“Do indulge me, Princess,” Abram sighs. “I’d love to know which series of poor decisions deposited you here.” he paws a book off a shelf, reading the back of the summary as it lands on the table.

  "I…" Amelie stutters for a moment, remembering what had last happened at home. "I was sleeping and when I opened my eyes back up I was here…" she lies.

  “Oh dear… strange how the world works,” he murmurs, pushing the book off the table and prepping to get the next. “Makes one wonder, doesn’t it? Are we here for a reason… or simply by accident? Perhaps some cruel little punishment for our sins.”

  I’ve been punished enough already, Amelie thinks, grabbing a new book from the shelf.

  "Do you believe in God, Princess?" Abram's tail wags. “Or do you think the world just… misbehaves for fun?”

  “Sometimes,” she says, barely above a breath, staring at the floorboards. "What are we searching for?" She changes the topic.

  Abram clears his throat. “I’ve been thinking,” Abram says, settling onto the floor with a sigh. “The gears on that blasted door… they’re all different colors. Very subtle, right? I take it that means something. So somewhere in these books, there are cogs to match, but which ones? That, my dear, is the question.”

  "How do you… get into the book?" She brings out her favorite novel.

  “You just open it, and… who knows?” he says, tail flicking. “It might pull you in… or spill the world out. I suppose I’ll show you soon.” He nudges another book onto the table with a paw.

  “Tell me, Princess… What was life like outside?” Abram asks, perching lightly on the table as he scans the book. “It’s been so long, I barely remember. No daylight here to mark the passing hours, of course.”

  Abram lowers his ears, voice softening slightly. “Surely… you must miss your family.”

  Her silence hangs heavy.

  Abram takes a deep breath, tail curling nervously around his paws.

  “You know… I wasn’t always a cat. I was a Prince… from the Emirate of Zarafah. I suppose I still am, in some sense… but it’s rather difficult to feel princely here.” He flicks his ears, voice dropping a notch. “I was drinking at… well, let’s just say I drank too much. I pushed myself too far. And then… everything went black. Next thing I knew, I woke up here.”

  Amelie tilts her head while looking at him, before returning to search the book shelf.

  “I entered my first book,” he starts, “one about a duck crossing a river, and I… uh… didn’t make it across. I remember my final breath in that story… and then I woke up back here, gasping for air. Only… the air was a lot more… fur-laden than I remember.”

  "So when you die you become a cat?" Amelie asks.

  "Goodness, no. That’s a dreadful misunderstanding of both death and cats. I imagine the books punish failure,” Abram says, tail flicking. “Though the severity varies. They’re rather creative about it.”

  It's no worse in there than out here, Amelie thinks.

  “I’m fairly certain that sparking computer by the librarian could tell us which books we need. Making it work, however… is not my specialty.”

  All of these books are very bland, most not being above surface level thoughts. How would they ever be able to gauge which book could solve a broken computer based off of nothing?

  He lays his paw on Amelie's bag. "That book, it's far too clean for this library, did you bring it with you?"

  Amelie nods.

  “Adorable,” he mutters. “Safe, too, I’d wager. Perfect for a first lesson. Now then. Onto the table, Princess.” he paws the table. "Deep breath now."

  Amelie takes a deep breath, flipping over the hardcover front and closing her eyes…

  The sound of the flaring torches dies away, taking Abram’s warmth with it. Something in her chest tightens. She opens her eyes, but the dark doesn’t leave. It stays, thick and soft, like being wrapped too tightly in a blanket she can’t push off. Her stomach flips, and she can’t tell if she’s falling or floating.

  Then it happens all at once. Color and noise detonate into her senses. Yellow, blue, red, too bright, too fast, tear through her vision as a monstrous roar, like an ungodly tornado trapped inside her skull, drowning everything else out.

  Pain spikes through her chest. Her body jerks violently as she sucks in air, snapping awake in a soft bed that does nothing to soften the shock. Her lungs burn as breath crashes back into her, like she’s been ripped out of drowning and thrown into the world.

  "Good morning, Princess." a black cat strolls into her chambers, Abram, now boasting a white, regal collar. "Now this is more my atmosphere."

