Art RipleyGrimme.
The day stretched long as they rode, hooves pounding over the meadowland with the urgency of hunted prey. The sky was high and blue, the grasses tall and swaying, but no one remarked upon the beauty. Their silence carried the weight of Ellamerelda’s presence, a silence thick with fear and stubborn determination. Jihye kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, feeling every thud of her horse’s stride reverberate through her bones. The amulet in her pocket burned faintly, like a reminder that she still held something back, though she could not tell if it was a blessing or a curse.
As evening descended, the meadowland broke against the looming edge of the forest. Trees rose dark and twisted, their roots gnarled, their branches tangled together in a wall that swallowed the last rays of daylight. The air here was cooler and heavier. Rafael slowed his horse, raising a hand for the others to do the same. They came to a halt in a small hollow at the forest’s edge, a place where grass still grew thick but the shadows of the trees stretched long and deep.
“We’ll camp here,” Rafael said, his voice low but steady. “The forest is better entered with light at our backs, not darkness before us.”
They dismounted, unsaddling the horses and tethering them to graze. Caleb built a fire with brisk efficiency, though his hands trembled faintly with exhaustion. The stew from the night before was reheated in a small pot, but little was eaten. Each of them sat close to the fire, staring into it as though its warmth could shield them from what pressed unseen in the dark.
When it came time to sleep, Jihye lay curled in her cloak, listening to the steady breaths of Rafael and Caleb. The fire popped and crackled softly, the sound a rhythm against the night. Her eyelids grew heavy. She slipped into dreams without realising it.
And then she could not move.
Her eyes snapped open, but her body was stiff, her chest barely able to rise with each shallow breath. Panic flared in her throat. The fire still burned low, the trees still whispered with the night wind, but something was wrong. Something was here.
A shimmer parted the darkness. From the air itself, she emerged. Ellamerelda. More radiant than before, yet more terrible, her gown flowing as though made of moonlight and shadow, her smile curling with amusement. Her eyes shone like twin stars, bright and merciless.
“My little fox,” she crooned, stepping closer with impossible grace. “So far from home. So certain you can run.”
Jihye’s pulse thundered in her ears. She tried to shift, to call her fox, but nothing obeyed. Her limbs were heavy stone. Only her eyes darted, frantic and burning with defiance.
Ellamerelda leaned down, her silken hair brushing Jihye’s face. “You think yourself clever. You think yourself strong. But what are you, really? A stray child, cursed with a shape that does not belong. A trinket of fate, but no heroine. You are nothing without fear.”
Her fingers grazed Jihye’s cheek, cool and sharp as frost. “How sweet, how fragile. One word from me, and your companions would turn on you. One flick of my hand, and this fire would become your pyre. Yet I do not. Do you know why?”
Jihye’s teeth clenched, her jaw trembling with the effort. Her voice, when it finally tore free, was ragged but steady. “Because you’re bored.”
Ellamerelda’s smile widened, grotesque and gleaming with too many teeth. “Ah. Perhaps you are not so stupid.”
The pressure of paralysis grew unbearable. Jihye fought against it with every shred of her will, clinging to a single thread of thought: not a plaything, not broken. Her eyes closed, and in the dark of her mind, she reached inward, deeper than before. Past the fox. Past the fragile human skin. To something older, stranger, raw.
Her body convulsed. A crack echoed inside her skull. Her limbs stretched, elongated, nails sharpening into curved claws. Her hair writhed as though alive, and her eyes snapped open, glowing with an eldritch light. The paralysis shattered.
Jihye rose, no longer herself but something more, something terrible. A monstrous silhouette with limbs too long, claws gleaming like obsidian, teeth bared in a rictus grin that was not human. Her form swayed, limbs jointed wrong yet graceful, a shadow given flesh.
For the first time, Ellamerelda faltered. Confusion flared across her perfect features. Her lips parted, but no words came.
Jihye lunged.
Claws slashed through silk and radiance, tearing into the fae princess’s form. Ellamerelda shrieked, the sound both beautiful and horrifying, shaking the night air. She stumbled backwards, eyes wide in disbelief as Jihye tore at her, shredding the illusion of perfection into tatters. Each strike ripped through her glamour, revealing glimpses of something monstrous beneath.
“Enough!” Ellamerelda screamed, her voice cracking with fury. With a final wail, her form shimmered, fragments of light scattering like broken glass. She dissolved into mist, vanishing into the night with her scream still echoing in the hollow.
The world snapped back. Jihye staggered, her twisted limbs convulsing as they shrank, bones cracking as she collapsed onto the ground. Her skin burned, her body trembling as her eldritch form bled away into flesh. Pain lanced every muscle, and she cried out, curling into herself. The fire roared bright, casting harsh shadows over her shaking form.
Rafael and Caleb jolted awake. They rushed to her side, eyes wide in horror and confusion. Caleb reached her first, laying a blanket over her as she shivered violently. Rafael crouched low, his hand hovering over her arm as if afraid to touch.
“Jihye,” he said urgently. “What happened?”
She could barely whisper. “Ellamerelda.”
Her head lolled against the ground, exhaustion dragging her under. Darkness claimed her again.
When she awoke, dawn had broken. The fire was low, the air damp with dew. Caleb sat nearby, eyes red-rimmed, while Rafael leaned against a tree, deep in thought. Both turned as she stirred.
“You should not move,” Rafael warned. “You burned yourself near to breaking.”
Jihye forced herself upright, wincing at the pain that clawed through her ribs. “She came to me. In a vision, I think. But it was real. She froze me. Spoke to me. Tried to break me.”
“And you fought back,” Caleb said softly, awe mingling with fear. “I heard her scream. I saw your… your form.”
Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “She didn’t know.”
Jihye looked at him, confused. “Didn’t know what?”
“That you’re a shapeshifter. That you are more than fox. She was caught off guard. That’s why she fled.”
The thought sank heavily into the air. If a fae princess had been ignorant of Jihye’s nature, what else did that mean? What else might come from it?
“And now,” Rafael continued grimly, “you have drawn blood against royalty of the fae. They will not take this lightly. Their pride is eternal. Their grudges are worse.”
Caleb’s voice cracked. “Then what do we do? If she comes again—if the fae come—”
“We move,” Rafael interrupted. His voice was hard, final. “Through the forest. The wood elves claim this land. Their wards and laws may shield us from fae interference. It is the only chance we have.”
Jihye drew her cloak tighter around herself, staring at the looming treeline. The forest looked darker than before, more hostile. Yet within it lay their only hope. She swallowed hard, forcing her breath steady.
“Then we go,” she said.
The three rose, weary but resolved. Saddlebags were strapped, horses mounted, and with the fire stamped into ash, they turned their backs to the meadow. The gnarled branches reached for them like claws, but they rode forward all the same.
Into the forest. Into the shadow. Into whatever fate awaited them there.