Aria
The forest doesn't start so much as it swallows.
One step past what used to be the hall of mirrors, and the ground changes. The stone turns to moss, and the air thrums against my chest like a breath. The trees rise out of fog, tall and pale, with their trunks smooth as bone. They stretch up forever, vanishing into light that isn't sunlight at all. Every leaf glows faintly, and the sound of the wind is wrong. It whispers names instead of rustling the leaves.
The others fan out behind me. No one speaks. The Herald's command still echoes in my head: Return with one rabbit and only one.
White shapes flicker in the mist ahead. Too quick to follow.
Violet presses forward under my skin, scenting the air, trying to catch the scent of rabbits, but it is impossible. Everything
