Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPGDF9S1BWQPDB1A67V60J

The night air clung to Aurora Carter like a damp shroud as she stepped into the Fae Grove, the hidden clearing nestled within Richmond Park. The ancient oak standing stones loomed around her, their gnarled forms casting long shadows under the pale moonlight. She paused at the threshold, the Heartstone Pendant resting against her chest, its faint inner glow barely visible beneath her jacket. It pulsed with a gentle warmth, a reminder of the portal she sought, though its origin remained a mystery even to her. Rory had come here with a purpose, driven by a whisper of a promise that the Grove held answers. Answers to questions she had barely dared to ask, about the pendant, about the strange occurrences that had begun to shadow her life since she fled to London. But as she stood there, the air thick with the scent of wildflowers that bloomed impossibly in the chill of autumn, a sense of unease prickled at the edges of her awareness. The Grove was silent, unnaturally so. No rustle of leaves, no distant call of night birds. Just the oppressive quiet that seemed to press in on her from all sides. Rory took a deep breath, her breath misting in the cool air, and stepped forward, the grass whispering beneath her boots. Time behaved strangely here, she knew. An hour inside could be mere minutes or stretch into days outside. She had to be careful, had to keep her wits about her. But as she moved deeper into the clearing, the wrongness of the place began to seep into her bones. It was as if the very air was charged with a tension that set her nerves on edge. She walked slowly, her eyes scanning the shadows that pooled between the trees. The pendant's warmth was a steady presence, a beacon guiding her steps. Yet, with each step, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting to see someone—or something—lurking just beyond the reach of the moonlight. But there was nothing, only the silent, watchful trees. A soft rustling sound broke the stillness, and Rory froze, her heart thudding in her chest. It came from somewhere to her left, a whisper of movement that set her pulse racing. She turned, peering into the darkness, but saw only the shifting shadows. Her mind raced, conjuring images of creatures from the Fae realm, things that might slip between worlds to haunt the night. "Get a grip, Rory," she muttered to herself, her voice barely more than a breath. But the sound of her own voice did little to dispel the unease that coiled in her stomach. She continued on, her steps cautious, the pendant's glow a comforting presence against her skin. The path wound deeper into the Grove, the standing stones forming a silent procession that guided her way. The air grew colder, the chill biting through her jacket, and she shivered, pulling it tighter around her. Another sound, this time a soft, melodic tinkling, like distant chimes carried on the wind. It was beautiful, yet eerie, a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Rory hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to turn back, to leave this place and its unsettling mysteries behind. But the pendant pulsed insistently, urging her onward. She followed the sound, her heart pounding in her ears. The path opened into a small glade, the moonlight spilling across the grass like liquid silver. In the center stood a single, ancient oak, its branches reaching skyward like skeletal fingers. The chimes grew louder, more insistent, and Rory realized they were coming from the tree itself, the sound resonating through its twisted limbs. She approached cautiously, her eyes fixed on the tree. The pendant grew warmer, its glow intensifying, and she felt a strange pull, as if the tree was calling to her. She reached out, her fingers brushing the rough bark, and the world seemed to shift around her. The air shimmered, the moonlight bending and warping, and for a moment, she glimpsed something beyond the veil of reality. A world of shadows and light, of creatures that defied description. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she stumbled back, the vision fading as quickly as it had come. But the wrongness remained, a palpable presence that pressed in on her from all sides. She turned, her eyes scanning the glade, and caught a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision. A shadow, darker than the night, slipping between the trees. "Who's there?" she called, her voice steady despite the fear that clawed at her insides. There was no answer, only the soft rustle of leaves, the whisper of the wind. She backed away, her instincts screaming at her to run, to flee this place and its haunting secrets. But the pendant pulsed again, a steady heartbeat against her skin, and she knew she couldn't leave. Not yet. The shadows shifted, and she caught another glimpse of movement, a figure standing just beyond the reach of the moonlight. Tall and slender, its features obscured by the darkness. It watched her, silent and unmoving, and she felt its gaze like a physical weight. "Show yourself," she demanded, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. The figure remained still, its presence a dark blot against the night. Rory took a step forward, her heart hammering in her chest. The pendant's glow intensified, casting a faint crimson light across the glade. The figure shifted, and she caught a glimpse of eyes, bright and piercing, watching her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. She hesitated, her instincts warring with the pull of the pendant. The figure seemed to sense her indecision, and it moved, a fluid, graceful motion that brought it closer to the edge of the light. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. The figure paused, its head tilting slightly, as if considering her question. For a moment, the world held its breath, the air thick with anticipation. Then, slowly, the figure stepped into the light, its features resolving into something both familiar and alien. A face that was almost human, yet not quite, its eyes glowing with an inner light that seemed to see straight through her. Rory's breath caught in her throat, her mind struggling to comprehend what she was seeing. The figure smiled, a slow, deliberate motion that sent a shiver down her spine. "You seek answers," it said, its voice a soft, melodic whisper that seemed to echo through the glade. "But are you prepared for the truth?" The question hung in the air, a challenge and a promise, and Rory knew that whatever lay ahead, there was no turning back. The Grove had claimed her, and the night was far from over.