The next morning, Petunia set out for school, her head down, her steps quick and deliberate. She refused to look up, her fingers gripping the straps of her bag as if holding onto reality itself. It's not real. It's not real. It's not real. She chanted the words under her breath, each repetition a desperate attempt to anchor herself.
The world around her blurred into a tunnel of pavement and shoes. She didn't dare lift her gaze, didn't want to risk seeing them again—the flickering figures, the impossible shapes lingering at the edges of her vision. If she ignored them, they would disappear.
Then, halfway to school, her foot caught on a stray twig. The fall was sudden, knocking the breath from her lungs as she landed hard on the ground. Her hands scraped against the rough pavement, but she barely noticed. Because for the first time since she'd left the house, she was forced to look up.
And there they were. She gasped, her chest tightening as dread surged through her. Tiny, winged creatures flitted through the air, their delicate forms glowing softly in the morning light. A translucent figure—tall, drifting, weightless—stood by a lamppost, its face obscured, its presence undeniable. Petunia squeezed her eyes shut. No. No. No. Not again. Heart pounding, she willed the images away. When she opened her eyes again, she expected them to be gone. But instead, a small, fairy-like creature hovered right in front of her.
It was no more than a few inches tall, its wings humming with rapid beats. Its large, curious eyes locked onto hers, its expression unreadable. Petunia screamed, the creature screamed back—a high-pitched, startled shriek, its delicate wings fluttering in a panic. It flailed midair, nearly tumbling backward as if her reaction had been the most horrifying thing it had ever seen. For a fraction of a second, they just stared at each other, both frozen in mutual terror.
The creature screamed back. A high-pitched, startled squeal, its tiny arms flailing in the air as if she were the horrifying thing in this situation. For a heartbeat, they both just stared at each other—two beings frozen in shared terror.
Then Petunia bolted. She turned on her heel and ran, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She didn't care where she was going, didn't care that her bag was slipping from her shoulder—she just needed to get away. Branches whipped against her arms as she veered off course. The familiar streets of town blurred past her. She turned at a corner without thinking, feet pounding against dirt instead of pavement, the ground uneven beneath her hurried steps. She didn't realize her mistake until it was too late. The town was gone. The towering trees of the old forest stretched endlessly before her, their gnarled roots twisting over the ground like skeletal fingers. The air here was different—colder, quieter, thick with something she couldn't name. Sunlight barely filtered through the dense canopy, casting the world in fractured shadows.
Still, she ran.
Her breath tore through her throat, each gasp ragged and desperate. Her legs burned. Her vision swam. But she didn't stop—not until exhaustion finally caught up with her.
Her knees buckled. She collapsed against the base of a tree, curling into herself. The silence pressed in, thick and unbroken, except for her own heaving breaths. Her shoulders shook as tears slipped down her cheeks. She buried her face against her arms, her body trembling uncontrollably.
"It's not real," she whispered hoarsely. "It's not real. It's not real."
A twig snapped. Petunia froze.
The sound wasn't distant. It was close. Too close.
The silence deepened, turning heavier—charged. The air itself seemed to shift, thickening like mist rolling in before a storm. Something was here.
She could feel it. Then she heard something—a soft rustle, a presence nearby. She didn't open her eyes, her body tensing, her breath hitching as she tried to make herself smaller, her chant growing quieter, more frantic. "It's not real, it's not real." The sound came closer, a gentle step, a faint shimmer in the air, and after a moment, she knew someone—or something—was standing in front of her, the air around her shifting with its presence. She refused to open her eyes, her fear holding her in place, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. A presence loomed over her—vast, ancient, and watching.