Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB361JGB1DFMQ6YDMR8728

Aurora pushed through the overgrown brambles at the edge of Richmond Park, her breath clouding in the chill night air. Moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting jagged shadows across the path she followed—an old trail she'd pieced together from half-remembered whispers and the pendant's insistent pull. The Heartstone hung heavy against her chest, its deep crimson gem pulsing with a warmth that bordered on feverish, drawing her here like a compass needle to true north. She needed answers. The pendant had arrived in a plain envelope weeks ago, no note, no sender, but it thrummed in her palm whenever she thought of Evan, of escape, of the life she'd fled in Cardiff. Tonight, under the full moon, the grove called loudest. Isolde's grove, some old texts named it, a pocket of forgotten magic tucked between worlds. She adjusted her backpack, stuffed with a flashlight, a notebook, and a thermos of tea gone cold, and stepped forward. The air shifted as she crossed the boundary marked by those ancient oak standing stones, weathered sentinels that loomed like forgotten giants. Wildflowers brushed her ankles, their petals unfurling in impossible blooms despite the autumn frost—violets and daisies that should have withered months ago. Time bent here, or so the stories went. An hour inside could stretch to days outside, or shrink to minutes. She checked her watch: 11:47 PM. Fine. She had time. But the silence pressed in wrong. No distant hum of London traffic, no rustle of nocturnal creatures foraging in the underbrush. Just her footsteps crunching on fallen leaves that sounded too loud, like bones snapping underfoot. She paused at the clearing's heart, where the grass formed a perfect circle, ringed by those stones. Moonlight pooled in the center, turning the ground silver. The pendant warmed against her skin, its faint inner glow seeping through her shirt. She slipped it out, holding it up to the light. The thumbnail-sized gem caught the moonbeams, refracting them into crimson sparks that danced across her fingers. "This better be worth it," she muttered, her voice swallowed by the stillness. "Whatever you are, show yourself." Nothing answered. She lowered the pendant and scanned the perimeter. The oaks stood silent, their branches interlocking overhead like a woven cage. She set her backpack down and knelt, pulling out the notebook. Sketches filled the pages—symbols she'd copied from library books on Fae lore, patterns that matched the pendant's etchings. If this place bridged realms, maybe it could explain the dreams, the visions of shadowed figures calling her Malphora, a name that echoed in her blood like a half-forgotten song. A twig snapped somewhere beyond the stones. She froze, ears straining. Wind? No, the air hung dead still. Animals avoided this grove, or so the codex fragments she'd found suggested. She waited, breath held, but only silence followed. She shook her head. Imagination. Nerves from the long walk through the dark park. She flipped a page in the notebook, her pen scratching notes on the pendant's behavior. Warms near portals, pulses with... something. Like a heartbeat. Another sound—a soft rustle, like fabric dragging over grass. It came from the left, just at the edge of the stones. She whipped her head around, but shadows clung thick there, unmoving. Her pulse quickened, matching the pendant's throb. "Hello?" Her voice cracked the quiet, sharper than intended. "If someone's out there, this isn't funny." The rustle faded. She stood, flashlight in hand, beam slicing through the dark. It caught a cluster of wildflowers, their heads bobbing as if in a breeze she couldn't feel. She swept the light further, illuminating bark etched with spirals that seemed to twist under the glare. Nothing else. No eyes reflecting back, no shapes lurking. She clicked off the light to save battery, plunging the grove back into moonlight. Better to let her eyes adjust. She paced the clearing's edge, fingers tracing the small crescent scar on her left wrist—a habit from childhood, a reminder of falls and recoveries. The pendant grew hotter, almost uncomfortable against her skin. She tugged at her collar, the black strands of her hair sticking to her neck with sudden sweat despite the cold. Footsteps. Faint, deliberate, circling the stones from outside. She spun, heart slamming. "Who's there? I heard you." No response. The steps halted, then resumed, slower, as