"You label it love; I deem it captivity. You cling to your promises while disregarding my emotions. I am not your wife; I am a blood-bound oath made to the unknown."

∏∞∏∞∏∞∏

Narrator's POV

As the night deepened, Jiya succumbed to sleep, leaving Rue to her solitude. Memories of her time in Fae land washed over her, mingling fear with longing. Though she had enjoyed moments of her time there, the yearning to return, to see *him* again, was overwhelming.

He was the chaos in her life, bane of her existence, yet the desire to see him was irresistible.

Who was "HE", in Rue's story?

Let's delve into her tale, picking up from the moment she tumbled into the pit.

∏∞∏∞∏∞∏

The mist could not be seen, but its oppressive weight hung in the air, suffocating yet not lethal. The taste of its blandness lingered on the tongue.

Fuelled by fear and a fierce determination to rescue her grandfather, she followed the sound of his voice. Clutching the shawl close and wielding a wooden branch, she dashed forward. Then, without warning, she plummeted into a deep trench.

Her left ankle snapped, and her cries of agony tore through the night, echoing across the barren wastes and into the fae forest. She lost consciousness there, in the pit's depths.

As the harsh rays of the sun scorched her, she stirred, a searing tingling sensation bring her to her senses. The direct sunlight was a human's bane, capable of burning flesh if there is no shield to ward it off.

In this trench, the saving grace was the sparse vegetation - a smattering of shrubs and weeds. Thorny they may be, they were worked as a breather in this situation.

She crawled under the shade cast by an overhanging cliff, assessing her escape. Whimpering in pain, she covered her scratches with soil and leaves, she tore a piece from her shawl and tightly bound the wound.

Attempting to stand, she was overwhelmed by pain, her cry echoing off the trench walls. Her ankle was broken.

Desperately seeking for relief, she wedged her leg between two stones, bit down on a cloth for the pain, and with tears streaming down her face, she twisted her ankle back into place.

Though this brought her ankle some relief, it left her in lingering agony.

In a single moment, she had lost all she held dear. There, beneath the unforgiving sun, she lay contemplating her plight, a stark contrast to the Fae Land of her childhood imaginings.

As a child, faery tales were woven with beauty, love, and joy; where even the animals joined in song. Those cherished memories were now eclipsed by the grim reality of the true Fae Land – a place far harsher than she ever could have imagined.

And the bitter irony? She hadn't even crossed into the Fae realm yet.

Rue's throat was parched, her voice a broken whisper, appealing to any spirit that might be listening to grant her some reprieve.

Mustering every ounce of her will, she attempted to rise. Eyeing the trench's overhanging walls, determination set in—she would climb out. The pit, though only ten feet deep, posed a daunting challenge for her injured state.

She draped the shawl over her head for protection and firmly grasped a protruding stone with one hand. With her other hand, she wedged the wooden branch into the wall for leverage. Gradually, painstakingly, she began her ascent.

At one terrifying moment, she nearly plummeted back into the trench's depths, but her grip on the wooden branch held fast.

Having conquered the trench, she could see her shabby shack not far in the distance. However, the journey back, even such a short distance, loomed as her next great ordeal.

"Oh no," she sighed, her body caked with soil. "Not again. This place really sucks." Rue moved with laborious steps, dragging herself towards shelter.

Reaching the shack, she quickly slipped inside, relieved to find both her bag and her grandfathers untouched. Frantically, she rummaged for medicine and found an ointment. The pungent odor that hit her as she opened it reassured her of its potency.

She carefully applied the ointment to her scratches and massaged it into her swollen ankle. Safe inside the shack, she decided it was time to immobilize her injured ankle properly.

She retrieved a stick from the remnants of last night's campfire and tore another strip from her already tattered shawl. Positioning the stick on either side of her ankle, she used the cloth to secure a makeshift splint.

Her gaze settled on the wooden branch that had been her lifeline. Recognizing its potential for future use, she began to sharpen it, readying herself for whatever lay ahead.

With her makeshift weapon at the ready, Rue's thoughts turned to understanding her surroundings better. She needed to be prepared, especially if the previous night's events were to recur.

Judging by the sun's position, she estimated she had 14 hours until dusk—ample time to prepare.

She picked up the journal and started leafing through its pages, pausing at an entry that seemed darker and more ominous than the rest.

