The shimmering waterfalls parted, revealing not the expected cavern entrance, but a swirling vortex of shadows—a gaping, gnarled maw that seemed to suck in the light like a greedy, ancient lover. This was the Shadowwood. A realm whispered about in breathless rumors and bedroom tales—though none of them ever ended well. Here, reality stretched thin like lingerie on a sinner, and sanity liked to slip off like a bra strap.
Antic, usually brimming with chaotic flirt energy, paled visibly. "Oh no. This doesn't feel sparkly at all," he whimpered, his apricot-pit crown drooping with dramatic flair.
Even Dolly, who could probably win a poker game with a face made of porcelain, seemed ten degrees less smug. "We're all going to die in here," she muttered. "Just saying."
Grin, holding his scythe like a man who'd read the footnotes of hell, nodded solemnly. "The Shadowwood feeds on fear, twists the mind, shows you things... things that'll make you beg to forget."
Antic winced. "That sounds like every relationship I've ever had. Except with less nudity... hopefully."
"Pecola, your vision," Grin said, his voice gentle. "You see through illusion. We need you now."
And oh, did they. The shadows were already at work.
Antic whimpered, reaching for a flickering, glowing portal. It shifted like a dream warped by desire—his old childhood home, only twisted, warmer, safer. A woman stood in the doorway. She wore nothing but an apron and a knowing smile. "Come home, sweetheart," it purred.
"Antic!" Pecola's voice sliced through the darkness like a slap to the face. "It's not real!"
She grabbed his hand. Her fingers dug in with a pressure that was sharp, grounding. "Look at me. That's not your home. That's your unresolved mommy issues in a sheer nightgown."
Antic blinked. "What?"
"Snap out of it, pervert," Dolly snapped, already yanking a tree branch free like she was about to whack a demon.
He blinked again, then screamed. "OH GODS! WHY DOES SHE HAVE MY EARS?!"
Grin, meanwhile, was fighting off a battalion of spectral warriors—phantoms draped in the tattered remnants of old uniforms, their hollow eyes glowing with cruel familiarity. Each one snarled like it had dragged itself from the forgotten corpses Grin had once ferried as a Reaper of the Lost. Their blades weren't steel—they were memories, twisted and wet with guilt. One looked just like the boy he'd buried beneath the poppy field, shirt clinging to ghostly ribs, mouth sneering with betrayal. "Why didn't you come back for me?" it hissed.
Grin staggered. These weren't erotic ghosts—they were reminders. A past he never volunteered for, now rising up with bone-white hands to drag him under.
Pecola stepped between him and the phantoms, her hand on his trembling arm. "Grin," she said softly. "You're not fighting warriors. You're fighting guilt. And also apparently... a weird lusty version of your trauma."
Grin stopped, his breath ragged. The illusions shimmered. He sobbed once, chest heaving. Then the phantoms faded into black mist.
Elsewhere, Antic staggered, facing a towering version of his dead father. The figure loomed, eyes glowing, voice thundering: "You'll never be good enough. Not even in fantasy porn."
"I have layers!" Antic sobbed. "Like a tragic onion with a monster dong!"
Dolly hurled a rock at the illusion's crotch. "He's not even real. Get a grip."
Pecola spun, clutching her head as whispers stabbed at her skull. Her mother's voice—cold. Her father's voice—disgusted. "You were always the mistake. No eyes, no worth."
Her knees buckled.
Antic, shaking off his ghost-dad, grabbed her. "Pecola. That's not them. That's not truth. That's just... really creative shadow-bullying."
Grin added, voice still raw, "We're here. You're not alone."
Even Dolly, her voice small and chipped like a forgotten music box, said, "You're my friend. I know what I'm for now. It's you guys."
Pecola wept. But she whispered their words. "Together. We're stronger. Together."
And then... the shadows shrank. The Breaths sang—soft, high, like lullabies hummed in afterglow. The illusions crumbled, like wet paper.
They collapsed into a clearing, the Perennial Forest greeting them like a jealous lover—lush, alive, and watching.
They were sweaty. Disheveled. Bruised.
Antic flopped to the ground, shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked torso, breathing like he'd just sprinted through hell—and lowkey enjoyed it. "Ten out of ten would not recommend," he groaned, voice rough. Then he rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes with the drama of a wounded romantic. "Unless it's for foreplay. Then... maybe with a safe word. And a helmet. Definitely a helmet."
Grin fell beside him. "What kind of foreplay involves weaponized daddy issues?"
