The shadows came without sound.
One breath, and Manon stood beside Rashien beneath the trees near the edge of the Veil. The next, Rashien was gone. No, she was gone.
The world flipped.
Manon's scream was swallowed by dark.
The magic that took her was old, older than the Seelie or Unseelie, older than Samera's first whisper. It dragged her across folds of space, not tearing her apart but undoing her, pulling threads of memory, self, soul.
And then it stopped.
She collapsed onto cold stone.
Not forest. Not sky. A cavern, vast and pulsing like the inside of a living beast. Roots curled from the ceiling like ribs. The air reeked of blood, bark, and desire. twisted and sharp.
"Manon," came a voice like fire remembering it was once a god.
She turned.
Vrogran.
Not fully flesh, not yet. His form shimmered, red bark for skin, thorns for veins, a mouth that twisted into something almost human. His eyes were the worst: not cruel, but yearning.