  She lays on a large, king-size bed, the canopy a soft swirl of pink fabric that drapes elegantly around the frame. The grey stone walls are almost entirely hidden beneath rich, embroidered tapestries, each one delicate and feminine: flowering gardens, fluttering birds, graceful maidens in flowing gowns, and shimmering streams winding through sunlit meadows. She wears a simple linen chemise beneath a laced corset and linen underdrawers, the soft fabrics brushing her skin. Heavy velvet curtains hang over tall, narrow windows, filtering the sunlight into warm, golden stripes across the floor. A carved oak chest sits at the foot of the bed, polished but worn with age, and the air carries a faint scent of lavender and beeswax.

  “M’lady, are you awake?” A flurry of women in blue servant dresses rush into the room, carrying a gown, soaps, and other necessities. “Today is a big day! It’s time to get you ready!” The eldest beams warmly, her hands clasped in excitement.

  "Suitors from all over the lands are coming today to propose to you and your sisters." She scrubs Amelie's back with a brush as she sits bare inside a wooden tub.

  "Today could be the start of a new life for you," another girl brushes her hair.

  Suitors. Proposals. A new life. The words swirl around her, light and meaningless. She doesn’t care. People… they never really mattered much. Not the people she's met at least. She’d rather stay in the quiet corners of a book than be dragged into their smiles and heads.

  She moves to the far end of the balcony, positioning herself beside her “siblings and parents.” The king and queen stand statuesque, eyes piercing into the crowd below, which feels endless, thousands of gazes fixed upward, heavy and demanding. Amelie closes her eyes, wishing desperately that she could vanish into the nearest shadow, melt into nothing.

  Below, a path opens. Carts roll forward in a slow line, each one carrying suitors eager to speak, to impress, to claim. The clatter of wheels and the shuffle of feet reverberate up to the balcony, pressing against her chest like a weight she can’t escape.

  “The confidence these people must have… it’s like a… well, I suppose this isn’t real, is it?” Abram tilts his head, paw brushing lightly at the balcony railing.

  “I could never be with someone,” Amelie says bluntly, letting the words hang.

  Abram blinks at her, curiosity sparking in his eyes. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, lost for words, as one of the men below steps forward to speak.

  “Your Majesty, noble Queen and King, and to the Lady of this court, Princess Elowen, I come with utmost respect. I am Lord Kaelen of the Duchy of Virelia, from the northern reaches of our lands. My heart has long admired the grace and virtue of your daughter. If it pleases you, I would humbly offer my hand in marriage, and with it, my loyalty, my service, and all that I possess. I vow to honor her above all, to cherish her days with kindness, and to protect her as fiercely as I would my own life. May she find in me a companion worthy of her light.” the man kneels on the pavement.

  The king looks into his eyes with no give, and the man's confidence fades immediately…

  The day stretches on, and one by one, suitors approach the balcony, offer their speeches, bow, and leave. Not one turns toward her. Not one speaks her name. Relief blooms quietly inside her chest, soft and steady.

  She lets herself relax in the shadows of the grand room, the golden sunlight streaking across the tapestries and pink canopy. It’s strange… a part of her almost feels guilty, seeing the attention showered on her "sisters", while she remains invisible. But another part, her true self, breathes a little easier. People have never interested her, never tempted her. The pomp, the smiles, the eager hands stretched in promise, it all feels heavy, cumbersome, and she is thankful not to be touched by it.

  For once, she can simply watch. Watch her sisters, watch the parade of eager faces, and watch the world happen without being pulled into it. For once, she can just exist, tucked safely away in her own quiet corner.

  “Hm!” Amelie springs to her feet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Abram sees her smile.

  “Come!” she calls, jogging down the hall toward the exit.

  “C-come what! Ame- Princess, wait up!” Abram huffs, struggling to keep pace, tail flicking in exasperation.

  Amelie bursts from the massive gate, the kingdom’s stones receding behind her as she crosses the moat and disappears into the woods. Abram’s voice fades, lost somewhere behind the trees.

  She emerges into a sprawling flower field, golden light lingering even as the sun dips toward the horizon. Butterflies and moths alike flutter lazily above the blooms, their wings catching the sun like tiny sparks. Deer graze peacefully nearby, unbothered by her presence, and the air hums with a gentle warmth, carrying the sweet scent of petals and earth. The world feels impossibly alive, soft, and safe. Exactly the kind of space she has been craving.