if whatever made them savored the pause. She backed toward the center, eyes darting. A shape flickered at the corner of her vision—low to the ground, hunched, gone when she turned. Not a deer. Too deliberate, too elusive. She gripped the pendant, its warmth spreading up her arm like liquid fire. "This is your fault," she whispered to it, voice low. "You brought me here. Now what?" The rustling returned, closer now, weaving through the wildflowers inside the circle. Petals crumpled under invisible weight, stems bending one by one in a path that curved toward her. She retreated a step, boots sinking into soft earth. The air thickened, carrying a scent like damp soil and decaying leaves, though no rot marred the blooms. Something brushed her ankle—a fleeting touch, cold and insubstantial, like fingers made of mist. She yelped, kicking out, but her foot met empty air. The wildflowers around her swayed violently, as if a windstorm raged only in that spot. "Stop it!" she shouted, voice echoing back distorted, like multiple throats mocking her. The pendant flared, its glow bright enough to cast red hues across the grass. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, stretching from the oaks toward the center, fingers of darkness that clawed at the moonlight. One shadow detached, slinking along the ground like spilled ink, pooling near her backpack. She lunged for it, snatching the strap just as the shadow recoiled. Her watch beeped midnight, but when she glanced down, the hands spun wildly—forward, backward, settling on 11:47 again. Time looped, or broke. She didn't know which terrified her more. Whispers started then, faint at first, like wind through leaves, but resolving into words. Not English. Something older, guttural, repeating "Malphora" like a chant. They came from everywhere—the stones, the flowers, the air itself. "Malphora," they hissed, the sound slithering into her ears. "Come home." She clapped hands over her ears, but the voices burrowed deeper, vibrating in her skull. "I'm not her! I'm Aurora. Rory. Leave me alone!" The whispers laughed, a chorus of dry leaves scraping stone. Movement flashed again—tall figures now, silhouettes darting between the oaks, never fully in view. One paused just long enough for her to catch a glimpse: elongated limbs, eyes like glowing embers, vanishing as she blinked. She ran to the boundary, but the stones seemed farther apart, the clearing expanding. Her foot caught on a root that hadn't been there moments ago, sending her sprawling. Dirt filled her mouth, gritty and alive, wriggling like tiny worms. She spat it out, scrambling up. The pendant burned now, searing her skin. She yanked it off, chain dangling from her fist. "Take it back! I don't want this!" As if in answer, the ground trembled. Cracks spiderwebbed through the grass, faint light seeping from below—crimson, matching the gem. Something pushed up from beneath, not breaking the surface, but pressing against it like a hand under fabric. She staggered back, breath ragged. The whispers grew louder, overlapping, demanding. "Malphora. Join us." A hand—pale, claw-tipped—emerged from the shadow of a stone, grasping at the air inches from her boot. It retracted when she screamed, but not before she saw the skin shimmer, iridescent like oil on water. She whirled, searching for the path out. The brambles had thickened, thorns glinting like teeth. Footsteps multiplied, closing in from all sides, no longer hiding. Eyes watched her now, dozens of pairs glowing faintly in the dark beyond the stones—watching, waiting. "Get away!" she yelled, swinging the flashlight like a club. The beam caught one pair of eyes, illuminating a face twisted in a grin too wide, teeth sharp as needles. It melted back into shadow. The air grew heavier, pressing down on her chest, making each breath a struggle. The wildflowers wilted suddenly, petals curling black, releasing a sickly sweet rot that cloyed in her throat. The pendant in her hand pulsed in rhythm with her heart, syncing them, pulling her toward the cracks in the earth. She dropped it, but it clung to her palm, chain wrapping around her fingers like living vines. "No," she gasped, prying at it. "Let go." Whispers turned to laughter, echoing louder, the grove alive with unseen presences. Shapes crowded the edges, pressing closer, their forms shifting—now humanoid, now beast-like, always evading direct sight. Something cold grazed her shoulder, a breath on her neck that carried the chill of