"Depends on the kink," Dolly muttered, brandishing her branch like she wasn't quite ready to relax.
Pecola just layed back, heart pounding, vision trembling with spectral echoes of what she'd seen. But her fingers brushed the grass, real and wet with dew. Alive.
They'd made it through the Shadowwood.
Barely.
The scent of damp earth and the steady pulse of the Breaths surrounded them like a heavy blanket. And for the first time in what felt like years...
They slept. Together. Unbroken.
Well—most of them did.
Antic rolled over, groaning. The moonlight hit Pecola just right—her skin glowing in that spectral way, her face soft, lips parted in the gentlest of sighs. Her chest rose and fell, calm and slow, and something primal clicked in Antic's overcooked brain.
His nose bled.
"Oh no," he whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not now. Not the sacred boner."
He darted into the bushes, clutching himself like he was trying to contain a beast. Somewhere deep within the foliage, faint rustling and muffled groans ensued.
Ten minutes later, Grin—on a water break—wandered past the very same thicket.
He froze.
Antic was crouched in shame, red-faced, breathing hard, wiping his hand on a nearby fern.
Grin blinked. "You nasty woodland goblin."
Antic yelped, leaping to cover himself, eyes wide with horror. "I WASN'T—I MEAN I WAS BUT—It's a cultural thing!"
Grin raised one eyebrow.
"In my realm, arousal is a defense mechanism! It's like—like how some animals puff up to scare predators! We get...excited. Sexually. In fear. Or admiration. Or mild wind."
Grin shook his head, disgusted and vaguely impressed. "You could've just read a book like the rest of us."
Antic hissed. "That was my book."
Back in the clearing, Dolly stirred. "Something gross is happening, I can feel it."
Antic returned, disheveled, whistling innocently. Grin followed a few feet behind, arms crossed.
The night quieted again.
They rested. Pecola's breathing slowed. Dolly finally loosened her grip on her branch. And Grin, curled beside the firelight, closed his eyes.
Antic stared at the stars, cheeks flushed, muttering to himself. "I hate being from Hornylandia."
But definitely, undeniably... changed.
Emerging from the Shadowwood felt like stumbling out of a fever dream and straight into a daydream painted by a drunk forest god. The oppressive gloom gave way to golden shafts of sunlight filtering through the high canopy of the Perennial Forest. The Breaths hummed sweet lullabies on the wind, like they'd missed having an audience. Exhaustion clung to the group like bad perfume, but a buzz of triumph simmered just below their aching bones. They were alive. Barely.
In front of them loomed the Whispering Cairns—stone stacks older than sin and just as cryptic. They stood in quiet judgment, humming with riddles like gossiping oracles at a haunted spa retreat.
Antic's apricot-pit crown was crooked like his morals. He dragged his feet dramatically and let out a theatrical groan. "Well, that was… about as sparkly as a funeral in a sewer. Someone get me tea. And a therapist. But mostly tea."
Grin, still haunted by the emo opera he'd just survived in his mind, nodded like a man who'd stared too long into his own past and didn't like the view. "If I never dream again, I'll die grateful."
Dolly, who hadn't blinked once in forty minutes, scanned the cairns like she was memorizing weak spots in case she needed to go full porcelain rage. "Let's not pretend those stacks aren't whispering about us. I don't like being watched unless I'm doing something illegal."
Pecola didn't answer. Her fingers twitched at her sides, sensing the pulse of energy flowing from the Cairns. The whispers tickled her skull like wind-tongues flicking against her mind. Words half-formed, meanings just out of reach. Riddles. Warnings. Clues.
The village, nestled among the stone mounds, looked like the Shire got high and married a circus. Crystal mosaics glittered in the stone walls. Flowering vines danced between houses. Lanterns floated lazily on invisible currents.
And then came the villagers.
One woman wore a cloak made of frogs. Another had a beard braided with cinnamon sticks. A child in pants made entirely of ribbon shrieked riddles at them while throwing glitter. "What has an eye but cannot see?!"
"A needle," someone muttered.
"What has four legs but doesn't walk?!"
"A drunken horse?" Antic offered before shouting, "A TABLE! It's a table, you absolute gremlins!"
Pecola snorted unexpectedly. Antic caught it and turned with a spark in his eye. "Was that a giggle? Did our angelic horror queen just laugh?"
"I'm tired," she muttered. "Everything is funny when your soul's broken."
Antic grinned. "Dark comedy is healing, darling. And sarcasm is a superpower."