  “Princess, you can’t just-” Abram huffs, finally catching up, tail flicking as he struggles for breath.

  Amelie lets herself fall backward, the soft grass cushioning her entirely. “It’s okay,” she says, smiling up at him. Somehow, that small, quiet smile seems to straighten his chest, easing the frantic rhythm of his breathing. “This is my favorite part of the story…” she murmurs, settling into the soft grass. “But I guess it’s not that time yet. Still… It's cool to see this place.” She holds out a finger, and a butterfly flutters down, landing lightly. Its wings shimmer faintly, catching the fading sunlight like a whisper of magic.

  Around her, the flowers seem to lean slightly toward her, and the air carries a soft, golden hum, as if the field itself recognizes her presence. Even the smallest movements, her hand brushing the petals, her breath stirring the grass, make the world ripple with quiet wonder.

  “So what happens before that, then?” Abram asks, flicking the butterfly away with a sharp swat of his paw.

  “Umm… Ah!” Amelie scrambles to her feet, brushing the grass from her sleeves.

  “No, no, no! At least carry me this… time…” Abram mutters, tail flicking in exasperation as he watches Amelie dash back out of the woods, disappearing into the field with unstoppable energy.

  Amelie darts through the cobblestone streets of the town, sunlight glinting off the rooftops, until she reaches a small, quaint candy store tucked between two timbered houses. The door creaks as she pushes it open, the scent of sugar and spice drifting out to greet her. Inside, only a young child and a small goblin peer eagerly into the glass displays, eyes wide with wonder at the confections.

  She dips her hand into her bag and pulls out a small, heavy pouch. Opening it reveals dozens of gold coins, gleaming dully in the soft candlelight, enough to buy whatever delights she fancies. A small thrill of anticipation flutters in her chest.

  The shop is tiny, no bigger than a single room in an ordinary house. Its walls are solid stone, cold and rough beneath the fingertips, while small, worn hide rugs lie scattered across the floor, muffling her footsteps. Only a few flickering torches on the walls light the space, casting long shadows that dance across the uneven stone. Around the room, a handful of wooden shelves lean precariously, worn with age, each holding an assortment of boxes filled with candies, spices, and small toys. The air smells of sugar, herbs, and old wood, a strange but comforting mix.

  “You’ve got to stop this immediately, Princess!” Abram huffs, striding back into the tiny shop. “I am not made for marathons, I can’t keep doing thi-… Ooh, what’s this?” His paw bats lightly at a glass container filled with small, snowy-white candies, eyes narrowing in intrigued delight as he examines them.

  “We have ogre feet over in Darshda, not this sweet fairy stuff,” the young goblin scoffs, eyes narrowing at the jars of candies as if they’re an insult to tradition.

  “Trust me, Amoud,” the child replies with a grin, patting the goblin’s back, “I’ll earn some coins somehow, and you’ll love these! This place won’t be all that bad…”

  Amelie notices the goblin has a five-digit number tattooed on the back of his head. Her eyes drop to his ankles, small chains binding them together.

  “Here.” Amelie holds a few coins over the child’s hand. He glances up at her, fear flickering in his wide eyes.

  “I-I’m sorry, miss… My mother… she’d be very upset if we sold him,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to the ground in apology.

  "I didn't…" she mumbles, but then takes a deep breath. “Grab a few pieces,” she says, putting the coins back in her pouch. “I’ll pay for them."

  Amelie reaches into the jar and carefully lifts a single candy: a Cloudmallow. Soft and pillowy, it seems almost weightless in her fingers, its surface shimmering like spun sugar caught in sunlight. It smells faintly of vanilla and mist, and holding it feels like holding a small, edible piece of the sky itself. A treat both delicate and magical, just like the stories she loves.

  Amelie carefully tucks a few more Cloudmallows into her bag for later, wanting to savor them when she has a quiet moment to herself. Then she grabs a handful of Twistling Pretzels, golden-brown pretzels swirled with sugar and faint sparkles, setting them aside for others she might meet along the way. A small, thoughtful gesture to share a little sweetness in the world.

