The sun rose like a stranger in mourning, veiled behind thick gray clouds that cast no warmth. Vivienne walked the winding path beyond the manor, through the frostbitten forest where the trees arched like witnesses to her unraveling. The birds didn’t sing. The wind didn’t touch her. Even the sky seemed to hold its breath.
She didn’t know how long she walked—only that the mark on her collarbone had stopped burning and begun to hum.
A different sound now. Not pain. Not warning. Invitation.
Her boots sank into moss as she left the trail and veered into the thicket. The brambles didn’t scratch her. The gnarled roots didn’t trip her. The forest bent, subtly, to her path. Not kindly, but knowingly. As if she was not the first to follow this pull.
And maybe she wasn’t.
Ahead, something shimm