They wandered into chaos.
Grin tried to flirt. He gave a woman a half-smile and a "Lovely weather," which earned him a pebble and a mission. "Solve this," she croaked like a dying tree.
Now Grin held three pebbles and was more confused than a ghost in a mirror maze. "Three brothers stand on a hill," a new riddle-master intoned. "One has wings but cannot fly—"
"Is it trauma?" Antic guessed.
"No. Next riddle."
Pecola and Antic raced through spiraling alleys, dodging birds made of glass and fairies throwing confetti.
"This way!" Pecola yelled.
"You're sure?" Antic gasped, practically wheezing.
A gnarled tower bellowed at them. "RIDDLE TOLL: I have cities but no houses—"
"A map!" Pecola yelled.
"CORRECT," the tower screamed, and opened like a dramatic stage curtain.
Then: "You must find the left sock of a one-legged gnome who dances with fireflies."
Antic blinked. "What is with this place and oddly specific quests?"
Soon, they were crawling through tunnels, dodging glowing beetles and arguing with a troll about sock embroidery.
"It's got an angry badger on it," Pecola confirmed solemnly.
The troll snorted. "Get in, then."
Later, balanced on a cliff, Antic poked Pecola with his elbow. "Told you badgers are the universal language."
She laughed softly, for real this time.
The gang found each other.
After solving such riddles,
they finally found a mossy rock and collapsed in a pile of limbs and sweat.
Antic's breathing came in shallow pants, his shirt clinging like a second skin. "Okay," he groaned. "No more magical obstacle courses unless there's a hot bath at the end. Or at least someone to sponge me off slowly while whispering affirmations."
Grin muttered, "What kind of sick affirmations are you into?"
Antic sighed dreamily. "'You're valid. You're sexy. You're doing your best.'"
Pecola rolled onto her back, ignoring them, her skin prickling with the residue of weird magic and something else. Comfort. Safety. Like the air didn't want to hurt her anymore.
They rested by the huge rock. They were battered, confused, and covered in fairy glitter.
''
The path to the Crystal Caverns," the Lord of the Whispering Cairns rasped, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate from the very stones beneath their feet, "lies in the heart of absurdity itself."
Pecola and Antic startled awake, limbs tangled awkwardly. Antic groaned, brushing leaves off his stomach. "Was that real? Or did we just survive some metaphysical acid trip?"
The Lord pulled out a tarnished silver locket and popped it open like it contained state secrets. Inside: one tiny sock, glittering with dust and unspoken trauma. "Begin your search with this."
Antic snatched it instantly, holding it high like it was some relic of legend. "A gnome's lost sock? Brilliant. Peak nonsense." He jabbed a finger at Pecola. "Ready for an adventure, sleepyhead?"
Pecola squinted at him, smirking despite herself. "Don't call me sleepyhead, you overgrown ferret. You snored like a war crime."
"Faster!" Antic bellowed moments later, now sprinting across a crooked stone path, half-laughing, half-panicking. "The gnome sock conspiracy is gaining on us!"
The village zipped past in a blur of sparkling laundry lines, crystal doorknobs, and confused villagers tossing flowers and riddles like confetti. Suddenly: a shimmer. Grin and Dolly materialized, looking like they just stepped out of an indie anime.
"Riddle time!" Dolly shrieked with demonic glee, unfurling a crumpled paper. "The answer lies in the grumpy one's burps," she added, pointing at a moss-crusted troll rock beneath a weeping willow.
A deep belch erupted. HIC! HIC! HIC!
Antic narrowed his eyes. "Left. Then right. Under the willow. Boom. We're in."
Grin stared at the hiccupping troll with disbelief. "That can't possibly be—"
"Trust Antic," Dolly chirped, "He's got the golden touch and zero shame."
Past the chaos and riddles, the air cooled like someone had hit the emotional trauma switch. They stood at the edge of the forest. Antic's grin faltered.
"This... doesn't feel sparkly," he whispered. "This feels like we're walking into a breakup letter."
Then they saw it: The Gloomfang. Not fangs, not claws. Just... sadness. A shape like a man made of shadows, all sorrow and molten red eyes.
"It's... depressed?" Antic blinked. "Are we fighting depression now? Is that the next boss battle?"
The Gloomfang stared into a mirror, groaning. The moan wasn't rage. It was heartbreak. Raw. Ugly. Pecola instinctively reached for Antic's hand. His was already there.
"It's looking at itself," she whispered.
