But this? This is what regular couples do. Exist in moments that don’t require wondering if someone’s going to end up dead by morning.
The strange thing is, I’m not sure I want normal. The darkness that surrounds Blue isn’t what I’m enduring—it’s what I’m falling into willingly. There’s an intoxication in loving a man who can kill without hesitation but touches me like I’m made of glass. Who can teach me murder as casually as teaching someone to ride a bike. In being claimed by someone whose idea of romance involves corpses and midnight flowers.
I study his profile in the carriage’s dim light—the perfect line of his bearded jaw beneath that plague doctor mask, the way his free hand rests casually on his thigh, the controlled grace in everything he does. Even dressed as Death’s personal surgeon, he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.
Maybe especially because he’s dressed as Death’s personal surgeon.
“So this is how you normally travel to parties?” I ask, watching the trees pass by through the carriage window, his hand still warm in mine.
“Only the important ones.”
“And what makes this one important?” I adjust my wings so they don’t get destroyed against the seat back.
“You’re going.”
Jesus... this man may be perfect.
The Witchwood forest beyond Grimlock’s borders has been transformed into something that exists in the space between dreams and reality.
Bioluminescent mushrooms line every path through the trees, their caps glowing with ethereal blue light that pulses gently, creating the effect of a living constellation spread across the forest floor. The paths themselves seem to shift and change as we walk, the mushroom lights leading us deeper into woods that feel primordial and wild.
String lights hang from every branch—tiny bulbs that twinkle and flicker in patterns that seem almost choreographed. They’re strung at different heights, creating layers of light that weave between the trees. Some hang low enough to walk under, others stretch high overhead, and the overall effect makes the forest feel like it’s been wrapped in captured starlight.
But it’s the death moths that make the scene truly otherworldly. Hundreds of them flutter through the air, their dark wings marked with pale skull patterns that glow faintly in the mushroom light. They move in spirals around the string lights, creating shifting shadows that dance across the forest floor. Some settle on tree branches, their wings spread to display the intricate bone-white markings, while others drift between costumed guests like living omens that somehow make the celebration feel more magical rather than sinister.
Everyone is here, just as Blue promised, but dressed so dramatically I have to look twice to recognize faces. Dame Gothel has come as some kind of nature goddess, her hair woven with living vines and her dress formed of leaves that seem to grow and morph as she moves. Dr. Finch is a mad scientist, complete with goggles anda coat covered in mysterious stains. Duffy has dressed as a forest sprite, which suits her auburn hair and mischievous grin perfectly.
Musicians play from platforms built into the trees themselves, their instruments creating melodies that sound like wind through leaves and water over stones. The music has no clear rhythm, but somehow everyone knows how to move to it, swaying and spinning in patterns that seem to come naturally.
“This is incredible,” I whisper to Blue as we make our way deeper into the celebration.
“Wait until you see the heart of it.”
We follow a path marked by mushrooms that glow brighter than the others, their light shifting from blue to purple to silver as we pass. Other costumed figures drift around us—a woman dressed as a raven, a man who appears to be made of bark and moss, someone in flowing robes that shimmer like water in the mushroom light.
The path opens into a clearing where the real magic happens.
The trees here form a perfect circle, their branches intertwining overhead to create a natural cathedral. In the center, a ring of massive mushrooms pulses with light so bright it’s almost blinding. The glow changes color, casting everyone in the clearing in shades of blue, purple, and silver that make them look like beings from another world.
People dance within the mushroom circle, their movements hypnotic and strange. Some dance alone, lost in the music and the lights. Others move in pairs or groups, their costumes blending together until it’s impossible to tell where one person ends and another begins.
“The Dryad’s Dance,” Blue says. “This is where the barrier between worlds is thinnest.”
As if to prove his point, the lights from the mushrooms suddenly flare brighter, and for just a moment, I swear I can see figures moving between the trees that aren’t wearing costumes at all. Tall, graceful shapes that seem to be made of moonlight and shadow, watching the human celebration with knowing eyes.
I blink, and they’re gone.
A figure approaches us, and it takes me a moment to recognizeElliott beneath his butterfly costume. His wings are enormous, iridescent things that seem to catch every color of light and throw it back transformed. His face is painted with intricate patterns that make his green eyes look otherworldly.
“Saylor! You look absolutely divine, my dear.” His compliment has that dreamy quality it always carries, but tonight it seems more appropriate somehow. “And Blue, perfect costume for you.”
“Elliott,” Blue nods. “How’s the party treating you?”
“Oh, it’s wonderful. Simply wonderful. The lights are speaking tonight, did you know? They’re telling stories about the time before time, when the trees were young and the world was wild.” Elliott’s painted face breaks into a smile. “Would you like to dance, Saylor? The mushrooms are calling for new partners.”
I glance at Blue, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod.
“I’d love to.”
