Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMEQYWFTHCSFBKYRZDHA39K

The evening's moonless darkness swallowed Rory as she approached the significance of the Fae Grove. The chill wind rustled through the trees as if they had a life of their own, whispering. Shadows darted at the edges of her vision, gone as soon as she turned. Rory's skin crawled, an icy primal fear perilously close to the surface. All around her, the forest breathed, echoing her every step. Here, just beyond their edge, a terrible wrongness raised the hairs on her arms. Something lurked. She felt it, watching, waiting... Rory's breath clouded the air in little bursts of white as a deeper cold seeped into her bones. Her instincts screamed at her to turn back, get out while she still could. Whatever this place was, it was still very much awake. It saw her. Hungered for her. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself forward. Got to the Grove, find out what the heartstone wanted, then book it out of this nightmare park. Rory pushed onward, sweat-soaked hair plastered to her neck, until the ancient oak standing stones loomed before her. They pulsed with power, energy crackling over her skin. Rory stepped between the sentinel trunks and the Grove swallowed her whole. Her breath dug into her throat, pulse thrumming in her ears. At the center of the clearing, an otherworldly mist rolled in, obscuring the ground. And there, in the center, a figure beckoned to her, hooded and faceless. "Malphora..." The voice rippled through her mind, her name spoken in a way it never was before. Ravenous. Possessive. The hairs on her arms stood on end. That's when the shrieks pierced the night. Rory flung a startled glance over her shoulder as crazed laughter echoed through the trees. Her nostrils flared, breath thick in her throat, heartbeat raging. There were eyes in the mist now, dozens, hundreds, faint and myriad as stars. They milled and swelled in the gloom, homing in on her. Something wet and apelike lumbered on all fours, dragging a twisted mass of bloody cloth. Rory stifled a scream, backing away. What the fuck was going on? This was wrong, all wrong. She had to get out, now! She whirled to flee, but hooded figure stepped into her path. Train her helplessness with a wave of his robed arm and suddenly the Grove vanished in a flash of eerie light and shadows. Rory found herself in a strange room, low to the ground, walls covered in pocked, lichen-stained stone blocks. Shadows undulated across them, too tall and mobile to be shadows, things had moved. Something shifted in her dorm, harnessed with strangled, tight chants to Axis Mundi: "Heartstone! Heartstone!" A tall dark robed figure stood at the far end, face obscured by a spouted hat. In the light of the twin moons, Rory glimpsed a long pleaed tunic, long-knuckled fingers with slimy, dangling scales. She choked on bile. Oh my fucking God, its feet had bent the wrong way. That's when Rory noticed she was naked, lying face down on some kind of table. The figure stepped closer, withdraw something ice-cold and razor-sharp from under his robes. Gooseflesh prickled Rory's arms, throat tightening. "The Mound shall be rebuilt," it rasped. That chant hit her, fastened with ropes, dragged across blood-soaked gravel. "The Grove must become again." Cold metal bit into her wrist, dragged down her forearm until her flesh parted and the welling blood oozed. Something slithered underneath her, transparent and skittering. Rory thrashed wildly and it lanced into her open wounds. Panic seized her. No, this couldn't be happening! She was going to die here, in some Godforsaken fae nightmare! Searing, cutting pain ripped through her as the thing burrowed in, carving a path... ... and then she woke with a strangled scream, damp with cold sweat, taut strings unused. She'd been dreaming. The archetypal digital clock across the room glowed 4:32. With a shaky breath, Rory ran a hand over her face, coming away from the falling pendulum of hair. That was... well that was quite a dream Smiling tightly, Rory reached up and ran her fingers over her pulsing throat; it didn't feel like she'd been screaming. Still shaking, she squinted blearily at the clock again. 4:38 - it had only been two minutes. Fuck it, sleep was a lost cause. Might as well get up and set a London Marathon attempt or something.