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Teal shadows remind me of eyes in precisely the same shade, the irises gentle and comforting.

Cove.

My chin trembles. I glimpse past the oaks to the path I’d taken here. It had begun with The Faerie Triad, the dividing line between my world and this one, where an oak, ash, and hawthorn stand sentinel. Then my route had continued into The Colony of Fireflies, where floating insects glow among the yews. Beyond all that, the spot where I had said good-bye to my sisters less than minutes ago resides.

I lock my jaw. I don’t have the time or luxury for bereavement. Cove and Lark are gone, taken from me and parceled out into their own horrors. Worrying about them won’t benefit any of us.

My fingers grip the crossbow’s trigger. Perspiration beads across the nape of my neck. Three steps into this trek, and a predator has already made its proximity known. I gauge its direction, estimating from which recess it will appear, at which degree to aim my weapon. One pull, and the bolt’s iron will accomplish the rest.

True, this is hardly the wisest precedent to set. Fauna are sacred here, I’ve only just arrived in this woodland, and felling one of its inhabitants will do me no favors among its kin. However, if up against a famished animal, I’d prefer to keep possession of my limbs. Most especially, my cranium.

Only shoot if it attacks, I remind myself.

Only shoot if I have no choice, I lecture myself.

Several twigs snap to my right. The noise bites into the silence. My breathing accelerates as I fight to keep the crossbow steady.

A gargantuan silhouette disturbs the underbrush. Offshoots crack beneath an unseen girth, the noise splintering through the weald. The sound lacks the telltale reverberation of paws, as well as the scrape of talons. Rather, it’s the punch of hooves.

Bushes quaver out of the animal’s way—east of this trail, thirty paces off. The ground continues to shake, jostling my boot soles. I sink onto my belly, my archery poised, and peer into the vegetation.

How many times have I been in this position? How many times since I was six years old? How many times have I regretted it?

Candles perch along the branches, as if they’ve germinated from the boughs organically. Flames bud from the wicks, sprinkling auroras of gold that penetrate the teal darkness with faint light. It’s not enough to illuminate minute details, but it’s enough to strike true.

The hedges split. The creature stalks forward, one hoof crushing a toadstool and squishing the fungus to a pulp. Fables almighty. I keep still, hold my breath.

I can do this. I grew up doing this.

I have read a thousand comprehensive pages about the fauna of this domain. I know every meticulous fact and cautionary tale and—

The shadow launches at me, tearing through the shrubs. I disarm, leap aside, and roll across the earth. Muck clogs my mouth, the putrid taste of feces assaulting my palate. I hack up the mire, snatch my weapon from the grass, and vault to my feet.

The animal turns and gallops my way again. It’s some predatory metamorphosis of equine, the entirety of its shape indecipherable despite the oaks’ candles.

I race through the trees. The massive figure pounds toward me, its panting breaths pumping through the wild. My heels slip across a puddle of sludge, and I stumble into a creeper that snatches my hair. I yelp, fist the lock, and give it a tug. The instant those threads rip from my scalp, I flee.

My cloak flares around me, the hood thumping. I check over my shoulder, then swivel as a bulbous tree root materializes. I skid on my heels too late. My toe catches on the root, and the world careens, broadleaves wheeling in my vision. I tumble down a dry ravine while bracken slashes my skin.

The slope evens out, and my body rolls to a stop. I cough up gritty lumps of soil, my lungs burning. My crossbow, quiver, and supply pack lie on the ground beside me. I totter to a sitting position, stunned that I hadn’t broken a bone. Then I swerve toward the incline, but the animal is nowhere in sight.

At the ravine’s base, the original path emerges. It weaves into a candlelit cluster of towering oaks, fallen acorns, and teal toadstools, white dots speckling the spongy, phallic caps.

The visuals hone my senses, pulling me from my stupor. I can’t have returned to the path that easily. At this juncture, I should be lost.

Yet the strum of music hints otherwise. The sumptuous glide of strings filters through the branches, causing leaves to flutter in tempo. The tune teases my skirt, sidles up my spine, and strokes into my ear.

One must always beware of glamour. I rise and inventory my defenses. My clothes are inside-out, so that’s taken care of. As an extra preventative, I reach for my pack. Extracting a string of dried hawthorn berries, I shove them into my skirt pocket, which…does nothing to staunch the enchanted melody. The notes keep pouring from their source like blood from a wound.

My face scrunches into a glower. There must be an explanation.

At all times, humans must be polite to Faeries. Hence, it’s rude to keep them waiting, especially if that human is a prisoner. I withdraw an envelope from the opposite pocket, unfold the leaflet, and reread the contents.

For your trespass, be our sacrifice—to surrender, to serve, and to satisfy. Under the vicious stars, three sisters must play three games.

Bookish Juniper, your task is delightfully sinful. Mind the trees. Touch the roots. Hunt your fears. Chase your desires. Miss your target. Hit your mark.

Welcome to The Solitary Forest.