  Amelie drops a few coins onto the counter, watching the child’s eyes widen.

  “Here,” she says softly. “Take good care of him… okay?”

  The child nods quickly, a mixture of relief and gratitude on his face.

  “Th-thank you, miss,” he murmurs, holding the candies close. The goblin glances up at her briefly, eyes wide, and a small, cautious smile tugs at his lips.

  Abram licks the last crumbs of chocolate from his whiskers, only a few Velvet Cocoa Truffles left in his pouch, as they march down the sidewalks of the kingdom as the sun is barely above the tall walls.

  “Ah… nearly gone,” he sighs dramatically, tail flicking. “Such decadence, Princess. Every bite… sublime. Truly, these truffles are the only things in this kingdom deserving of my attention. The rest, utterly pedestrian.”

  Amelie stops in place, tilting her head in sadness as she peers at the building to her side. A goblin market. The crooked sign above the door reads:

  “Trade, Toss, Triumph.”

  Inside, near-human creatures are bought and sold as if they were objects. But… What truly separates them from us? The question twists in her chest, heavy and uncomfortable.

  She stomps into the building, the door creaking ominously behind her. Inside, goblins of every shape, size, and gender are confined. Some in cages, others chained to the walls. Each holds a small object, a token of what they can do: brooms for housekeepers, tiny daggers for adventurers, pots and pans for cooks, and countless others.

  Most of them are worth no more than the price of a single meal, their lives reduced to coin and utility. Amelie’s stomach twists, but she says nothing, simply taking in the sight with quiet, detached eyes.

  "This wasn't in my story…" she mumbles.

  "Princess…" Abram lays his paw on her shoes as a sign of comfort.

  The goblin owner waddles over, fat and greedy, eyes glinting at her coins.

  “And how can I help you, little lady?” he asks, voice slick and eager, clearly sizing her up for profit.

  Amelie glances at him quietly, her fingers tightening over her pouch. She doesn’t answer right away, her gaze drifting to the chained goblins, small sparks of determination in her calm, detached expression.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "I need a messenger," she murmurs.

  The goblin owner’s eyes narrow, a sharp grin spreading across his face. “A… messenger, you say? Hah! You’ve got the coin, little lady? That’ll be a rare treat.”

  He leans closer, sniffing the air like a predator, clearly imagining the profit.

  The goblin owner snorts and stalks over to the cages. With surprising strength, he grabs a small female goblin in an old, tattered brown dress by the scruff of her neck and drops her unceremoniously in front of Amelie.

  “Introduce yourself, girl!” he barks, jabbing a finger at her chest.

  The little goblin blinks up at Amelie, eyes wide and trembling, clearly unused to anyone speaking kindly to her.

  Amelie crouches slightly, keeping her voice soft, letting her presence reassure the frightened creature.

  Amelie digs into her pouch and drops enough coins into the goblin owner’s grubby hand.

  “Keep the change,” she murmurs, voice calm, almost distant.

  The owner snorts, counting the coins, clearly pleased with the profit, and waves them off.

  Amelie takes the small goblin by the hand, giving her a gentle squeeze for reassurance, and without another word, she turns and hurries toward the door, pulling the little goblin along.

  The cages and cries fade behind them as they step out into the streets.

  “Where do you come from?” Amelie asks softly, reaching into her bag.

  The goblin doesn’t answer. She stops walking. Slowly, the girl begins to shake.

  Amelie kneels, placing a few pieces of candy into her small, trembling hand. “It’s okay…” she murmurs. “I can take you back, if you want.”

  “I was born here,” the goblin whispers.

  Something twists in Amelie’s chest. Not sadness alone, something heavier. The kind of hurt that comes from realizing some people were never meant to know anything else.

  “Okay…” Amelie murmurs. She notices a small group of goblins farther down the path, shovels in hand, shoulders hunched as they work.

  “Here,” she says, stepping closer. “A reward for your hard work.” She smiles, gently placing small candies into their palms.

  “Princess… I’m not sure this is such a great idea…” Abram warns, his ears flattening as he notices movement behind them.

  “Hey! Stop that at once!” a voice shouts.

  A guard rushes forward. The head guard strikes the candy from a goblin’s hand.

  The sound cracks through the air.

  It booms.

