Thump-thump-thump! Nora's feet pounded through the forest floor, the sound cutting through the quiet night. She didn't care about the noise, not this time. Let him hear her. Let him come. Let him drag her back. She had gotten used to her limbs snapping the wrong way and then snapping back together once he gave her that repulsive vial. Just thinking about it made her gag. After years of ingesting it to help her train, she never thought she would come to hate that ruby liquid and its salty and tingling sting.
The night was heavy and suffocating, just as it always was. The sky held no crescent moon or stars to guide her. There were no howls from wolves, no hisses from snakes. Only the steady hum of crickets and the soft murmur of the stream she had splashed through earlier. Her bare feet sank into the muddy ground, slipping on wet leaves as she stumbled into the flower field. Petals brushed her shins, but their gentle touch only made her skin crawl.
"Think," she rasped, nails digging into her scalp. Blood welled where she tore a clump of hair free. "There must be a pattern. A way out."
But her mind felt empty. The darkness gave her no answers, only silence. She fell to her knees, soft pollen coating her lips. She tasted their sweet nectar, but it did not delight her. The emptiness pressed down on her, not with anger but with cold indifference—a mirror to the hollow pain in her chest.
She dragged herself through the field, crushing flowers beneath her. At the edge, she knelt and began tearing the soil out of frustration or perhaps trying to dig her way to freedom.
Tunnels? Caves? Anything at all, anything that could offer her escape. But the ground was hard, cold, and unyielding. It bit back, splitting her nails and ripping her skin.
Hopeless and futile, she pushed herself up, looking back at the flowers she had destroyed. They lay bent and broken, almost as if they were mourning her defeat.
The water sliced through her ankles like glass shards. She waded upstream, stones slick beneath her soles, hands groping blindly for overhanging roots to steady herself. Follow the current. It must lead somewhere. She clung to the thought like a lifeline. But the stream twisted back on itself, leaving her in the same bed she'd started. A snapped branch bobbed mockingly in the water—the one she had broken earlier.
"Aaaaah!" she screamed, hurling a rock into the darkness. It struck nothing.
Desperation drove her back to the cottage. She scaled the rotting porch, her fingers plunging into termite-riddled wood. She stumbled around the house, clawing at the walls, searching desperately for a hole, a crevice—any way out.
All she found were rats scurrying in the dark. Above her, the window glowed faintly, cracked and half-open. It mocked her, its faint light revealing shadows shifting within. A floorboard groaned.
She froze, but nothing. He didn't come for her. Her chest tightened. She felt like a mouse in the cat's den, every nerve on edge, waiting for the predator to pounce. But this cat wasn't in a hurry. He liked to watch—to toy with his prey.
The waterfall roared ahead. She edged along the cliff face. Just. Keep. Moving. But the rocks grew smoother. Her grip failed.
SPLOOSH! The water struck her lungs. She strove her way to the pond's edge, gasping and choking. Her heart pounded wildly as she waited for the inevitable—rotting fingers tangling in her hair, a crushing blow at the back of her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the pain.
But it didn't come. Not this time, either.
She opened her eyes slowly, staring into the void, disappointed. She had been waiting for it—craving the slap, the crack, the break. Anything to jolt her back, to prove that she was alive. Or maybe, just maybe, to tell her that this was all just a dream.
She collapsed at the edge of the forest. The sweet fragrance of the flowers curled around her like mocking whispers. The snarling trees loomed above her, branches twisting into taunting gestures. Their voices spilled into her mind: "Claw all you want... worthless... no one's coming... your bones will be our playthings…""You'll never escape... the Dawn has forgotten you... You're ours now…""Worthless! Worthless!""No escape... We'll feast on your flesh... you'll be with us forever…""Worthless! Worthless!"
She gripped her head, the voices drilling into her thoughts, a torment she couldn't silence.
"AAAARRRGHHAHAAHHAHAHA!"
She whirled on the mocking flowers, tearing into them like a wild animal. Her hands clawed at their stems, ripping them apart, scattering petals into the air. She crushed them underfoot, burying their softness beneath her rage. She kept going—clawing, pulling, destroying—until nothing remained but shredded remnants of what was once beautiful.
Then it hit her.
The tears started slowly, rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto the mangled flower bed. Her fury dissolved, leaving her empty, utterly drained. She sank to the ground, curling herself into the dirt as though she was begging the earth to bury her whole. Around her, the ruined flowers seemed to cry with her, their petals scattered like echoes of her brokenness.
"There's…no way out."
The words clawed their way out of her throat, broken and hollow. She lay there, bathed in dirt, tears, and the ghostly wails of the crushed blossoms.
Dawn broke. A cold hand closed around her neck, its grip firm but unhurried. She didn't resist. Her body hung limp, her heels dragging through the mud like a lifeless doll. She had no fight left, no will to struggle. She wanted him to take her back, to end this endless torment.
"Tsk. You've made a mess," he muttered, dunking her head-first into the pond. Water flooded her nostrils. She didn't thrash or claw at him. She let it happen, her body yielding to the force as he put his hand on her.
Back in the damp room, he spooned stew into her mouth. She swallowed, eyes vacant, broth dripping down her chin.
"Good girl," he said, wiping her face with his sleeve.
Nora stared past him—through him—her reflection in the cracked window, a stranger's face.
Connor lingered, waiting for a spark. When none came, he struck her—a lazy backhand that barely rocked her head.
She blinked. Once. Slowly.
He left the room, leaving the door ajar.
Nora didn't move.
Outside, the false afternoon light glared, too bright to feel real. Somewhere, a bird called out—a sharp, shrill sound, like metal bending.
She closed her eyes.
Jareth is tracking the elixir in my blood. He's coming—he'd promised! Names came to her—Alan, Milla, Sylas, Emma. She whispered them like a prayer, holding on to the rhythm, grasping for something familiar.
Then, out of nowhere, Gerral's face appeared in her mind. His ever-present frown, his silly makeshift covering patched with magical flowers. She could still feel the way his hand held hers—soft and steady—even when everything else felt wrong.
A faint smile flickered across her lips.
That night, she bit her thumb until it came away red. She smeared a small streak beneath her pillow.
Find this, she begged his memory. Find me.