"Yikes," Antic said. "I feel that."
Then the creature screamed. It shattered the mirror like it had just read its ex's texts. Shards vanished into the gloom.
"Pecola, no!" Antic hissed as she stepped forward. "You can't therapize this thing!"
But she kept going. Her palm brushed the Gloomfang's hide. It felt... like velvet beneath armor.
Suddenly, Pecola was somewhere else. An office. Beige. Depressing.
"You're pathetic, Owen," Eliza snapped, tossing a pen like it was a dagger. It bounced. Twice.
Owen barely breathed. Pecola could feel his shame.
Breathe, she thought. Stand up.
He did. Slightly.
"I'm working on it," he said. A miracle, quiet and fierce.
Then another vision: Joy.
Joy starving herself. Joy crying alone in a mirrored room of whispers. The bruises, the hunger, the impossible beauty standard biting her like a curse. Pecola sobbed, breath jagged. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
The Gloomfang trembled beside her.
"You're beautiful," Pecola said. "Not because of symmetry. Because you survived. Because you're real."
The shadow-creature shrank a little. Not because it was weak—but because it no longer needed to be that large.
The Gloomfang nudged them gently. Toward a lake. Mirror Lake. Their next step.
It didn't growl. It didn't roar. It sighed.
And in that sigh, there was peace. There was release. The Gloomfang wasn't a monster.
It was someone who needed to be seen
The Gloomfang's cave opened into a vast, echoing chamber – part cathedral, part fever dream. At its far end, shimmering like a secret dared into being, lay Mirror Lake. Its surface was still, impossibly still, reflecting the dark cavern like a memory too scared to move. The air was heavy with static tension, the kind that made skin prickle and underwear stick in all the wrong places.
Antic tiptoed forward, his usual chaotic grin replaced by something halfway between reverence and terror. "So this is it," he whispered. "The infamous Mirror Lake. Supposed to reveal your deepest fears." He licked his lips, nervous. "I really hope mine's not that thing with the clown nun and the talking socks again."
Grin, gripping his scythe like a security blanket, scowled at the water. "Fears are inefficient. I'd rather step on a rake than unpack emotional trauma in high definition."
Dolly blinked once from his shoulder. Her eyes looked normal… until you realized they were way too still. "Maybe your fear is rakes," she said flatly. "Or feelings."
Pecola didn't speak. She stepped ahead of them, drawn like a compass needle to something beneath the surface. Her fingers brushed the water—warm, like skin under moonlight. It didn't make sense, but neither did grief. Neither did joy.
Each one stepped closer. And the lake… noticed.
Grin went first. The surface shimmered, rippling with eerie clarity. His reflection shifted—no longer a man, but a boy. Small. Cornered. A shadow shoved him, then another. A flash of pain. A scream swallowed by the void. The water played the scene again and again, cruel and slow like a sadistic director.
Grin said nothing. But his scythe lowered. One tear—not dramatic, not pretty—slipped down his cheek and soaked into his collar.
Then Dolly.
The lake swirled and a lullaby drifted out—soft, twisted, like something sung by a music box left out in the rain. A tiny wooden doll spun on a table. Forgotten. A child's voice echoed: "Mama…?" The reflection warped—the doll alone, cracked, rain dripping from her face like she could feel it. Dolly's face didn't move. But her smile cracked. Just for a second.
A single, real tear fell. Heavy as hell.
Then Antic. Oh, Antic.
His reflection flickered—an imp, a joke, a freakshow for a realm that never let him belong. They pushed him. Laughed. Mocked his broken wing. Called him weak. The lake responded with a flurry of illusions—Antic grand and powerful, dressed in infernal glory, then collapsing again into himself, smaller, more pathetic each time.
Until the water shifted. One last version stood in the reflection. Tall. Barefoot. Laughing. Confident. His crown was crooked but his spine was straight. He wasn't hiding his fangs.
Antic just stared. "Oh fuck," he breathed, voice shaking. "That's what I could be?"
The lake didn't answer. It didn't have to.
And then, Pecola.
Her reflection was... honest. Not distorted. Not broken.
She saw herself—blind but not lost. She saw a girl who wasn't beautiful in the way people demanded, but in the way forests whispered about and ghosts followed. She saw her strength, quiet and pulsing, like a heartbeat in the dark.
She didn't see what she feared. She saw what she needed: the future. Hers.
The Mirror Lake rippled once more, then went still.
They stood there, silent. No one said a word. No one needed to.
