Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPSP1ZQWX0XR6G3CNYBF0K

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, the kind that bloomed only in places where the veil between worlds grew thin. Rory adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the Heartstone Pendant tucked safely beneath her shirt, its faint warmth a steady pulse against her skin. She had come to the Fae Grove for answers—not because she wanted to, but because the pendant had led her here, its crimson glow flickering like a dying ember in the dark. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oaks twisted into shapes that seemed almost deliberate, as if carved by hands that had long since turned to dust. The boundary of the grove shimmered at the edges of her vision, a distortion in the air, like heat rising from pavement. She hesitated, her breath fogging in the cold. The last time she’d been here, it had been daylight, and the grove had been alive with the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves. Now, it was silent. Too silent. She stepped between the stones. The moment she crossed the threshold, the world shifted. The air turned heavier, pressing against her skin like a damp cloth. The wildflowers at her feet glowed faintly in the dark, their petals pulsing with an eerie luminescence. Rory exhaled, her breath unsteady. She had expected something—*wrongness*, maybe—but not this. Not the way the trees seemed to lean in, their branches stretching like skeletal fingers toward the sky. She moved deeper into the grove, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The pendant’s warmth had intensified, its glow now visible even through the fabric of her shirt. She pulled it out, holding it in her palm. The crimson stone pulsed in time with her heartbeat, as if it were alive. “Alright,” she muttered to herself. “What are you trying to tell me?” A sound cut through the silence—a whisper, so faint she almost missed it. Rory froze, her fingers tightening around the pendant. The voice had been too close, too *human*, but when she turned, there was nothing. Just the trees, the flowers, the oppressive dark. She swallowed hard. “Hello?” No answer. Only the rustle of leaves, though there was no wind. Rory forced herself to keep moving. The grove was larger than she remembered, the path ahead winding deeper into the trees. The standing stones were already lost to the dark behind her. She should have brought a torch. She should have waited until morning. But the pendant had been insistent, its warmth growing almost painful against her skin. Another sound—this time, a footstep. Definitely a footstep. She spun around, her pulse hammering in her throat. “Who’s there?” Silence. Then, from the corner of her eye, a flicker of movement. A shadow, darting between the trees. Rory’s breath hitched. She took a step back, her boots crunching over dead leaves. The shadow didn’t reappear, but the air had grown colder, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones. “This isn’t funny,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “If someone’s here, show yourself.” A low chuckle echoed through the grove, so close it made her skin prickle. It wasn’t coming from any one direction—it was *everywhere*, wrapping around her like a shroud. Rory’s fingers clenched into fists. “Alright. That’s enough.” She turned to leave, but the path behind her was gone. In its place, a wall of thorns, their barbs glistening with something dark and wet. Her stomach twisted. She turned back the way she’d come, but the path ahead had vanished too, swallowed by the same thorny barrier. The pendant burned against her skin. She ripped it off, holding it up. The crimson glow flared, casting long, shifting shadows across the grove. The thorns recoiled slightly, as if repelled by the light. “Okay,” she breathed. “Okay, that’s something.” She took a step forward, the pendant held out like a shield. The thorns parted just enough to let her pass, but the moment she moved through, they snapped shut behind her, sealing her in. The grove had changed. The trees were closer now, their branches intertwined above her like a cage. The wildflowers at her feet had wilted, their petals blackened and shriveled. The air smelled of decay. And then she saw it. A figure, standing at the edge of the clearing. Tall, too tall, its limbs elongated in a way that made her stomach clench. It was facing away from her, its head tilted as if listening to something she couldn’t hear. Rory’s breath came in shallow gasps. She should run. She should *scream*. But her legs wouldn’t move. The figure turned. Its face was wrong. Too smooth, too pale, its features stretched into something that was almost human but not quite. Its mouth split into a grin, too wide, too many teeth. “Aurora,” it whispered, its voice like dry leaves scraping over stone. “We’ve been waiting for you.” The pendant flared in her hand, its glow blinding. The figure hissed, recoiling, but it didn’t retreat. It took a step forward. Rory stumbled back, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst. The thorns pressed in around her, their barbs brushing against her arms, drawing thin lines of blood. The figure lunged. She screamed.