graves. She spun, but nothing stood there. Only the sense of it lingered, intimate, invasive. Her scar itched fiercely, as if the old wound remembered this place, this wrongness. Time on her watch blurred, hands a whirlwind. The moon above dimmed, stars winking out one by one. "Help," she whispered, though no one could hear. "Someone..." The footsteps halted, silence crashing back heavier than before. But the eyes remained, burning brighter, drawing nearer. The ground beneath her feet softened, sucking at her boots like mud after rain. She pulled free with effort, inching toward the stones. A low growl rumbled from the dark, vibrating through her bones. Not animal. Something hungrier. The pendant cooled abruptly, its glow fading. Relief? No—warning. The whispers resumed, closer, breaths stirring her hair. "Malphora," they cooed. "Stay." She bolted for the boundary, branches whipping her face, drawing blood. The stones loomed, but as she neared, they shifted, rearranging like pieces on a board. The path twisted, leading her in circles. Exhaustion burned in her legs, but she pushed on. A shape lunged from the side, brushing her arm—claws raking fabric, not skin. She dodged, heart thundering. Another touch, this time on her back, pushing her forward. Toward what? The center again, where the cracks widened, light pulsing stronger. She resisted, digging heels in. "Fight me, then! Show yourselves!" Laughter bubbled up from the earth, mocking. The air hummed with energy, static raising hairs on her arms. Shadows coalesced, forming barriers that herded her like prey. Her backpack lay forgotten in the chaos, contents spilled—notebook pages fluttering like trapped birds. Symbols on them glowed faintly, mirroring the pendant's etchings. She grabbed a page, crumpling it in her fist. "This is a dream. Wake up." But the cold seeped deeper, numbing her fingers. The whispers fragmented into pleas, threats, invitations—all in that ancient tongue, weaving through her thoughts. A figure stepped into the moonlight at last—tall, ethereal, features blurring like smoke. It extended a hand, palm up, waiting. "Join," it murmured, voice like silk over blades. She backed away, pendant swinging from her entangled fingers. The grove constricted, oaks creaking as branches lowered, caging her further. More figures emerged, circling, their eyes locking on her scar, on the pendant, on her face. They chanted in unison, the sound building to a crescendo that drowned her screams. Time stretched, each second an eternity of pursuit and evasion. Her breaths came in gasps, vision blurring from tears or fatigue. One figure drew closer than the rest, its breath frosting the air between them. Fingers—long, bony—reached for her wrist, tracing the scar with deliberate slowness. Pain flared, old memories surging: the childhood fall, the blood, the fear. But this touch dug deeper, unearthing something buried. "Remember," it whispered. She jerked free, stumbling into the wildflowers. They wrapped around her ankles now, vines tightening like ropes. The pendant flared once more, hot enough to blister. She hurled it toward the figure, chain snapping taut mid-air, yanking her forward instead. Pulled into the circle's heart, she fell to her knees. The cracks yawned wider, warmth rising from below—inviting, insidious. Hands emerged from the earth, grasping at her clothes, her hair. Not pulling down, but holding, caressing. "Home," the voices sighed, a symphony of longing. She fought, nails scraping dirt, but the grip strengthened. Eyes everywhere watched, unblinking. A final whisper brushed her ear: "Aurora no more." Darkness encroached, not from above, but from within—the grove's influence seeping into her veins, syncing with her pulse. She clawed at the ground, fingers finding the pendant's chain. With a wrench, she snapped it free, gem skittering across the grass. The figures recoiled, hissing. The hands released her, retreating into the cracks. She scrambled up, lungs burning, and ran for the stones again. This time, the path held straight. Branches parted reluctantly, thorns nicking her skin. She burst through, collapsing onto the park's familiar path. Behind her, the grove's boundary sealed, but the whispers lingered in her mind, faint echoes promising return. Her watch ticked normally now: 11:48 PM. Only a minute gone. But the pendant—lost? No, it hung around her neck again, cool and innocent. She touched it, scar throbbing. The night stretched on, London humming distant and unaware.