I slowly open my eyes, the light dazzles me. I blink. The world is blurry, as if it were painted in watercolor. My eyes are filled with spots of color. The sounds are muffled, as if they were passing through a thick wall of cotton. A dull pain that pulses at the back of my head. I blink again, trying to chase away the fog that obscures my vision.

I'm lying on the ground, my back against the moisture of the ground that gives me a shiver. I try to get up, but my limbs refuse to obey me. I stay there, lying down, trying to gather my thoughts. What happened? There was this light then, the dark, the void. Little by little, the details around me begin to become clearer, to slowly clear up like when you manipulate the focus of a camera.

A forest? I close my eyes, I try to focus on my breathing. It's just a dream. I reopen my eyes. No, it's far from a dream. With one hand, I grab the grass. It's real. It's there. A wind of panic takes hold of me. I put a hand on my forehead as I sit up with a good headache.

I'm so shocked that my breath is almost cut off. I look around me. What is this place? Where am I? Panic rises a notch. I've been parachuted into a whole other world like the great fantasy and fantastic books I read when I was younger.

This forest has a strange aura, it's a whole other world, I still doubt I'm on earth. Each tree seems to whisper to its neighbor secrets carried by the wind. The leaves of these trees seem to sparkle with a strange light as if they were impregnated with magic. I've never seen such a lush forest. The flowers with shimmering colors grow in abundance and give off a scent of intoxicating sweetness that makes my head spin. I lift my nose and discover the extent of the trees. They are really gigantic, that the giant sequoia of America could pale. Their trunks are as wide as houses, it's surely exaggerated to say that. Their branches extend towards the sky like outstretched arms. And the roots sink deeply into the bowels of the earth, they form a whole underground network. The roots come up in some places on the surface and are covered with small white mushrooms, quite adorable I must say. To my greatest surprise, hundreds of crystals of more or less large sizes decorate the forest and give it a fairy-tale era.

The only noise I perceive now is the melodious song of the birds, their sweet chirping, which has nothing to do with the raucous cawing of the crows from the prefecture next to the high school with which we often wake up. A light breeze stirs the leaves, letting them escape a soft murmur. As incongruous as it may be, all this brought down the tension that had set in me. It's a continuous soothing sound, almost like a slight rustling of paper.

I get up in silence and scan the surroundings. My curiosity pushes me to move forward cautiously.

I was rocked all my childhood by tales, stories in which a human crosses the borders of worlds, passing through a mirror or a wardrobe. These stories made me dream, but not to the point of imagining that it was possible.

The questions are piling up and I'm having trouble finding answers.

I put a hand on the trunk of a tree, it may be a thousand years old. Its bark has a brown color like the earth with gray nuances that make me think of stone. The aspect is rough under my fingers. I observe it. There is something special about this tree that I have never seen before. The bark of this tree forms a real painting, the wood, which can be perceived under this shell, is the canvas. The bark is the irregular paint, bearing the mark of time in each crevasse and crack that run through it. This paint, so special, seems to want to testify to a history of survival against weather hazards in other words the elements, such as water that must have infiltrated many times in the crevices and sensitive little corners. The green moss, still soaked with moisture, offers a magnificent adornment to this specimen of a tree whose name I do not know. It is a green as intense as that of the leaves. In some places, the bark has flaked off, revealing the tender wood underneath. It's a striking contrast with the hardness of the outer surface. There's no doubt, the bark must have seen many woodpeckers come to feast on the multitude of small insects, which offer a miniature ecosystem in its discreet folds when you see this king of the forest from afar. This tree seems alive and touching its bark is like touching the pulse of the tree. Under my fingers I feel like I can feel a heart vibrating. A ladybug lands on my hand, I have a little start, I didn't expect it. It has a beautiful red color, like a ruby, its wings seem to shine in the sun. It finally flies away.

I move away from the tree under which I had woken up.

What am I doing?

I then look in my pocket for my phone. However, to my greatest surprise, it seems to have disappeared from my pockets. I lower my eyes on my sweatshirt, which is no longer my sweatshirt. I absolutely no longer wear my clothes. My old sweatshirt has given way to a strange garment. A kind of green-blue tunic, with a white shirt, a belt probably made of leather and a kind of small fir green cape. My old backpack has given way to a beautiful brown satchel embroidered with what seems to me to be silver threads.

I don't know how, why, by what miracle or what magic, I landed here dressed in this really weird way.

I have to find out the end of the story. But how? I don't know anything. I'm all alone in the middle of these big trees.

I let out a sigh before sitting down. I grab my satchel and open it. I rummage through it, no more school notebooks. Just some very strange instruments. A rope, a kind of small dagger, what am I going to do with that? It won't help me to go back where I came from.

Nobody knows what happened anymore. They're going to worry. What are they going to believe? That I was kidnapped? That I ran away?

