"The scent hit her first – ozone and something else, something like damp velvet and regret."
1
"She’d found the Grove easily enough, following a barely-there track through Richmond Park, the standing stones – lichen-covered and worn smooth with centuries – marking the boundary like a skeletal hand pointing the way."
2
"She’d been drawn here by a cryptic message, a single line scrawled on parchment delivered by a terrified, trembling antique dealer in Soho – “Isolde’s Grove. The stone remembers.” Isolde, of course, was a local legend, a rumored fae queen who’d vanished centuries ago, leaving behind whispers of bargains and stolen time."
3
"Silas Blackwood – a man perpetually shrouded in a scent of dust and expensive tobacco – hadn’t offered much more, only a handful of shillings and a frantic plea to “be careful.” Rory, bolstered by her natural skepticism and a penchant for solving puzzles, had followed his instructions."
4
"Wildflowers, an improbable riot of color despite the encroaching winter – scarlet poppies, sapphire cornflowers, and dusk-purple lupines – bloomed in profusion, their delicate petals seemingly untouched by the frost."
5
"She reached for the small folding knife she carried – a habit ingrained from years of navigating the grimy back alleys of London – and flipped it open, the steel glinting briefly in the moonlight."
6
"A single, high-pitched note – a child's laugh, strangely distorted – drifted from the deeper shadows beneath one of the oaks."
7
"It wasn’t playful; it was brittle, edged with a chilling sadness."
8
"His eyes met hers – dark, fathomless pools that seemed to hold a thousand years of sorrow."
9
"A shape moved in the periphery – just a suggestion of movement, a ripple in the darkness between the trees."
10
"The shimmering entity shifted closer, extending a hand – if it *could* be called a hand – towards the Heartstone Pendant."
11
"A single, clear note pierced the silence – a high, desperate flute trill, then abruptly cut short."
12
"Then, a multitude of voices, whispers like dry leaves skittering across stone, rose up around her – countless voices, each filled with the same chilling sorrow, the same plea."
13
"The Grove wasn't merely a place; it was a hunger."