Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8ES6G7YTWX7840E0BN725

Aurora Carter stepped over the gnarled roots curling like serpent tails across the gravel path, her breath fogging in the cold London night. The Heartstone Pendant dug into her palm through the thin lining of her delivery bag—a rough thumbnail-sized gemstone, its crimson depths pulsing with a warmth that had drawn her here. She’d traced its glow for hours, following it through Richmond Park’s skeletal trees until the path frayed into nothingness. Now, the ancient oaks loomed close, their trunks knotted into impossible spirals, marking the threshold of the Fae Grove. She paused, pulling her coat tighter. The air here tasted different: sweet and metallic, like blood on ripe fruit. The park’s usual nocturnal chorus—the rustle of pheasants, the distant bark of a fox—had gone silent. Only the whisper of her own breath and the dull thud of her pulse filled the void. She checked her phone. No signal. Of course. The pendant’s heat intensified, and she exhaled sharply. *Hel portal. This is why I’m here.* Her fingers brushed the scar on her left wrist—a habit when nervous—and she stepped into the clearing. The Grove unfolded before her, a pool of unnatural stillness. Wildflowers bloomed in thick carpets, their petals iridescent under the moonlight, even though it was December. The standing stones—twisted oak trunks fused to the earth—glowed faintly, their bark etched with symbols that seemed to shift when she blinked. Aurora shivered. *Time moves differently here.* She’d read that in the old folklore books Eva had thrust at her after Evan—*“For your own good, love. Those Fae creatures don’t play.”* She clutched the pendant closer, its warmth seeping into her skin. According to Yu-Fei, it had been left on her restaurant counter weeks ago, wrapped in a note that simply read, *“Follow.”* Yu-Fei had scoffed, muttering about “bad omens,” but Aurora had recognized the desperation in the delivery address. Someone needed her here. A snap of twigs made her freeze. Her head swiveled, but the clearing was empty. “Hello?” Her voice sounded too bright, too small. The woods beyond the Grove gnashed their branches like teeth. She exhaled, chiding herself. *It’s just the wind.* She moved forward, boots sinking into the spongy earth. The pendant’s glow softened. She glanced at her watch—10:13 p.m. Normal time. She forced her steps to stay even. Then she heard it: a sound like laughter, low and wet, echoing from all directions. Her skin prickled. She spun, scanning the shadows. Nothing. Aurora crouched beside a cluster of stones, fingertips pressing into the soil. The symbols etched into the oak trunks pulsed faintly where her knees touched them. She felt a tug, a *pull*, and stood quickly. The pendant glowed brighter again, its warmth now urgent. She followed the light toward a gap in the trees where moonlight pooled like spilled milk. That’s when she saw the daisies. They bloomed in a perfect circle, each petal pointing inward. At the center stood a birch tree, its bark a sickly white, its branches fanning out like a hand. The pendant’s heat flared, and a low hum filled her ears. Aurora approached, her boots silent. Something about the tree felt *wrong*. The leaves didn’t rustle in the wind—they quivered, as if alive. She reached into her bag, fingers closing around a bottle of holy water Eva had insisted she carry. “I’m not afraid of you,” she muttered. Her voice wavered. A shadow flickered at her periphery. She turned. Nothing. Then, a flicker again—movement just beyond the Grove’s edge. A shape, tall and willowy, its outline bleeding into the trees. Aurora’s breath caught. Her hand flew to her scar, now throbbing in time with the pendant. The shape didn’t move, but she could feel it *there*, watching. “Come on,” she whispered, more to herself than the unseen presence. She pressed against the birch tree, its bark cool and slimy. The pendant’s glow intensified, pushing her forward until her palm was flat against the trunk. A heartbeat of stillness. Then the bark *shivered*. Aurora stumbled back as the tree split, its surface peeling like wet paper to reveal a glowing fissure behind it. The portal. The pendant’s warmth vanished. She reached for her phone again. 10:14 p.m. “Finally,” she muttered, stepping toward the light. But the figure moved then—a slow, fluid slide toward her. She could almost make out features now: too many joints in the limbs, eyes too far apart, a mouth that didn’t quite align with its face. It didn’t speak. It didn’t need to. Aurora froze, her back pressed to the birch tree. The portal pulsed behind her, inviting. The creature coiled closer. Her mind raced. Evan had left her in alleys once, whispered she was broken, useless. She’d escaped. She wouldn’t let this thing—this *thing*—make her feel that way again. She grabbed a fistful of wildflowers and hurled them. The figure didn’t flinch. Panic surged. She fumbled for the holy water, tipped it over her head. It hit the ground and *evaporated*. Her breath came in ragged gasps. The creature tilted its head. The pendant, still in her pocket, began to *cool*. Time shifted. She glanced at her watch. 10:15 p.m. The trees beyond the Grove now stood black and skeletal against a dawn-pink sky. Aurora had been here for *hours*. The creature stepped closer. Its mouth opened—and she screamed. The portal flared. A hand full of wildflowers, a scream, a fissure of light. When the Grove was found the next day, the wildflowers were brown and dead. The oaks stood silent. And in the soil between the roots, half-buried, lay a silver chain and a crimson stone, cold as a tomb.