∏∏∏∏∏∏∏∏

December 23, 1797,

For over a year now, I have delved into the enigmas of this town. The deeper I probe into the creatures that skulk in the forest's shadow, the more my unease grows. One thing has become evident: the town's Chief knows far more than he lets on. Furthermore, during my inquiries, I stumbled upon the locals' belief in changelings. The thought that they would leave a newborn in the forest is beyond me.

During my investigation, I discovered that these infants vanish within mere hours. I witnessed it myself: in broad daylight, a dark, misty cloud enveloped a child. And when it cleared, the baby was gone, without a trace.

That was my second encounter with the dark mist.

Since that day, I have felt an oppressive weight on my shoulders, as if something—or someone—has taken up residence there. Sleep eludes me; even on the chilliest of nights, I wake up bathed in sweat.

Yet, my search does not stop. After years of research and travel, I am on the cusp of finding the Fae Land I have longed to see.

One evening, as I skirted the forest's edge, an unusual humming drew me towards the stream near the town. There, to my surprise, several women were bathing—an odd sight indeed, as no woman ventured near the forest after dusk, let alone to a stream that not only bordered but also penetrated the woods.

Curiosity held me captive, and I decided to linger, to observe what might unfold. In retrospect, that decision was gravely unwise. As twilight bled into darkness, It was clear that they were not women from town but they were the Forest Faeries. When they noticed my intrusive gaze, they grew wrathful. They surged toward me, with intentions clear: they wanted to rob me of my sight. They wanted to pop my eyes out.

I fled, a frantic dash for my life and vision. It was the chief I stumbled upon in my blind escape. His nod bore a heavy weight of understanding, as if my ordeal was known to him. He guided me away.

In his care, I was submerged in saltwater; he meticulously cleansed me himself and implored me to ward off sleep. "If you succumb to slumber tonight," he cautioned, "they will claim you, whisking you away to their realm."

∏∏∏∏∏∏∏∏

Rue closed the journal, her gaze lost in the vast, barren landscape. It dawned on her that her family's lineage might be intricately linked to her grandmother's mysterious fate.

Yet, she puzzled over how her grandfather remained oblivious to such critical family lore, traditionally passed down through generations.

Turning her attention outside, Rue's stomach protested with hunger. A glance at her bag confirmed her fears: the sandwich had spoiled. Opting for water instead, she then spread out the items her grandfather, Robert, had collected from the archive. Despite poring over the journal, she found no clues about these objects' significance. Why, then, were they preserved with such care?

Item 1: 5 Marbles

To Rue, these marbles might serve as containers for safeguarding unknown contents. Yet, unlocking them remained a mystery.

Item 2: A Feather

Each strand shimmered luminously. Despite years of neglect, the feather's softness and the lustre hinted at a faerie origin, she speculated.

Item 3: A Delicate Wing

The wing shared the feather's texture, leading Rue to deduce that they were once united. She paired them together, visualizing their original form.

Item 4: A Stick, Resembling a Broken Wand

The wood, ancient and unparalleled in texture, did not match any tree Rue could recall. Its origin remained an enigma.

Item 5: A Black Stone

Dark as obsidian and elliptical, measuring roughly 11 inches in height. Placing it in direct sunlight revealed nothing, yet its shape and aura suggested it might be more akin to an egg than a mere stone.

In a moment of levity, Rue rubbed the stone against the ground. She chuckled, half-jokingly musing, "You're no genie."

Rue's thoughts spiralled towards madness. The lore she had grown up with bore no resemblance to her current reality.

It was only ancient pagan tales had whispered of faeries as bringers of joy, yet also warned that crossing them or obstructing their endeavors could lead to abduction, was closer to her reality.

The journal revealed the traveller's palpable fear, born from his unnerving experiences in the town. Rue concluded that his mysterious disappearance seemed to confirm the dreadful theory: he had been taken—and possibly consumed—by faeries.

Despite her efforts to make sense of the objects she'd found, Rue faced a dead-end.

The resurgence of pain in her ankle distracted her and drove her to apply the ointment once again.

The smell was atrocious, yet the subsequent relief was inexplicably profound, akin to the euphoria of winning an Oscar or reaching climax. It was an oddly specific comparison, but the comfort it brought was undeniable.

Deciding to rest might ease her discomfort, she settled down on the ground for a nap.

But her slumber was abruptly ended by the sensation of being licked by someone. 

<a/n>
Thank you for reading.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. 

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