I tried to keep myself awake by running through every lesson, every trick she’d drilled into me until it lived in my soul.
But sleep came anyway.
Not like a gentle thing … but like the ground giving way beneath my feet.
Sunlight spilled through the trees, warm and golden, threading between the leaves like spun silk. Wildflowers carpeted the forest floor in bursts of violet and light blue, their scent thick and sweet in the air. The light was soft, almost tender, and the breeze that brushed my skin carried the faint sound of laughter.
My parents’ laughter.
“Helena!” my mother called, her voice bright and lilting, echoing through the trees. “Come along, little star!”
My heart jolted. I turned toward the sound, squinting through the dappled sunlight until I caught sight of two familiar figures just ahead on the path.
“Wait!” I called, breaking into a run. “Wait for me!”
They didn’t stop, only moved deeper into the forest, their laughter weaving through the rustling leaves. Sunlight spilled around them, too bright to look at directly. I pushed through the ferns, heart pounding, petals and pollen clinging to my legs.
“Mother!” I tried again, breathless now. “Father, please—”
They finally stopped walking and turned.
For a heartbeat, they were still the parents I remembered. Then the light shifted.
My mother’s smile stretched too wide, the corners of her mouth splitting to reveal thorns where teeth should have been. My father’s hand reached for me, and I saw the vines coiling through his flesh, blooming from beneath his skin. Roses burst open along his arm, red and wet, dripping petals that looked far too much like blood.
The air grew cold. The forest’s colors darkened, every blossom suddenly withering away. The laughter hadn’t stopped—it just wasn’t theirs anymore. It came from everywhere at once, a rustling chorus that shivered through the leaves.
I stumbled back, heart clawing at my ribs.
A thorn-covered vine brushed my ankle, curling gentle as a caress. Then it tightened.
I screamed and tore myself free, but more vines were already reaching through the flowers, green turning to black as they slithered toward me, snapping around my ankles as I stumbled forward. Blood slicked my leg, warm and sticky, but I didn’t stop—I ran.
The forest spun around me, the trees twisting, trunks veined with something that pulsed.
Behind me, the voices chased.
“Helena,” my father called, soft and crooning, his voice shaped exactly like memory—but it was wrong. All wrong.
“Come back to us,” my mother sobbed, her voice syrup-thick and rotting-sweet, the sound of comfort turned to poison.
“No!” I shouted. “Stop—stop talking! You’re not real! Go away!”
My knees gave out and I crashed to the ground, palms slamming into dirt and stone. The impact jarred up through my elbows, rattling my skull. Rocks tore into my skin, breath punching from my lungs in a ragged gasp. I tried to scramble up, but the world spun sideways, and the forest floor pressed hard against my cheek, cold and unyielding.
Everything went silent. There was neither wind nor whispering. Just a thick, unnatural stillness pressing down on everything.
My eyes flicked open.
I was curled beneath a tree, bark digging into my spine, dirt packed beneath my nails. Something wet pressed against my back, and I glanced up, my eyes widening as I watched the bark pulse with a slow, sick heartbeat. My stomach turned and I shifted and reached back for balance. I brushed the bark and immediately jerked my hand back, staring at it in disbelief.
Red streaked my fingers, clinging to the lines in my skin. Frowning, I rubbed my fingers together. It wasn’t sap. It felt too warm, too wet. Almost like … blood.
My head snapped toward the tree.
Crimson was seeping from the grooves in the bark, winding through the ridges like veins, dripping in macabre tears to the forest floor. A thick droplet welled where I’d touched, rolling down the gnarled trunk. It hit the ground with a soft pat.
Then another formed. And another. Steady and endless, like it had wounds I couldn’t see.
