Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8GS9GENY3ME5D5NNQGV9P

Aurora Carter stepped through the ring of ancient oak standing stones, the night air thickening around her like a shroud. The stones loomed tall and weathered, their bark etched with runes that seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them. Richmond Park lay silent beyond, but here in the Fae Grove, the world tilted. She'd come because of the pendant—the Heartstone, that thumbnail-sized crimson gem on its silver chain, given to her by some shadowy figure she couldn't recall. It had pulsed warmly against her skin all day, growing insistent, pulling her toward this hidden clearing like a lodestone. Rory needed answers. The pendant had saved her once, glowing faintly when she'd fled Evan, lighting her path through London's fog-shrouded streets. Now, it whispered of secrets, of portals and realms bleeding into her own. She couldn't ignore it anymore. The grass underfoot crunched softly, though it shouldn't have—wildflowers bloomed year-round here, their petals unfurled in defiant colors even under the moonless sky. Rory paused, her bright blue eyes scanning the dimness. At 5'6", she felt small in this place, her straight black hair brushing her shoulders as she tilted her head, listening. The Grove existed in a pocket between Earth and somewhere else, or so the old tales Eva had shared claimed. Time moved differently; an hour inside could stretch or shrink outside. That's what felt off first—the silence wasn't right. No distant hum of traffic from the city, no rustle of deer in the park. Just her own breathing, steady but quickening. She fingered the small crescent scar on her left wrist, a habit from childhood accidents and later, harder escapes. Cool-headed, that's what her friends called her. Intelligent, quick with out-of-the-box thinking. But tonight, logic frayed at the edges. She'd parked her delivery bike near the park entrance, slipped past the gates after dark, following the pendant's warmth. It had led her straight to the standing stones, pulsing faint and steady like a heartbeat. Now, inside the boundary, the gem lay cool against her collarbone. Too cool. She shook off the unease, stepping deeper into the clearing. The air smelled of blooming jasmine and something metallic, like ozone after a storm. No storm tonight, though. The sky above was a void, stars hidden behind an unnatural haze. Rory's boots sank into the soft earth, each step deliberate. She needed to find the center, where the tales said the veil thinned. Maybe there she'd understand the pendant's glow, its connection to whatever "Hel portal" the cryptic note from her unknown benefactor had mentioned. The note had arrived with the artifact, tucked into her flat above Silas' bar: "For when the shadows call. Near Hel, it awakens." Cryptic nonsense, but the pendant had proven real enough, its inner light guiding her through London's underbelly more than once. She wasn't one for fairy tales—her Welsh mother's stories of fae and groves had always seemed quaint, relics of Cardiff evenings—but this place felt alive in a way that defied her pre-law skepticism. A soft crackle broke the quiet, like dry leaves underfoot, but the ground here was carpeted in vibrant petals, not autumn debris. Rory froze, her pulse ticking up. She turned slowly, eyes straining into the gloom. Nothing. Just the standing stones, sentinel-silent at the perimeter. The wildflowers swayed gently, though no breeze stirred. She exhaled, chiding herself. Nerves, that's all. She'd fled an abusive ex, dodged London's rough edges as a part-time delivery girl for Yu-Fei Cheung's Golden Empress, and now this—chasing myths in the dark. But the pendant had warmed near certain spots in the city, alleyways that felt wrong, like the air shimmered. This Grove was the epicenter, or so her research suggested. Isolde's Grove, some called it, a fae-touched scar on Earth's skin. She pressed on, the clearing unfolding broader than it should. Time's trickery, perhaps. Her watch said she'd been inside five minutes, but the weight in her limbs suggested longer. The flowers brushed her calves, their petals cool and damp, leaving faint trails on her jeans. Another sound—a whisper, like silk tearing, faint and directionless. Rory's hand went to the pendant instinctively, fingers closing around the crimson stone. It remained inert, no warmth, no pulse. Disappointing. She needed it to react, to confirm she wasn't mad for coming here alone. The wrongness deepened. At the