  Echoes.

  Booms again.

  The sharp smack rings inside Amelie’s head, over and over, louder than it should be. Her vision blurs at the edges, colors smearing together as the ground tilts beneath her. The guards’ voices fade into distant noise, stretched and warped.

  She feels stone against her back.

  Breathing hurts. Each breath is shallow, wrong, scraping at her chest…

  And then everything goes quiet.

  She snaps awake.

  Her bed. Her tattered comforter. Her chipped blue painted walls.. . Everything is where it should be, her shoes, her bag… everything but her book.

  A sound cuts through the quiet. Paper tearing. Slow. Deliberate.

  Amelie stumbles from the bed and out into the hall.

  Her father stands there, scowling, thick fingers ripping page after page from her book. The sound is brutal, final.

  “No!” Amelie screams, rushing forward. “Why!” Her own voice sounds like a giant, echoing and reverberating in her head.

  She grabs for it, clutching the ruined spine to her chest, her hands shaking as loose pages flutter to the floor like feathers.

  “Get back to your room!” he roars.

  He shoves her. Hard.

  The floor rushes up, and on the way down the back of her head clips a kitchen chair. A dull crack flashes through her skull, white and ringing.

  “I told you two,” he snarls, tearing another page free. “If she’s leaving, then everything she touched leaves too.” Paper rips. Again. “She broke this family apart…”

  Another page. Slower this time.

  “And you’re just like her.”

  He lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig. The rage drains from his face, leaving something uglier behind… tiredness… hollow…

  “I can’t stand this place anymore…” he mutters, shaking his head.

  Amelie stays on the floor, gripping the torn book to her chest, pages scattered around her like fallen wings. She doesn’t cry. She just lays there, and feels something inside her go very, very quiet.

  Amelie rubs the back of her head. When she looks at her hand, it’s covered in red.

  For a moment, just one, her father’s eyes soften.

  Then it’s gone.

  She blinks.

  Rough Stone. Cold winds. Daylight.

  Guards stand over her.

  “Don’t touch me…” she whispers, scrambling backward, palms scraping against the ground.

  “These noble girls…” one guard scoffs, shaking his head as the battalion turns and walks away.

  The street goes quiet.

  …

  "Are you okay, Princess?" Abram lays his paw on her cheek.

  She slows her breathing, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeves of her dress. When she looks up, a faint shine catches her attention from the alley beside her. A small ball of light drifts there, swaying gently. A fairy, maybe.

  Amelie stands as Abram speaks, but the words don’t quite reach her. The light moves away as she approaches, never rushing, only guiding, keeping the same pace she does. She follows it out of the kingdom, past the stone and noise, back to the soft grass where the air feels warmer. The light slows, then blooms into a tiny figure… a blonde fairy, smiling kindly as it motions for her to sit.

  Amelie lowers herself into the grass. The fairy flutters upward, higher and higher, until it disappears into the darkening sky.

  “Princess?” Abram climbs onto her shoulder. “Is everything-”

  “Shh.” She hushes him quietly.

  Night has fully settled now, and as the fairy’s light fades away, only the moon remains to illuminate the field. A gentle breeze passes through the grass, nudging the flowers back and forth, steady and unhurried, and with it Amelie feels herself begin to calm again.

  The flowers around her, once tightly closed, begin to stir. Their stems lengthen slowly, lifting just a little higher, as though waking from a long and careful sleep. One by one, their petals open, but there is no nectar waiting inside them. Instead, each bloom holds a soft, glowing light, dim and steady, like a breath being held.

  The light lingers. It gathers quietly, stretching upward until the small glows thin into pale beams. Without a sound, they all turn the same way, pointing together toward a large, weathered tree stump nearby.

  As the beams rest against its surface, something hidden begins to show itself. A door-shaped indent emerges from the wood, worn smooth by time, as though countless hands had once brushed past it, though none remain now.

  Amelie steps closer, careful not to disturb the quiet, and lays her hand against the opening. For a moment, nothing changes. Then the wood beneath her palm shifts, not suddenly, but as if it has noticed her and decided she may pass.

  The door slides downward, revealing a narrow staircase carved deep into the earth.

