She rubbed her ankle, telling herself it could have been worse, then tugged the buckle loose. They were architectural marvels of impracticality—silver straps, thin as harp strings, with heels that tapered to points no wider than her smallest finger.
The tendon above her heel throbbed, and a pebble lodged between her toes. She flicked it into the dirt and dropped the shoe.
Clutching a thick vine for balance, she switched feet, but her unsteady hands made it difficult to work the tiny buckle. The ground was alive with obstacles, roots that grabbed and stones that shifted. Cold mud sucked at her soles as she unevenly steadied herself.
Frustrated, she yanked the thin, decorative strap, and it snapped loose. The shoe dropped to the ground, and she stilled at the sight of her scraped hands.
Blood.
The longer she stood, the more reality slipped in. Aches and scrapes. The actual list of risks and possible damages continued to grow.
She debated removing her pantyhose as branches cut into her arms and snagged her hair. A cool breeze sifted through the leaves, and she stilled, barely breathing.
The shadows shifted. Salt wafted from the invisible coast, catching the gardens’ perfume. She could smell the sea, but beyond the gardens, everything was black.
A chill rushed down her arms. The temperature had dropped.
Laughter rang out as a hunter approached from several meters away.
Daisy’s back stiffened. She stood perfectly still, silently, pushing her abandoned shoes aside with her toe. A tiny spider lowered from a web, weaving up and down mere inches from her eye, but she couldn’t risk moving to swipe it away. How many other things crawled close by? On her?
Her heart raced as the hunter passed. He swallowed back the last drop from a crystal tumbler, then threw it like litter into the gardens. His white mask caught the light, and Daisy’s breath hitched.
Tannhäuser.
His shirttails hung loose, and his jacket was gone. Had one of those bells tolled for him?
She shivered, and her weight shifted. The delicate snap of a twig underfoot cracked like a small bone.
Tannhäuser stilled and scanned the gardens.
Daisy stopped breathing.
His bright blue eyes molested every shadow, slow and thoroughly, then he moved on to the path.
Letting out a shaky breath, Daisy pressed a hand over her racing heart.
Too close.
She wasn’t safe here. She wouldn’t be safe until she found the green glow that would lead her to the grotto. She slipped out of the hedges with crisp, precise steps, striding quickly through puddles of moonlight towards cover. The grass was wet with evening dew, glittering blades that shined like tiny knives.
A shrill scream cut off with a masculine growl, and Daisy flinched. The shred of fabric cut through the air with visceral implication, but there was no time for sympathy.
She would feel everything tomorrow. The physical. The emotional. The shame of not risking herself to help others. The constant reminder of her inferiority here that would likely haunt her for the rest of her life.
“No, no, no—please!” A tribute screamed then sobbed.
The bell in the tower clanged again.
Another capture.
They were powerless here.
Risking herself to help others would only get her caught. The cost was too high, but the moral deficit she’d inherit from this night would play out for years to come. Her complacency had already begun mutating into unbearable shame.
Another bell. Each one a gut punch of awareness that lingered long enough to never let her forget the price others were paying while she ran away.
Her head filled with muddled thoughts. Guilt. Confusion. Fear. Urgency. Uncertainty. Panic. Terror.
