I kept walking long after the clearing disappeared behind me, yet the memory of it clung to my thoughts in a way that felt almost personal, like the world had reached out, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "By the way, here is a lesson you absolutely did not ask for, but you are getting it anyway."
My steps were steady, not rushed, because running would mean I was scared, and I refused to give that thing the satisfaction of knowing it had unsettled me. I was unsettled, obviously, but there is a difference between feeling something and admitting it out loud. Dignity is a fragile thing, and mine was already hanging by a thread after I willingly paid what was essentially a supernatural tax.
I let out a slow breath and glanced down at the pouch in my hand, weighing it slightly, hoping against all logic that it would somehow feel heavier than before. It did not. It felt exactly like it should feel after being used as bait for a greedy, invisible nightmare.