  Darkness fills the opening at first, thick and pressing. The steps vanish into shadow, stretching far below, too many to count. Yet somewhere deep at the bottom, far beyond where her eyes can follow, a gentle glow waits. Torchlight flickering softly, distant and warm, like something remembered rather than promised.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the cave opens wide. It is so vast it feels less like stone and more like a field hidden beneath the world, a place that was never meant to be seen all at once. The ceiling arches high overhead, disappearing into shadow, giving the space an endless, quiet feeling.

  Goblins move through the open space alongside humans. Fairies drift slowly through the air, their light muted. Tree-like beings stand in small clusters, rooted where they rest. Some trade in low voices, some work with careful hands, some sleep where they sit, and others simply remain still, existing together without question.

  The ground beneath Amelie’s feet is dark grass, soft and cool. At the center of the cave lies a wide pond, its surface smooth and undisturbed, reflecting the faint lights above. Tall trees rise around it, their branches heavy with hanging crystals that glow gently, casting pale reflections across the cavern.

  Along the edges of the cave, thick bushes form natural walls, blooming with fantastical flowers in colors that feel almost forgotten. It is beautiful, peaceful, and safe.

  And yet, standing there, Amelie feels small, like a visitor in a place that knows how to live without her.

  "Welcome, Amelie." A large, tree-like creature stops over to her. His steps are so heavy, but somehow soft and safe.

  "Hello?" Amelie says unsure.

  “I can feel the rage inside of you,” the voice speaks slowly, deep and steady, and though it should frighten her, it brings Amelie an unexpected sense of comfort. “You must learn to let it go, child.”

  A low sound follows, wood shifting against wood, as he reaches back toward his own form. Yet no leaves fall, and no dust stirs, as if even age itself is careful not to disturb him.

  “I can feel the weight you carry,” the old tree says. “You do not need to forget what was done to you,” he continues. “But you cannot keep holding it so close. Rage will keep you standing when you must, but it will not carry you forward. To live, you must learn when to loosen your grip.”

  “Let the past rest where it belongs. You are allowed to grow beyond it.” he whispers, his branch hand passing her a small, soft brown box.

  She lifts the lid. Inside rest a pair of small bear earrings, carved from hollow, dark wood. Their eyes are pitch black, and from each cheek runs a thin tear of blood, dark against the grain.

  Amelie’s breath catches, but she does not look away.

  “Thank you…” she whispers.

  The cave grows still. Every eye within it turns toward her, but she oddly does not feel judged.

  The old tree leans closer, the faint creak of his bark sounding like a slow breath drawn in.

  “Do not mistake softness for weakness,” he says gently. “The world hardens those who survive it, but only the soft remember why survival matters. Stay gentle, child, not so the world may spare you, but so you do not become the thing that hurt you.”

  "Why are you all down here? How did you know I was coming?" Amelie lays her hand on the tree's arm.

  “Ah… sometimes, child, the world places you somewhere you do not belong. That does not make you the fault, nor the mistake. It merely means the place was never meant to hold you. They don’t treat us well up there. Perhaps because we are different, or perhaps because that place is not ours. So we carved out a home of our own, far, far below, where it was dark and cold, yet still, it could become something more.”

  Soft, glowing fairies drift forward, carrying the bear earrings. They settle gently into her ears, the warmth of the suprisingly soft wood and the faint hum of magic making her chest lift just a little.

  The tree leans closer, his ancient limbs creaking softly, the sound like a slow exhale.

  “Sometimes,” he says, voice low and steady, “all you need is a place where the world cannot reach you. A place to sit, to breathe, to let the weight settle, even if only for a moment. Whatever troubles you… anger, fear, sadness, they can wait while you find your stillness. A safe place is not a weakness. It is where strength begins.”

  The hum of shouting rises from above, words lost in the chaos.

  Pound. Pound. Pound. Something slams into the entryway.

  “Ahhh…” the tree’s voice echoes. “They have finally come.”

  Before Abram can speak, the door flies off its hinges. Horses, guards, chains, an entire armada, plunges down the stairs.

  “Drop your… branches!” the leader shouts.

  The tree rises, massive and unyielding, planting itself between the intruders and the others. The creatures of the cave scatter farther back, pressing into shadow.

