ground, the grass flattened in a peculiar pattern, marking where others had come before her. A sense of intrusion seeped into her bones. She did not belong here, the Grove reminded her—a human far from home, an earthbound creature on the precipice of the otherworldly. She swallowed the knot of fear clogging her throat, searching the shadows for something, an answer, perhaps. All she found was a silence surpassing that of any earthly silence—a palpable emptiness that pressed upon her ears. The pendant grew warmer against her skin, tugging gently as though urging her forward. Courageous resolve paired with silent prayers as she crossed into the heart of the Grove. Would she find the answers she sought? Or had she been lured into the trap her instincts warned against? A sudden movement—quick and sharp—at the edge of her vision made Rory whirl around. She squinted, her breath caught in her chest, too many heartbeats tripping over themselves to maintain composure. Nothing but shadows greeted her suspicions, illusory phantoms vanishing at her scrutiny. "You are not welcome here." The voice did not echo through the air but resonated deep within her, a relentless tide of ancient authority. Rory's heart plummeted. She turned instinctively toward the source, mouth dry, fists clenched. No figure appeared, but the Grove's intent pressed on her like a tangible weight. She called out, though the sharp crack of her voice surprised even her. "Who’s there?" Silence answered, deepening, and she sensed the woods close tighter still. No simple exploratory jaunt this; she had trespassed against something sleeping, something she did not know how to appease. Desperation mounted with each uneasy heartbeat as Rory gazed imploringly into the depths of the woods. "I only want to understand," she spoke again, this time softer, words coaxed from tangled courage. "Why am I here?" Her question hovered, unanswered. Rory stood alone beneath a sky now heavy with the weight of a thousand unknown stars, their indifferent glow distant and cold. Finally, as if granting a reprieve, the Grove stirred around her, loosening its grasp just enough for the path home to unfurl before her eyes. The Heartstone dimmed, its guidance growing faint, weary from the ordeal. Rory backed away slowly, reluctant to turn until the pull of the woods no longer reached her, until the shadows ceased their hungry dance. Only then did she pivot, slipping back down the path, her return route as certain as though marked by the moon itself. Through the ancient oaks and past whispering flora, Rory Carter retraced her journey, the faint warmth of the Heartstone against her chest a lingering reminder. Her fear ebbed but did not vanish, carrying with it a promise for the future. Answers awaited—answers worth confronting the darkness for, even if it meant visiting the Grove once more. For now, she had enough—a breadcrumb trail to her unspoken fate, to secrets hidden among the cracks of reality. She would gather the pieces, weave them into sense, for Rory was nothing if not resilient. In the darkness, she allowed herself a small, hard smile as she stepped at last from the veil of the Grove's embrace into a night yet her own to conquer.