Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPGY08SZYF92XWVHD7QSM0

Rory stepped out of the shadows between two oaks, into a clearing. Mist swirled at the edge of her vision, masking the ancient standing stones that marked the boundary of the hidden space dwelled upon by spirits and Fae. Cold hung in the air like a damp shroud. She shivered, tugging her jacket tight. In the center of the grove, the night pooled black around the faint shape of a person. The figure stood motionless, head bowed, thin spectral hands clasped at the waist. Moonlight glimmered off the clasp of a laurel wreath perched atop long, white hair. Rory stepped closer and knelt with a grunt, setting down her backpack. "Hellos." The woman lifted a bone-white face and smiled with eyes empty of pupil or iris. "Momento mori, Aurora Carter." An unseen wind carried the specter's whisper through the trees. Rory swallowed. "I'm here. Let's talk." Her breath parted in a cloud. The Fae woman floated closer until she almost touched Rory's outstretched fingers. Face calm and pale, she touched a nail to Rory's cheek. Warmth sank into Rory's skin as the nail glided downward, tracing her jawline before stopping at the hollow of her throat. The otherworldly touch left a track of tingling warmth. "I have things," Rory managed to say. Shaking hands fumbled in her pocket. Brrngg… The zipper screamed as she jerked open her backpack, digging past the whiskey and rope. She emerged with the red heartstone, suspended on its silver chain. "Take this back." Rory held it out, watching it swing heavily, aware it had a life of its own. aramoured eyes followed the movement. A manicured nail appeared, drawing Rory's attention to a slender wrist. Atop pale skin, Rory noticed a mark she had missed before - a tiny tattoo of an eye at the edge of the woman's wrist bone. The woman grasped the bright stone and pushed it into Rory's hand. "No! This is the anchor." Her smile twisted into a sneer. An explosion of light burst from the stone, engulfing Rory and everything in the grove in a crimson glow. Heat roared into her cheeks. In an instant, the heat died, replaced by a falling chill that stung her face. Every hair on Rory's body stood on end as the cold crept into her flesh and brittle bones. The grove disappeared, swallowed by absolute darkness. Time later, Rory snapped awake on frozen ground, spit bubbling in her mouth and lungs burning. Tangled hair clung to her skin as she tried to heave herself up on hands resembling two frozen talons. Pinbrights of color seared her retinas: purples, blues, greens flashing up from the darkness below. The pain ebbed to a tolerable throb behind her eyes. Birds' wings flicked in the sky as darkness closed in on the horizon. Unable to orient herself vertically, Rory swam through the air towards the light. When her hands and feet splashed into grass, she realized she was swimming in the air. Instead of stopping, she flowed forward, a mixture of swimming and flight. The first thought that came to her--What magic is this? She swam for an hour, listening to the rhythmic vacuum of her strong strokes and gulping her own air, gradually propelled forward as an invisible hand pushed her from behind. Anticipating flight, she looked left and right, spreading her weight across her swimming plane. When she didn't miss a beat, change began to set in. The motion lacked a sense of forward propulsion, but her physical sensation of movement. While she indulged the delusion for an hour further, taking stock of her changing crowds, she accelerated from front to back, like swimming in a wind. Then from right to left at an increasing rate, powerful kicks pushing her forward at a gut-wrenching speed. Aurora squinted skyward, and for the first time noticed the capricious vacuum of light and shadow relentlessly thrown over the grove. She squinted into the distance and swallowed. Am I on a collision course with the sun? A hush came over the grove; a attentive weight, the expectation of change. When the vibrations tore loose and filled the grove with tremors, Aurora twisted left, right then forward, throwing her head back in a wail. The ground disappeared below. She ceased swimming and instead tried to sail downwards, desperately grabbing each cloud to slow her fall. As her fall increased in speed, the grove shrank, soon resembling a black prune in the center of a much larger planet. The vacuum of stars and galaxies wheeled wildly in the background, unnaturally close. Panic exploded in Aurora's chest. She punched gibberish into her phone, furiously entering directions forward, then she threw it at the approaching wall of white. It smashed upwards out of sight, racing ahead while she fell backwards, unable to pull up until her knees slammed into the ground. Aurora groaned at a stomach cramp. Her belly was short and taut. She sucked her thumb and bit into the pain in quick strokes, trying to focus past the low headache threatening behind her eyes. Don't lose control. You control blood flow. As she pictured exiting the blood clouds, the pressure continued, making her palms sweat. Take deep breaths. Let yourself bleed. She squeezed her eyes closed as the panic ebbed but scarified across her face. The grove boomed from beyond. She lay still, waiting for the next surge of pressure. When it came, she forced herself to breathe through her nose, picturing the blood cloud seeping out and cohering into a shape. You are safe. Perhaps five minutes later, she began to relax. Her face softened and the scars which once resembled a web of lightning morphed into puckered, fleshy circles. She rolled onto her side and stood slowly, feeling her body stretch. She shook her head at one last sharp pain. Then she walked. Grass pressed against her toes. She sensed her clothes were on fire and stripped them off, revealing a lithe body with deep purple bruises down both legs. She walked into the forest. The first animal she laid eyes on destroyed her easy focus. It was a huge brown boar, tusks gleaming on an upturned snout, parallel streaks of lightning kindled along its back. It pawed the earth in an aggressive manner, stretching on tiptoe to sniff her baggy maid's tunic. Slowly, careful not to startle it, Aurora lifted the pistol from her sling and aimed at its head. Her hand shook violently. Kill, she thought. Though in the grayscale forest, it was impossible to identify her target. The boar sensed her and wheeled around, crouching and snorting. Aurora froze as sweat ran down her face, setting her bruise scars to purpling. Her finger tightened on the trigger. When the shot went off, the pig thudded to the forest floor. A ring of blown-off skin puffed around its head. She stared at it, not breathing. She has no idea what it was, where it came from, or why she shot it.