Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNG2MTQRVQXSEB2F1A164KW

The Heartstone pendant pulsed against Rory's chest as she pushed through the overgrown undergrowth of Richmond Park. Night had fallen hours ago, but the darkness here felt different—thicker, as if it had substance rather than absence. The moon hung low and bloated above the treeline, casting everything in an eerie silver glow that made the shadows seem to writhe. She'd been walking for what felt like hours, though her phone insisted it had only been thirty minutes. Time behaved strangely in this part of the park, or perhaps it was just her imagination. The pendant had grown warm the moment she'd entered the park boundaries, a steady heat that reminded her of a fever. It was supposed to guide her to the portal, but the path twisted and turned in ways that defied logic. A twig snapped behind her, and Rory whirled around, heart hammering against her ribs. Nothing but darkness and trees. She'd been hearing sounds like that for the past twenty minutes—footsteps, whispers, the occasional giggle that sounded far too childlike for comfort. Each time she turned, there was nothing there. "Just nerves," she muttered to herself, trying to sound braver than she felt. "You've dealt with worse than this." The words rang hollow even to her own ears. What had she gotten herself into? The pendant had been a gift from a mysterious benefactor, delivered to her flat with no return address and a note that simply read: "When you're ready to find the truth, follow where this leads." Well, she'd been ready. Ready to uncover what had happened to her parents, ready to understand why they'd vanished without a trace when she was just a child. Ready to stop feeling like she was living in a half-life, always wondering, always searching. The pendant pulsed more urgently, and Rory quickened her pace. The trees were thinning ahead, and she caught glimpses of something that looked like... stones? Yes, there were stones ahead, arranged in a circle. Her breath caught in her throat. This had to be it—the portal to the Fae realm her parents had spoken of in their journals. As she stepped into the clearing, the standing stones loomed before her, ancient oak weathered by centuries. Wildflowers carpeted the ground, blooming despite the late hour and the wrong season. Rory's footsteps slowed as she approached the circle. The air felt different here, charged with an energy that made her skin prickle. "Hello?" she called out, her voice sounding small and fragile in the vast darkness. "Is anyone here?" Silence. Then, from the far side of the clearing, came the sound of laughter. Childlike, innocent, but carrying an edge that made Rory's blood run cold. She turned toward the sound, but saw nothing. Just shadows and flowers and the massive stones standing sentinel. The pendant was burning now, a steady heat against her skin that bordered on painful. Rory reached up to touch it, and her fingers brushed something wet. She pulled her hand back and stared in horror at the dark substance coating her fingertips. Blood. Fresh blood. A scream built in her throat, but before she could release it, the laughter came again—closer this time. Rory spun around, and this time she saw it. A figure, small and childlike, standing between two of the standing stones. It was too dark to make out details, but she could see the outline of a dress, the suggestion of long hair. "Who are you?" Rory demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. "What do you want?" The figure didn't answer. Instead, it began to move—not walking, but gliding, as if its feet never quite touched the ground. It circled the stone circle, always keeping the stones between itself and Rory. With each pass, Rory caught glimpses of its face—pale, too pale, with eyes that reflected the moonlight like a cat's. And then she saw the blood. Dripping from its fingers, staining the wildflowers as it passed. The same blood that now coated her own hand. Rory backed away, her heart thundering in her ears. This wasn't right. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. The portal was supposed to be a gateway, a way to find answers. Not... whatever this was. The figure stopped moving and turned to face her fully. In the moonlight, Rory could see its features clearly now, and she wished she couldn't. Its face was too perfect, too symmetrical, like a doll's face. And its mouth—when it smiled, its mouth was far too wide, filled with far too many teeth. "Little girl lost," it sang, its voice high and sweet and utterly wrong. "Looking for what's been taken, but what's been taken wants to stay lost." "What do you mean?" Rory asked, though every instinct screamed at her to run, to get out of this clearing, to never come back. "My parents—I'm looking for my parents." The figure tilted its head, birdlike, studying her. "Your parents made their choice. They chose to stay. You could too, little girl. Stay with us. Stay forever." Rory's mind raced. Her parents had vanished when she was eight years old, leaving no trace except for a few cryptic journal entries about a realm of magic and wonder. She'd always assumed they were dead, that something had happened to them in their search for the portal. But what if they'd chosen to leave? What if they'd chosen to stay in this... place? "No," she said firmly, though her voice trembled. "I'm not staying. I'm going to find them and bring them home." The figure's smile widened, impossibly wide, and it began to laugh. The sound started soft but grew louder and louder, filling the clearing until it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Other voices joined in—more laughter, more singing, more whispers that brushed against Rory's ears like cobwebs. She turned and ran, crashing through the undergrowth, branches tearing at her clothes and skin. Behind her, the laughter followed, always just a little too close, always just a little too far. The pendant burned against her chest, a brand of her foolishness, her arrogance in thinking she could control this. The trees seemed to reach for her as she ran, roots tripping her, branches catching at her hair. She could see the edge of the park now, the distant glow of streetlights that marked the boundary between this place and the real world. Just a little further, she told herself. Just a little further and she'd be safe. But as she burst from the treeline, something grabbed her ankle. She fell hard, the breath knocked from her lungs, and looked back to see the figure crouched over her, its face split in that terrible smile. "Stay," it whispered, and its breath smelled of rot and honey. "Stay with us, little girl. We'll keep you safe. We'll keep you forever." Rory kicked out, hard, and connected with something solid. The figure hissed and released her, and she scrambled to her feet, running the final few yards to the street. Behind her, the laughter faded, but she could still feel eyes watching her, still feel the weight of the pendant against her chest. She didn't stop running until she reached her flat, didn't stop shaking until she'd triple-locked the door and collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. The pendant still burned against her skin, but now it felt less like guidance and more like a brand—a mark that something in that clearing had noticed her, had chosen her. And she had a terrible feeling it wouldn't let her go so easily next time.