Sarissa stood with her arms crossed at the perimeter of the Shooting Star camp, her gaze fixed on the black line of trees that marked the forest's edge. The darkness beyond its mouth swirled with the promise of something unseen, and the air had shifted again.
She didn't like it.
Even more now that, somehow, she became able to discern the shifting, glowing lights of the words carved into the Stories that composed that forsaken place.
Because it wasn't a simple Story, comprised of cohesive words that made sense and could be read into. No…
The entire forest dripped with obscene, profane, dark words that she didn't even know the translation to.
The pressure had been wrong for hours now. Ever since Miles stepped through the forest line and vanished from sight, the weight in the air hadn't just remained. It felt like it had deepened.
She could feel it in the way her skin prickled, in the low buzz that hummed beneath her ribcage. Something fundamental was stretching, waiting to snap.
