Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAM18P5AW4MSFRHQGWNM4F

The rain smelled like iron. It slicked the ancient oak standing stones, turning the carvings into blurred, weeping ghosts. Rory shivered, pulling her threadbare denim jacket tighter. The Fae Grove wasn’t supposed to rain, not like this. It wasn’t supposed to *feel* like this. She’d followed the insistent tug of the Heartstone Pendant, a throb of warmth against her skin that had intensified all the way through Richmond Park and into this hidden pocket. The air here, thick and humid, tasted of moss and something else, something faintly rotten. It pressed against her lungs, making each breath a conscious effort. “Just keep moving,” she told herself, her voice a dry rasp. The pendant pulsed, a slow, deliberate beat. It wasn't alarming, not exactly, but the steady rhythm echoed in the unnatural silence. No birdsong. No rustle of wind in the impossibly lush wildflowers that bloomed year-round, a riot of color in the perpetual twilight. She’d received the pendant three weeks ago, anonymously slipped into her delivery bag alongside a single, obsidian raven feather. No note, no explanation. Just the pendant and the unsettling feeling that her life was about to change. Her friend, Eva, had warned her— a cryptic, “Some doors are better left closed, Rory.” Now, standing within the Grove, she understood. A fallen log shifted to her left. Not a gust of wind. A deliberate movement. Rory froze, every muscle coiled tight. She scanned the periphery, the shadows deepening beneath the towering oaks. Nothing. Just the rain, the stones, and the unsettling pulse of the pendant. “Okay, this is…weird,” she muttered, her hand instinctively reaching for the small, dull knife she kept clipped to her belt. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The sound came next – a high, thin chime, like distant glass breaking. It repeated, fading in and out, always just beyond her direct line of sight. She rotated slowly, searching for the source. The wildflowers seemed to tilt their heads, as if observing her. “Hello?” Her voice cracked, swallowed by the stillness. Only the rain answered, drumming a relentless tattoo on the stone. She started walking again, forcing herself to focus on the path, a barely discernible track winding deeper into the Grove. The pendant beat faster now, a frantic tremor against her wrist. The air grew colder, and the scent of rot intensified. She noticed it then – the patterns in the moss on the standing stones. They weren't random. They weren’t natural. They formed symbols, interwoven and unsettling, like a language she instinctively knew she shouldn’t understand. A twig snapped behind her. Rory didn’t turn. She held her breath, listening. The rain softened momentarily, revealing the unsettling chime again, closer this time. “Show yourself,” she said, her voice low and controlled. Silence. Then, a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision – a shadow twisting through the trees, too fluid, too quick to be an animal. It vanished as suddenly as it appeared. She gripped the knife tighter. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the pendant’s rhythm. “This isn’t a natural place,” she realized, a cold certainty settling over her. This wasn’t just a pocket dimension; it was something…else. Something older. Something hungry. The pendant pulsed violently, nearly pulling her arm out of its socket. It insisted she go forward. She continued, pushing through a curtain of ferns, into a small clearing. In the center stood a single, ancient willow, its branches draped like skeletal fingers, dripping with rain. Beneath it, a pool of water shimmered with an unnatural luminescence. The chime sounded again, louder now, accompanied by a whisper, so faint she almost dismissed it as the rain. *Welcome.* Rory backed away slowly, her gaze fixed on the willow. The water in the pool seemed to swirl, reflecting not the sky, but…something else. A fleeting glimpse of faces – pale, sorrowful, and utterly lost. She turned to flee, but the path had vanished. The trees closed in, their branches interlocking, forming a claustrophobic cage. The rain intensified, a deluge that blurred her vision. A voice, no longer a whisper, but a resonant hum, filled the Grove. It wasn’t spoken, not exactly. It seemed to vibrate within her bones. *You brought the stone. The key.* She risked a glance back at the pool. A figure was rising from the water. It wasn’t human. Tall and slender, with skin like polished jade and eyes that burned with an inner, crimson light. It wore a garment woven from shadows, and its movements were unsettlingly graceful, like a predator testing its prey. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling, but holding. The figure tilted its head, a gesture both curious and predatory. *I am what you seek. And you are what I need.* It raised a hand, and a single, luminous flower bloomed at its fingertips – a deep crimson bloom that mirrored the gemstone in her pendant. “The pendant,” the figure intoned, its voice a silken thread. “You carry the heartstone. It binds you to this place.” She instinctively clutched the pendant, feeling its warmth radiating against her skin. It wasn’t just a conduit; it was a tether. The figure took a step closer. The scent of rot was overwhelming now. She could taste it on her tongue. “Your father,” the figure said, its voice laced with a chilling amusement. “He knew. He always knew.” Rory recoiled, a wave of nausea washing over her. Her father. Her father, a respected barrister with a sharp mind and an unwavering sense of justice, had known about this place? About this…thing? “What do you want?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. *To restore balance. To reclaim what was lost. You are a link in the chain, child. A forgotten vessel.* The water in the pool began to glow brighter, pulling at her, beckoning her towards it. She saw more faces now, swirling within the luminescence – her parents, her friends, all trapped in an eternal, sorrowful tableau. She understood then. The pendant hadn't been given to her. It had been *placed* upon her. It was a trap. She took a step back, desperate to escape, but the trees continued to close in, isolating her completely. *Resisting is futile,* the figure said, its crimson eyes fixed on her. *Embrace your destiny.* The pendant pulsed with a violent, insistent rhythm, demanding her surrender. She looked down at the stone, at the deep crimson glow, and a horrifying realization dawned upon her. The pendant wasn’t just a key; it was a hunger. The figure extended a hand, its fingers long and slender, tipped with claws of polished jade. And Rory, caught in the rain-soaked twilight of the Fae Grove, with the weight of the Heartstone Pendant burning against her wrist, felt herself drawn forward, helplessly, inexorably, towards the pool and the waiting embrace of the darkness.