Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX8WKZ0Q45NPJ195PX1HAT

The air in the Grove tasted like wet earth and something older, something that clung to the back of her throat like damp wool. Aurora Carter, or Rory, as her friends called her, pushed the heavy oak leaves aside, the crescent scar on her left wrist itching beneath the thin cotton of her sleeve. She’d come here, fleeing the suffocating silence of her flat above Silas’s bar, seeking the familiar chill of the night air, a brief escape from the ghost of Evan’s voice echoing in her own. The Grove was supposed to be a refuge, a place her grandmother had whispered about in hushed tones – a pocket between worlds, where time bled like spilled ink. But the moment she crossed the ancient standing stones, the wrongness settled over her like a shroud. The usual sounds of Richmond Park were absent. No distant traffic hum, no cricket chorus. Instead, a low, rhythmic thrum vibrated in her bones, like a distant engine idling just beneath the soil. She paused, hand on the rough bark of an oak, listening. The wind sighed through the leaves, but it sounded wrong – too sharp, too deliberate, like whispered secrets. A flicker of movement caught her eye at the edge of the clearing. She turned, heart hammering against her ribs. Nothing. Just shadows coalescing and dissolving in the gloom. The moon, a pale silver disc, hung low and heavy, casting long, distorted shapes that seemed to writhe on the ground. The Heartstone pendant, a gift from an unknown benefactor, nestled against her chest beneath her shirt. It pulsed, a faint, warm throb against her skin, like a trapped heartbeat. She’d felt it earlier, near the bar, but now it thrummed insistently, a warning. She pulled her coat tighter, the fabric rough against her skin. The air grew colder, carrying the scent of damp earth and something metallic, like blood. She took a step forward, the crunch of leaves underfoot sounding unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. A sound, faint but unmistakable, drifted towards her. Not a bird, not an animal. It was a soft, wet snuffling, like something breathing deep in the undergrowth. She froze, straining her ears. The thrumming in the stones intensified, a low vibration that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She tried to call out, but her voice caught in her throat, dry and useless. The clearing felt smaller, more enclosed, the ancient oaks leaning in like silent sentinels. The time distortion was real here; she’d lost track of how long she’d been walking. Checking her watch felt futile; the hands spun sluggishly, then snapped forward, a disorienting trick of the pocket realm. A shape detached itself from the shadows near the largest oak. It wasn’t human. It was tall, impossibly thin, draped in a cloak that seemed woven from moonlight and shadow. Its face was a featureless void, yet she felt its gaze, cold and appraising, burning into her back. It didn’t move towards her, but the stillness around it was predatory. The snuffling sound grew louder, closer. She turned, expecting to see the creature, but only saw the gnarled roots of the oak, twisting like grasping fingers. The Heartstone pulsed violently now, a hot, crimson light flaring within its deep gem. It wasn’t warmth she felt, but a surge of power, a connection to something vast and ancient. The pendant felt like a brand, searing her skin. She stumbled back, tripping over a root, landing hard on the damp earth. The breath was knocked from her lungs. The void-faced figure stepped into the moonlight, its presence filling the space. It didn’t speak, but its thoughts echoed in her mind, cold and alien: *Why have you come? You are not welcome.* The snuffling sound was right beside her now, a wet, rasping breath on her neck. She scrambled backwards, her hands scraping against the rough bark of the oak. The pendant’s glow dimmed, a dying ember, as if it was being drained by the entity. The thrumming in the stones became a deafening roar, shaking the very ground beneath her. The clearing was closing in, the air thick with the scent of ozone and decay. The void-faced figure raised a hand, not to strike, but to point. Her eyes followed its gesture, down the path she’d come. The way back was gone. The standing stones shimmered, dissolving into a swirling vortex of darkness and starlight. The Heartstone, now cold and lifeless, slipped from her fingers, falling into the damp earth. The roar in her ears faded, replaced by the distant, unnatural thrumming. She was alone again, but the Grove had changed. The ancient oaks stood silent, the air still thick with the scent of decay and ozone. The crescent scar on her wrist burned with a new, cold ache. She knew she was trapped. The Fae were watching. The pendant’s faint glow was gone, swallowed by the darkness. The only sound was the low, rhythmic thrum, a heartbeat that wasn’t hers, echoing from the stones. The Grove held her now, and the night was just beginning.