edge of her vision, something flickered—a shadow detaching from a standing stone, gone when she whipped her head around. Her heart stuttered. Not alone. The thought crept in, unbidden. She was alone; she'd checked the park paths, seen no one. But the Grove played tricks. Eva would laugh if she knew—her childhood friend had dragged her from Cardiff to London after Evan, promising safety in the city's chaos. Rory swallowed, throat dry. Focus. She reached the center, a slight dip in the earth where the flowers grew thickest, a riot of blues and yellows unnatural in the night. Kneeling, she traced the ground with her fingers, feeling for... what? A seam in reality? The pendant dangled forward, its silver chain catching a sliver of nonexistent light. Still cool. She sat back on her heels, frustration mounting. This was a mistake. The air grew heavier, pressing down like an impending rain. Then, a rustle—distinct this time, from the left, behind a cluster of blooming thistles. Rory stood, pivoting smoothly, her delivery-honed reflexes kicking in. Nothing there. But the flowers trembled, as if something had brushed past. Her mind raced. Out-of-the-box thinking: maybe an animal, a fox or badger straying into the Grove. But animals avoided this place, according to the lore. The standing stones seemed closer now, the clearing contracting like a living thing. Time dilation? Or paranoia? She backed up a step, eyes darting. A low hum started, not in her ears but in her bones, vibrating up from the earth. The pendant twitched against her skin—finally, a faint warmth, a pulse like a distant drum. Excitement flared, then curdled into dread. The hum wasn't mechanical; it carried inflection, like murmured words in a language she almost knew. Welsh? No, older, guttural. Rory's mother had taught her bits of the old tongue, but this slithered past comprehension. She strained to listen, the scar on her wrist itching as if in warning. Shadows elongated between the stones, stretching toward her like fingers. One detached, or seemed to—a silhouette, humanoid but wrong, limbs too long, melting back into darkness when she blinked. Not alone. The certainty hit her gut-first. Something watched. She could feel eyes on her, not hostile yet, but curious, probing. Rory's breath came shallow, controlled. Cool-headed, remember? She slipped a hand into her pocket, fingers brushing the keys to her bike—useless here. The whisper returned, closer, wrapping around her like mist. Words? Names? Her aliases flickered through her mind—Rory, Laila, Aurora, Carter, even Malphora, that strange moniker from a dream. The pendant glowed now, a faint crimson inner light, pulsing in time with the hum. She turned in a slow circle, the Grove's flora closing in, petals brushing her like insistent hands. A shape flickered again, at the periphery—tall, slender, gone. Then another, opposite side. Circling. Her mind whirred: fae? Portals to Hel? The note had warned of shadows calling. The air chilled, despite the year-round bloom, frost limning the wildflowers' edges. Time stretched; her watch hands crawled. How long had she been here? Minutes? Hours? Outside, dawn might break, or midnight linger. The sounds layered now—rustles multiplying, whispers overlapping into a chorus. Not words, but intent: stay, listen, join. Rory's scar throbbed, a reminder of real pain, grounding her. She edged toward the standing stones, aiming for escape. But the boundary felt distant, the clearing vast yet claustrophobic. A shadow solidified briefly—eyes? Glowing faintly, like the pendant's crimson, then vanishing. Breath on her neck, or imagination? She whirled, arms raised, but empty air met her. Panic clawed, but she shoved it down. Think. The pendant—near a Hel portal, it pulsed. This must be it, the Grove a gateway. But to what? The wrongness peaked: she wasn't just watched; she was hunted, toyed with. Footsteps now, soft pads on earth, circling tighter. Rory bolted, legs pumping toward the stones. Flowers snagged her ankles, vines twisting unnaturally. The whispers laughed, a sibilant echo. She burst through the ring, stumbling onto Richmond Park's familiar grass. The city hummed distant, stars visible again. Her watch showed only ten minutes passed. The pendant cooled instantly. But as she gasped for breath, a final whisper chased her: her name, Aurora, stretched into something alien. She didn't look back, fleeing toward her bike, the scar on her wrist burning like a brand. The Grove watched, waiting for her return. (Word count: 1247)