Why would I have wanted to run away? Maybe to escape the pressure, but that's not a good enough reason. My anxiety is starting to rise in me. I run a hand through my hair and grab one of my poor strands to twist it around my finger. I wander my gaze over everything, over the slightest movement of a branch, in search of any answer.

And this chameleon? Where is it? Is it really a chameleon or the ripe and hard fruit of my imagination?

I saw it take my key. I even brushed against it. And then this door, It appeared like that before disappearing. As if it had never existed? No, it's not possible. It must be somewhere. Maybe I have to find it? But should I take the risk of getting lost? I know absolutely nothing about this place and everything is so big. I take a deep breath, once again. Elisabeth, you're not going to let yourself get down! Stand up!

So I move forward between the trees, paying attention to the slightest movement. I am impressed by the beauty of the environment. I turn around. I would like to know where I am. The name of this place came out of nowhere.

A noise attracts my attention. It sounds like someone singing. I head towards the source of the noise.

As if appearing out of nowhere, the chameleon made its appearance at my side, making me jump. I put a hand on my heart beating as if it was going to come out of my chest.

-You! I exclaimed.

It takes flight. I hurry to follow it, straddling the roots as best I can, I've never been very athletic. So I quickly find myself out of breath, forced to sit down. I hate running. Frustrated, I cross my arms over my chest. Damn animal.

I slowly regain a normal breath. I've run enough for today; and how tired I am. In fact, I don't even know how much time has passed since I arrived here. Are we in the afternoon, the morning?

Obviously, I am totally disoriented.

A shadow then stands in front of me, I raise my head and widen my eyes, pinching my cheek. I'm not dreaming, an amphibian, sorry a frog whose skin is a real kaleidoscope of greens from emerald green to that of moss stands in front of me, it has a totally human aspect, dressed in a periwinkle blue blouse and a crumpled white shirt with a long brown-orange coat embroidered with small leaf-shaped motifs. It wears a large straw hat on its head and a cane made of wood. Its bulging eyes, a hypnotizing golden yellow, capture every movement with disconcerting precision. Its mouth, a thin curved line, seems almost to smile. It emits a tchip several times, while looking at me from head to toe. It blinks, in a slow manner before leaning towards me. It suddenly seems much more imposing. I pull my head in between my shoulders and swallow, feeling very uncomfortable.

-You shouldn't be here, you.

-I think so, yes. I murmured in a small voice. Excuse me, where are we?

-You're not from here, are you?

-We can say that, yes.

I see the chameleon appear on its shoulder.

-It's because of him that I find myself here.

She emits a laugh.

-Well, that's something else. My child, you have a lot of imagination.

-But... I assure you.

-You must be tired, you're talking nonsense.

The giant frog raises its eyes to the sky, leaning on its wooden cane.

-We must not linger. The sun is setting. Come on, get up, we have a long way to go, I won't leave you here.

-But I have to go home, I'm just lost.

-Where are you from?

Faced with this question, I immediately feel quite ridiculous, not knowing how to explain what is happening to me.

-I passed through a strange door and landed here. I wouldn't know how to explain it to you, but I'm not from this world.

-I see.

-Really?

-You need a doctor, my dear. Come on, we have to go back to the village, we'll decide there. The night here is not safe.

-I'm not crazy, I can assure you.

-Well, let's not argue.

She turns away from me and starts to move forward before turning around again.

-Are you coming?

I finally nod and get up to follow her, clutching the strap of my bag.

After a few minutes of walking and silence in this immense forest, I dare to speak to her again.

-Excuse me, who are you? Where are we?

-Welcome to the beautiful woods of Seinn, I am Miss Green Apple.

Green apple? That's a funny name, they still know English in this strange land. Am I only speaking French or any language?

The woods of Seinn, I have absolutely never heard of it. Yet I have seen a lot of things in geography.

-And you?

-Elisabeth Catherine Chevalier, madam.

-That's an unusual first name.

Unusual? It's the most common thing to be called Elisabeth. I don't dare to argue. Maybe she's right.

As we walk, the darkness descends like a veil, and I admit that it gives me a certain feeling of anxiety. The places suddenly seem far from being as warm as when I woke up.

A terrible noise then resonates, in a start I turn around and observe around me, turning towards the immense darkness that now stands. It sounded like a sinister creaking that chills the blood. It sounds like a mix between a high-pitched howl and the muffled growls of a beast, which is totally unknown to me for the time being. The sound is so intense that it seems to penetrate into my bones, making every fiber of my being vibrate like the string of a guitar being strummed. It carries in it a dull threat, a promise of imminent danger. A primal scream that manages to awaken forgotten survival instincts. An echo rises and amplifies the horror that inhabits me, transforming the quiet night that was looming into a waking nightmare.

-What is that? I asked once the silence returned.

-The lord. We must not linger any longer!