  “Don’t make us do anything we don’t want to!” the leader shouts again, sword raised, trembling with authority.

  The tree does not move. It does not answer. It simply stands still, solid, and immovable, guarding the cave. A living wall between danger and those it protects.

  "Get him," another guard, with more medals, steps forth and barks.

  "No!" cries and screams echo out from the cave as many guards step forward, trying to tackle the tree to the ground. The tree doesn't fight, but doesn't lay itself down, bringing forth a challenge.

  "Everything w-will be just fine," the tree grunts calmly through the chaos, his legs holding still.

  "Stop!" Amelie walks forward out of pure instinct, Abram yelling at her to stop, but his words don't push through.

  The guards rush in.

  Chains snap tight around the tree’s limbs. Steel bites into bark. The sound is thick and splintering.

  He does not strike back.

  He does not lash out.

  He only stands there.

  The creatures begin to panic. Fairies flicker wildly through the air. Goblins scream and scramble into the shadows.

  “Pull!” a guard commands.

  More guards bark orders, but everything blends together in Amelie's ears.

  Ropes strain.

  The tree sways.

  Wood cracks.

  Amelie’s chest tightens. The air won’t come in.

  “No…” she tries to say, but it barely leaves her lips.

  An axe lifts again.

  Something breaks inside her.

  She screams.

  It is not a word. It is not a cry for help. It is a sharp, piercing sound that tears through the cavern and slams against the stone walls.

  The echo comes back louder.

  The torches flare.

  The fairies’ lights burst white.

  The guards recoil at once. Hands fly to their ears. Chains slip from their grips. Steel clatters to the ground.

  The scream keeps going.

  It hurts.

  It vibrates through bone.

  The ropes loosen.

  The axe stops mid-swing, falling down to the ground.

  Abram’s fur stands on end. His eyes are wide, fixed on her.

  Amelie doesn’t know she is still screaming.

  Her vision blurs. Her knees shake.

  The sound finally dies.

  Silence crashes down in its place.

  The guards stand frozen, pale and unsteady.

  The tree remains upright.

  Wounded.

  But standing.

  And Amelie sways where she stands, small and trembling in the sudden quiet.

  Until her legs give in, tumbling her down to her knees.

  The cave gets filled with silence, the torches on the wall sounding like trains as the tense air stagnates between the two sides.

  "Oh… young one…" the tree speaks, a branch-like hand coming from the ground to help her down easily.

  "Sir?" a guard mumbles quietly, releasing his hands from his ears.

  "A witch? Here?" The lead guard stands back up, putting his sword back in the holster.

  "Princess? Are you feeling okay?" Abram climbs up Amelie's leg. "Your eyes…" he mumbles.

  Dust drifts down from the ceiling, and pieces of stone crumble off the walls. The beams that hold the cave up are splintered, shaking as if ready to give at any moment.

  Amelie's chest has a stutter, blinking every breath with a sharp pain. Her vision is fully covered in water, only the light of the torch breaking through. She breathes in broken breaths, her body shaking with each one. She wants someone to tell her she did not break everything.

  The ground-broken tree branch shoots upwards, clashing against the beam at the entryway. The ceiling begins to fully cave in, starting to block in the entrance.

  A guard drops his shield.

  Another stumbles back, nearly falling as rubble scatters across the floor.

  “Move! Move!” someone shouts.

  They retreat without formation now, tripping over loose stone, shielding their heads as dust clouds the air.

  A slab crashes down where they stood seconds before.

  The lead guard remains a moment longer.

  His jaw tightens as he steps back toward the narrowing exit. He looks at Amelie. Then at the tree. Then at the creatures scrambling into the dark.

  “This is not over,” he says, his voice low but carrying through the chaos. “I will find every last one of you.”

  Another crack splits the ceiling above him.

  He turns sharply and disappears through the falling stone.

  The entrance collapses with a final thunderous crash.

  Silence follows. Heavy. Sealed.

  Amelie draws one more standing breath, before falling down to her side.

  A small glow drifts closer. One of the fairies hovers above her chest, its wings fluttering like nervous petals in the air. It tilts its head, studying her face as if she is something fragile and important. Then it lowers carefully, cupping its tiny hands together. A shimmer gathers between its palms.

  Dust.

