The voice had been soft, almost tender, yet it set my skin crawling.
My fingers curled around the door handle. It was warm—like the scarf had been—too warm to be natural in a dead world.
I took a breath, pressed down, and stepped through.
The change was instant.
The air was thicker here, carrying a scent that was neither rot nor dust nor the metallic tang I'd grown used to. It was floral. Sweet. Like walking into a meadow in spring.
But there was no meadow.
Instead, I stood on a narrow wooden bridge, suspended over what looked like a black, glassy lake. Above me, a ceiling of stars shimmered, impossibly close, each one pulsing faintly as if alive.
The bridge stretched ahead, leading to a shoreline of white sand that glowed faintly, as though lit from beneath.
Somewhere far off, faint music played—soft, stringed, and hypnotic.
My first step onto the bridge made it sway gently, though there was no wind.
Halfway across, I stopped. Something moved in the water below. A ripple, slow and deliberate, as if something enormous had just turned over.
I kept going.
The white sand crunched under my boots when I reached it.
And then I saw them—footprints. Small, narrow, and fresh. They led from the end of the bridge to a grove of tall, pale trees.
I crouched, brushing my fingers over the impressions. The sand was still warm.
"Lena," I whispered.
No answer. Only the distant music, now louder.
I followed the trail into the grove. The trees had no leaves, only smooth ivory bark that seemed to absorb the starlight. Between them, the ground was carpeted with short, silver grass that whispered when I stepped on it.
At the center of the grove was a single chair, old and wooden, facing away from me.
A scarf hung over its back. Not the red one from the door—this one was pale blue, embroidered with the same faint silver thread.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the fabric—
The music stopped.
The silence was so sudden it rang in my ears.
I turned.
The footprints I'd been following… were gone. The silver grass behind me was untouched, as if I'd never walked through it.
Then I heard it—faint breathing. Not mine. Behind the chair.
I circled slowly.
The chair was empty.
The breathing stopped.
A whisper, close to my ear though no one was there, said: "You're late."
I spun, knife ready, but the grove was empty.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I backed away from the chair, keeping my knife up, scanning the pale trunks.
That's when I noticed the trees were closer together than before. Closing in.
The silver grass shivered—not from my movement, but as if something beneath it was passing underfoot.
The pale blue scarf slipped from the chair to the ground without a sound.
I didn't pick it up.
The starlight above flickered, and the air grew colder.
Somewhere in the distance, beyond the trees, I thought I saw movement—a shadow darting between trunks. Too quick to follow.
The music started again, faint, but the tune had changed. Slower now. Off-key.
The trees stopped closing in, but their trunks had twisted slightly, all bending toward me. Watching.
I turned toward the bridge.
It was gone.
In its place was only more grove, stretching into darkness.
The breathing started again, this time ahead of me.
And then I saw her.
Lena, standing between two trees, her face half-hidden in shadow. She didn't move, didn't speak.
"Lena," I said, taking a step forward.
She tilted her head slightly—an odd, almost animal gesture—and then turned, vanishing into the trees.
I ran after her, my boots silent on the silver grass, heart pounding.
The grove seemed endless. I caught flashes of her hair, the hem of her coat, always just out of reach.
Then I burst into a clearing.
In the center was a small table, identical to the one in the room before. Two chairs. A teapot. Two cups.
One cup bore the same lipstick mark.
The other… had my name etched into the porcelain.
And it was full.
Steam curled from the surface, carrying that same floral scent that had drawn me in.
I looked around. The grove was silent. No Lena.
The cup sat there, waiting.
A drop of condensation slid down its side and splashed onto the table.
From somewhere in the trees, Lena's voice drifted to me. Soft. Gentle.
"Drink."