Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQV7401ZVDJ1MZ4FAKM7GT

The Fae Grove was enveloped in an eerie stillness as Aurora Carter, known to her friends as Rory, stood in its midst. The night cloaked the ancient oak standing stones in shadows, casting long, twisting shapes that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. Her straight, shoulder-length black hair fluttered feebly with the occasional draft, while the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist itched—perhaps a subconscious reaction to the unease that gnawed at the edge of her mind. She had come here for a reason, drawn by whispers she could barely grasp. Standing there in the heart of Richmond Park, she couldn’t remember what had compelled her to leave the comfort of her flat above Silas' bar. The night felt charged, heavy with a presence she couldn’t define. Rory’s bright blue eyes scanned the gloom, seeking the faint inner glow of the Heartstone Pendant hanging from her neck for reassurance. The wildflowers that usually brightened the Grove seemed muted, their colors lost to the darkness. The air felt thick, as if it resisted her every breath. Somewhere nearby, a twig snapped, its crisp sound resonating louder than it should have in the oppressive silence. She stood still, listening, but the noise did not repeat. Perhaps it was a deer, she tried to rationalize. But her instincts screamed otherwise. Time moved oddly here. One minute could stretch into eternity, or an hour could slip away unnoticed. Rory had no way of knowing how long she had been standing there, each passing second increasing the unease in her chest. Her senses were heightened, every sound, every shadow more distinct. The leaves rustled unnaturally as if something whispered through them. Goosebumps prickled her skin. Rory moved slowly, her footsteps silent on the soft ground as she advanced towards the center of the Grove. The Heartstone began to pulse with warmth, its faint glow casting a dim light against her chest. The warmth did nothing to settle her nerves—it merely confirmed her suspicions that something waited out there. She tightened her grip on the small flashlight in her hand, its narrow beam offering limited comfort against the encroaching darkness. She paused by an ancient stone, its gnarled surface etched with symbols worn by countless years. She traced the shapes with her fingertips, feeling the cool, rough textures. A sudden sense of vertigo washed over her, as if the earth shifted beneath her feet. She pulled away from the stone, blinking to clear the sensation. When her vision settled, a figure stood at the edge of the clearing. “Hello?” Rory’s voice sounded foreign to her, laden with an anxiety she struggled to control. No response. The figure didn’t move, half-shrouded by the shadows. Rory squinted, trying to make out details—a trick of the light, perhaps, or something more sinister. She took a tentative step forward, then another. The figure remained, rooted, watching. Unseen eyes bored into her, sending a shiver down her spine. A soft, almost undetectable sound of fabric brushing against foliage came from behind her. Rory spun around, flashlight beam slicing through the darkness, but nothing stood there. The heartstone’s pulsing quickened. She turned back to the figure—it was gone. Panic clawed at her gut. She turned on the spot, flashlight darting wildly to every corner of the Grove. She was alone—or so she willed herself to believe. Turning back to her task, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small piece of parchment, its edges yellowed and fragile. Words, indecipherable in the faint light, held the key to what she sought—and an answer to the fear that stalked her. From the parchment, a location within the Grove was inscribed. Rory moved, more urgently now, towards a large stone slab near the far end of the clearing. Each step felt weighted, each breath labored. Her heart drummed loud enough that it swallowed the silence. Before she could reach it, an icy hand clamped around her wrist, pulling her sharply to a halt. She whirled around, but there was nothing. The chill lingered, spreading up her arm. She bit back a cry, her free hand clutching the Heartstone as if it could offer protection. Voices whispered on the wind, too low to make sense of, a susurrus that ebbed and flowed. She could hear her name—“Aurora...Rory...” The pendant grew warmer against her skin, its glow intensifying. The whispers grew louder, a cacophony that twisted into something almost melodic, yet utterly wrong. The urge to run, to forsake her mission and flee, was strong. But she pressed on, her resolve hardening with every fearful step. The slab loomed before her, its surface smooth and unyielding. She placed the parchment on top, watched the wind try and lift it away. With trembling hands, she withdrew her pocketknife, feeling the protective casing's secure cold. She sliced her palm with a quick, decisive motion, crimson blood welling and spilling onto the stone. The whispers rose to a crescendo, then cut off abruptly, plunging the Grove into oppressive silence once more. Before she had time to process, a figure materialized beside her—a woman, ethereal and radiant. Aurora. Her mirror image but different—eyes as dark as the void, a malicious smile twisting her lips. “Welcome,” the woman said, voice echoing, as if layered with countless others. Rory stepped back, a scream stifled in her throat. “Who are you?” “Your shadow,” the apparition replied, stepping forward. “Your mirror. All you're running from—the fear, the anger, the regret—I am that.” The temperature dropped further, Rory’s breath clouding in the air. The already cold steel of the knife in her hands felt like ice against her skin. “What do you want from me?” Rory's voice wavered despite her best attempts at bravado. “To make you whole.” The figure's eyes gleamed. “You came here for answers, didn’t you? For an understanding you can't ignore.” Rory shook her head. “No, I came... I came to be free.” The doppelganger laughed, an echoing sound that seemed to reverberate through the Grove. “You can't escape what’s inside you. But join me, and you can embrace it.” The Pulse of the Heartstone transitioned from steady warmth to scalding heat, making Rory flinch involuntarily. It was reacting to her other self, this dark spirit of the night. Faced with a choice, a question of identity and resolve, Rory’s eyes met those of her shadow—unfaltering, determined. “I am free because I choose to be,” she said resolutely, tightening her grip on the pendant. “You’re nothing but remnants.” The shadow being snarled, its form flickering, shimmering like mist under moonlight. “So be it. Let’s see how strong your resolve truly is.” And then the presence surged, overtaking, smothering. Rory fought back, the warmth of the Heartstone surging through her veins, its energy a lifeline amidst darkness. She felt the Grove tremble under their combined force, the air thick with ancient power. “I won’t succumb,” Rory shouted, her voice slicing through the ether as the Heartstone's glow engulfed them.