Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8452F8W6V2NYXHVGGAT3M

The wrought iron gate groaned in protest as Aurora pushed it open, the sound swallowed quickly by the damp stillness of Richmond Park. It was well past midnight. The air hung thick and cold, tasting of wet earth and something else… something floral, unseasonably sweet. She hadn’t expected it to be this quiet. Even on weeknights the park usually held the distant thrum of traffic, the muffled shouts from late-night dog walkers. Tonight, nothing. Just the crunch of gravel under her boots. She’d come here looking for answers, or at least a direction. Old Man Hemlock, the antique dealer with eyes like polished stones, had been maddeningly cryptic. “The Grove holds what you seek, child. But be warned, it asks a price.” He’d pressed the Heartstone Pendant into her palm, the crimson gemstone warm against her skin. “It will guide you. But it won’t protect you.” The pendant pulsed faintly. She touched it, tracing the cool silver of the chain. It had been doing that more frequently lately, a subtle throb that vibrated against her sternum. Especially since… well, since she’d started seeing things. Glitches in her vision. Flickering shadows that weren’t cast by anything solid. The standing stones weren’t immediately visible. They were hidden amongst a copse of ancient oaks, their gnarled branches twisted like arthritic fingers. She found the entrance to the Grove by instinct, drawn by an unseen pull. The air grew colder, the floral scent overpowering. It was cloying, artificial, like someone had sprayed an entire room with cheap perfume. The clearing within was a riot of wildflowers, impossibly vibrant even in the dark. Usually, after a frost, the blooms would have withered. Here, they swayed gently in a non-existent breeze, their petals dusted with a luminescence that wasn't quite moonlight. It was beautiful. And wrong. Aurora ran a hand through her straight black hair, pushing it back from her face. She glanced at her watch. 12:17 AM. It felt like she’d been walking for an hour already. But the park gates were barely five minutes behind her. Time always felt… fluid here. She remembered Eva recounting stories of slipping into the Grove as a teenager, losing track of minutes that stretched into what felt like entire afternoons. She walked deeper into the clearing, the wildflowers brushing against her jeans. The Heartstone warmed against her chest, its faint glow intensifying. She’d been hoping for some grand revelation, a vision, a sign. Instead, a subtle feeling of unease began to creep up her spine. It started with a sound. A rustling in the undergrowth, too heavy for a rabbit. Too deliberate for the wind. She stopped, listening. Nothing. Just the insistent hum of insects and the thumping of her own pulse in her ears. She told herself it was her imagination, that she was letting Hemlock’s warnings get to her. The man was a charlatan, probably. A dealer in trinkets and tall tales. But the feeling persisted. She wasn’t alone. She walked further, examining the flowers. Anemones, snowdrops, violets, all blooming in careless profusion. She knelt, touching a velvety purple petal. It felt… strangely slick. Almost oily. A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision. Just beyond the ring of trees that bordered the clearing. She whipped her head around, but there was nothing there. Or at least, nothing she could definitively *see*. The pendant pulsed faster, almost painfully hot now. She clenched her fist around it, trying to quell the rising panic. "It will guide you," Hemlock had said. Not "it will terrify you." Another sound. This time, a faint whistling. A melody, almost. High-pitched and discordant, like a broken music box. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. She scanned the trees again, her breath catching in her throat. There. A shadow, shifting between the oaks. Too tall, too slender to be human. It wasn't a solid shape, more like a distortion of the darkness, a ripple in the fabric of the night. She stared, willing it to solidify, to reveal itself. But it remained frustratingly indistinct. She stood up slowly, her legs suddenly heavy. She felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, the instinctive awareness of being watched. The whistling continued, gaining in intensity. It was a lullaby, but one laced with malice. She called out, her voice barely a whisper. "Hello?" No response. Only the whistling, and the rustling in the undergrowth, which had grown closer. She took a step back, then another. The pendant vibrated wildly, radiating heat. It felt like a warning. She should leave. Now. She turned to retrace her steps, but the path she’d taken seemed to have vanished. The wildflowers had grown taller, thicker, forming an impenetrable wall of color. She tried to push through them, but they resisted, their stems strangely resilient. It was as if they were deliberately obstructing her way. The shadow moved again, this time bolder. She could almost make out a form now – a slender figure, impossibly tall, with limbs that seemed to bend at unnatural angles. It wasn’t moving *towards* her exactly. It was… circling. Aurora’s heart hammered against her ribs. She fumbled in her pocket for her phone, but there was no signal. Of course not. This place existed outside the normal rules. The whistling stopped. The silence that followed was even more terrifying. Then, a voice. It wasn’t loud, but it carried on the still air, soft and sibilant. It wasn't directed *at* her exactly, was more a murmur woven into the fabric of the Grove itself. “Lost, little one?” She didn't dare turn around. She kept her eyes fixed on the wall of flowers, desperately searching for an escape. The pendant was burning against her skin now, almost unbearable. “We haven’t had a visitor in such a long time.” The voice again, closer this time. “So fragile. So…sweet.” She hugged herself, trying to contain the tremor that had taken hold of her body. She could smell it now. The floral scent wasn’t just sweet, it was sickly. Rotting. Like something beautiful had been left to decay. A single wildflower detached itself from the wall and floated towards her, suspended in the air. It wasn’t moving with the wind. It was simply drifting, drawn by an unseen force. As it drew closer, she saw that its petals weren't soft and velvety. They were coated in a glistening, black residue. The shadow was directly behind her now. She could feel its presence, cold and ancient. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for…what? She didn’t know. The Heartstone pulsed one last time, a blinding flash of crimson light. Then, everything went cold. And silent.