Until Antic coughed. "Okay. Anyone else emotionally obliterated and mildly turned on or is that just me?"
Grin looked ready to push him in the lake.
Dolly muttered, "Perv."
But Pecola… just smiled. Quietly. The kind of smile you make when you've seen the monster under the bed and invited it to tea.
They moved on.
But the Mirror remembered them.
The path beyond Mirror Lake led them deeper into the heart of the Perennial Forest. The oppressive gloom gave way to a breathtaking spectacle. Before them stretched the Crystal Caverns, a vast expanse of glittering, multifaceted crystals that shimmered with an ethereal light, casting rainbow hues across the cavern floor. Water, impossibly clear and pure, trickled down the crystalline formations, creating a symphony of gentle chimes and whispers. The air vibrated with a palpable energy, a vibrant hum that resonated deep within their chests. This was a stark contrast to the shadowy, foreboding atmosphere they'd encountered thus far. The very air seemed to thrum with life.
"Oh. My. Crystals," Antic breathed, hands on hips, shirt half open, chest glistening with sweat that hadn't earned its right to be sexy but somehow was. "It's like walking into a unicorn's wet dream."
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Grin murmured, standing like a confused statue who'd just realized emotions might be a thing. Dolly perched on his shoulder, blinking too much for someone with no eyelids. She mimicked the motion of awe, arms stretched like a ballerina mid-breakdown.
Pecola trailed behind, fingertips grazing the cool, wet crystal surface. "It's... overwhelming," she murmured, her voice trembling like a secret you try to swallow. "Like a dream you're scared to wake from."
Grin, tone low, added, "Indeed. A fragile dream... one someone probably already pissed in."
A tremor cut the sentiment. Dolly squeaked, gripping Grin's ear with her terrifying little hands. Pecola froze, fingers inches from a jagged violet spire that pulsed.
"Did you feel that?" she whispered.
"I feel everything and regret most of it," Antic muttered, now squatting like a cryptid. Grin turned to Pecola.
"The Breaths are close," he said. "And something else... something off-tune."
The air shifted. The once-ethereal song now dripped like thick syrup, mournful and slow.
"What do you mean, Grin?" Pecola asked.
"Something different," he repeated. "Like... grief wrapped in glitter."
The crystal wall pulsed. A Breath revealed itself, a nebula of searing color, twitching like it hurt to exist. It sang—not words, but a sound that made your teeth ache and heart break.
A flash of nausea. A dizzy pull. Pecola gasped.
"Where—where are we?"
They stood in a filthy alley. Trash bags. Sirens. A boy on a stoop, hollow-eyed.
"His life," Grin muttered. "We're inside Jalen. Metaphorically. Not like Antic-style."
"Hey!" Antic hissed. "Gross."
Jalen's world unfolded. His mother's dull stare at a flickering TV. An empty seat where a father used to be. Silent dinners with louder absences.
Later, older boys. Cruel words. Thin laughs. Pecola reached out, touching air like she could shoulder the weight. Grin's voice was wind.
"We can't fix it," he said. "But maybe we plant seeds."
Antic peered at the cafeteria.
"That girl. Sarah. She's got main character energy. Hook them up."
Dolly, now draped like a gremlin on Grin's head, nodded. They nudged Jalen toward Sarah—whispers, misplaced books, and oh-so-coincidental locker assignments.
He smiled. A shy, cracked, real smile.
Then the night fractured. Screams. Metal. Blood.
"No," Pecola choked, hugging herself. The Breath dimmed. The light hiccuped.
"Arnold's boy..." she breathed.
Grin broke. A choked sound. Dolly let a tear streak her painted cheek.
"The good memories…they weren't enough," Pecola said.
Silence. Then, a sigh from the Breath. It shimmered. Calmed.
The song changed. Softer. Acceptance.
It floated away, its colors now muted joy. Still sad—but free.
Antic, quietly watching, rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I hate this forest. It keeps making me feel shit."
Dolly deadpanned, "Maybe it's cause you're full of it."
Pecola didn't respond. Her hands were still shaking.
Grin placed a hand on her shoulder.
They stood in the cavern, surrounded by light and pain, until all that was left… was silence and breath.
And in the background, barely audible over the fading song—Antic muttering to himself. "Why do I always get horny during emotional trauma? Gods, not again—"
"Antic," Grin hissed, eyes darting.
"I'm not doing anything! I'm just saying—if I disappear for five minutes, it's biology, not perversion!"
"You're disgusting."
"Thank you."