Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQAGRYY7RCPXHG3EPZW33B

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, their perfume cloying in the stillness. 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—answers about the pendant, about the strange dreams that had plagued her since she’d first touched it, about the way the world seemed to tilt when she stepped through the standing stones. The grove was different at night. The ancient oaks loomed like sentinels, their gnarled branches twisting against the moonlit sky. The standing stones at the boundary were slick with dew, their surfaces etched with symbols that seemed to shift when she looked at them too long. She had been here before, in daylight, when the grove was a place of quiet beauty, where time stretched and bent like a living thing. But now, under the cover of darkness, the wrongness of it pressed in on her. She stepped forward, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The wildflowers here bloomed year-round, their petals glowing faintly in the dim light, but tonight they seemed too bright, too vivid, as if they were straining toward something just beyond her sight. The air hummed with a low, almost imperceptible vibration, like the thrum of a plucked string. She swallowed hard, her fingers brushing the pendant through the fabric of her shirt. *Focus. You’re here for a reason.* She had followed the pendant’s pull, its warmth intensifying the closer she got to the grove. It had led her here, to this pocket of the world where the veil between realms was thin. But now that she was inside, the pendant’s heat was almost uncomfortable, as if it were warning her. A rustle in the undergrowth made her freeze. The sound was too deliberate to be the wind. She turned slowly, her breath shallow, her eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. Nothing moved. The grove was silent again, save for the distant hoot of an owl—if it was an owl. Rory exhaled, forcing herself to relax. *Just an animal. Or the wind.* She took another step forward, her gaze fixed on the center of the grove, where the oldest oak stood, its roots twisting like serpents into the earth. That was where she needed to go. That was where the pendant had led her. Then she heard it—a whisper. Not the wind. Not an animal. A voice, so faint it might have been her imagination, murmuring words she couldn’t quite make out. Her pulse quickened, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. She turned in a slow circle, searching the darkness. “Hello?” Her voice sounded too loud in the stillness. The whisper came again, closer this time, a sibilant hiss that slithered through the air. It wasn’t coming from any one direction. It was everywhere, wrapping around her like a shroud. Rory’s breath hitched. She took a step back, her heel catching on a root. She stumbled, catching herself before she fell, but the movement sent a jolt of panic through her. The pendant burned hotter against her skin, its glow seeping through the fabric of her shirt. *It’s warning me.* She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. The pendant was reacting to something—something in the grove with her. The whispers grew louder, overlapping now, a chorus of voices speaking in a language she didn’t recognize. The words twisted in her ears, their meaning just out of reach, like a half-remembered dream. The air grew heavier, pressing down on her, and the wildflowers at her feet began to tremble, their petals quivering as if in a breeze she couldn’t feel. Then she saw it. A shadow, moving at the edge of her vision. Not a person. Not an animal. Something else—something that didn’t belong in the shape of the world. It darted between the trees, too fast to track, its form shifting like smoke. She spun, trying to follow it, but every time she turned, it was already gone, leaving only the faintest impression of movement behind. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The pendant was burning now, its heat searing through her shirt. She yanked it out, holding it in her palm. The crimson gem pulsed with a deep, inner light, casting eerie shadows across the ground. The whispers stopped. The grove fell silent. Rory’s breath came in shallow gasps, her eyes darting from tree to tree. The shadow was gone. The air was still. But the wrongness remained, thick and suffocating, like the moment before a storm breaks. Then, from the darkness beneath the oldest oak, something moved. A figure stepped forward, its form wavering like heat haze. It was tall, too tall, its limbs elongated and wrong, its skin the color of old parchment. Its face—if it could be called a face—was smooth and featureless, save for a slit where a mouth should be. It tilted its head, regarding her with an expression she couldn’t read. Rory’s blood turned to ice. The figure raised a hand, its fingers too long, too many, and beckoned her forward. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her body was frozen, her mind screaming at her to run, but her feet refused to obey. The figure took a step toward her, its movements jerky, unnatural. The pendant in her hand flared, its light casting jagged shadows across the creature’s form. It hissed, recoiling from the glow, its slit of a mouth twisting into something like a snarl. Rory’s paralysis broke. She stumbled back, her boots slipping on the damp earth. The figure lunged, its fingers brushing her sleeve, and she screamed, the sound tearing from her throat. She turned and ran, her bag bouncing against her hip, the pendant clutched tight in her fist. The grove blurred around her, the trees stretching and warping as she fled. The whispers returned, louder now, a cacophony of voices screaming in her ears. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. She ran until her lungs burned, until her legs threatened to give out beneath her. And then, suddenly, she was through the standing stones, stumbling onto the familiar path of Richmond Park. The night air was cool and clean, the distant hum of the city a welcome sound. She collapsed onto the grass, her chest heaving, her fingers trembling around the pendant. It was cold now. Dormant. She looked back at the grove, its boundary marked by the ancient stones. The wildflowers beyond them swayed gently in the breeze, their petals glowing softly in the moonlight. There was no sign of the figure. No sign of the whispers. But she knew. She had not been alone.