  Fine and silver, glowing faintly like crushed starlight. It spills over Amelie’s cheeks and shoulders, settling against her skin like warm snow. The air around her turns soft. Not warmer, exactly, just kinder. The tightness in her chest begins to untangle, slowly, like a stubborn knot being worked loose by patient fingers, and her breathing even.

  The sharp pain fades away as though it had only been visiting.

  A faint blush returns to her cheeks as she takes in a deep breath, her vision fixing as the crashing cave returns to her reality.

  “Oh Princess? I’m so glad you’re okay! I was so worried!” Abram purrs, rubbing against her arm. He presses his forehead against her sleeve, then pulls back with a dramatic sigh. “Do you have any idea what I would have had to deal with if you had died?” His tail flicks sharply. “The paperwork alone would have been unbearable.”

  He circles her once, inspecting her face. “Explaining to the kingdom that I misplaced a princess in a collapsing cave? The scandal...”

  Amelie calms down, feeling the dozens of different eyes all staring at her. Her cheeks start to blush as she wishes she could dig a hole and hide from this attention.

  “And I would have had to find someone else to tolerate me,” he mutters more quietly.

  "I'm so sorry…" Amelie feels a tear leave her eye. "They followed me here… I think… It's all my fault," she covers her face.

  “Young one, storms do not form because of the fields they pass over. Darkness travels. It searches for warmth because it cannot create its own. What followed you would have followed light anywhere. You are not at fault for being seen."

  The front of the cave collapses with a thunderous crash. Stones and dust fall, crashing to the floor. The creatures inside scream and scatter, wings fluttering and claws skittering as panic ripples through the cavern.

  "Sometimes the world presses too hard. Sometimes it hunts what is gentle." More branches rise from the ground, branching upward, strong and wholly, pushing against the falling roof as if it's becoming the new beams.

  "In those moments, retreat is not weakness. It is wisdom. Even the oldest trees bend when the wind grows cruel. A safe place is where strength gathers its breath. You came here for shelter. There is no shame in that. And there is no fault in surviving.”

  The tree reaches upwards with his own branches, holding the roof up himself.

  "I ruined your safe space…" she whimpers.

  “No. Everything happens for a reason, young one,” the tree rumbles, his voice low and steady. “Even the stones that fall, even the chaos that shakes the world, sometimes they clear the way for something better. Perhaps now, after the storm, we can truly live here in peace." He gestured to the caved in entrance. "You have come, and with you, the chance to make this place more than it was before.”

  Amelie runs over, attaching herself to the tree's legs, searching for solace and comfort.

  "I'm not sure what happened to you, or what is going to happen to you. But you can handle it. I believe in you."

  The fairies spin in circles, dropping dust onto the ground. Soon enough a glowing, blue door appears, breaking in and out of existence.

  “This will take you back to the surface… but do not be seen. Your eyes have changed. They will see you as a witch.”

  "They're going to come back for you. Why don't you leave?" Amelie looks up at him.

  "Shadows will stretch no matter how far you go. Hiding might spare your body, but it cannot spare your spirit. To live, you must choose where to stand, not just where to flee. Only by choosing to accept, or to forgive, can you step forward. Nothing else will carry you beyond what has been. I will keep them safe, do not worry about them."

  "I'm so sorry," she says again.

  "Go, young one, and leave the rage behind. Let it fall where it belongs, and walk forward free." the door opens, a static black image on the other side.

  "G-Goodbye," Amelie stutters, looking back at the tree as she walks through.

  She blinks once… then twice, as the cobweb covered bookshelves return.

  She takes a deep breath, before scurrying back to her mattress. She bundles herself under her blanket, pulling her book out of her bag and clutching it to her chest.

  Abram watches her crawl into her cave, and decides to give her some space.

  The silence, and the lack of eyes brings her much more comfort. And even though she has never felt so lonely, the loneliness is more than enough for her.

  She closes her eyes, drawing a deep breath.

  Even though the people in that story aren't real she still feels terrible for what she caused. She reaches up and touches the earrings that the tree gave her… those are still real. Or are they? What is real here and what isn't? It's so hard to tell… and so very confusing.

  She closes her eyes. It's far too confusing for her to think about this right now. Maybe at another time.