The girl could not look away.
The forest held its breath.
She crouched in the shadow of a great tree, her muscles coiled tight. She had to see, had to understand what was happening before her.
The red-robed women were chanting, voices rising and falling in eerie harmony. She didn't understand any of the words, but felt the language in the marrow of her bones. Suddenly, a tall, imposing woman with black trimmed robes stepped forward, raising a single hand. At once, the guards hesitated, their grips tightening on the man they had dragged forward. The girl hadn't noticed them at first, being enraptured by the crimson women and their chanting.
The guards held a man, who until the tall woman stepped towards him seemed to be limp. “No,” the man whimpered, his voice cracked with terror as his eyes flicked to her black-trimmed robes. “Please, no, no, no—”
The leader made a slow, deliberate gesture, fingers twisting in the air. The space around the slave shimmered, the air itself bending. His pleas turned to shrieks as his body lifted from the ground, his limbs flailing as if he were drowning in invisible waters. The chanting began again, and drowned out his screams.
The girl dug her fingers into the bark beneath her, her nails biting deep. She had lived through cruelty and suffering. But this—this was something else.
The slave floated, his toes stretching toward the jagged wound another great tree. It's swollen, pale trunk stood as thick as a fortress wall. The bark was smooth and ghostly white, with an eerie glow that even the girl could make out in the darkness. No branches grew low, only a tangled canopy of sickly green leaves streaked with red. The roots pushed up through the lumpy, uneven earth like the bones of the dead. It had a split in the trunk, where something dark and putrid wept from it.
His screams reached an unnatural pitch as he thrashed against the unseen force pulling him forward. The leader’s fingers clenched, and the pull grew stronger. His body jerked violently as his feet met the oozing bark.
A shriek tore from his throat, raw and desperate. The red women did not falter. They did not flinch. Their chanting wove through the agony with unshaken waves of determination.
The man writhed, his legs sinking into the tree as if the wood were no more than thickened mud. His hands scrabbled at the air, fingers clawing for purchase, as if the air could save him.
Horror held the girl fixed in place as the tree changed. The bark turned from a haunting white to a deep, sickly green. His screams faltered, choked into silence, but his mouth remained open—too open. And then, the voices came.
Not his.
A cacophony, hundreds layered over one another, some whispering, others wailing, a symphony of torment. His eyes were lanterns now, burning with that same green fire, his face stretched into a grotesque mask of agony. His fingers twitched, curling in unnatural spasms as the tree devoured him inch by inch.
The tree sealed shut with an audible snap, as though it had merely taken a deep breath.
The silence that followed was worse than the screaming.
The leader exhaled softly, lowering her hand. The chanting ceased as one. The forest remained still, the only sound the distant rustle of leaves stirred by the wind.
“Bring the next.”
The girl finally turned and ran.
The forest held its breath.
She crouched in the shadow of a great tree, her muscles coiled tight. She had to see, had to understand what was happening before her.
The red-robed women were chanting, voices rising and falling in eerie harmony. She didn't understand any of the words, but felt the language in the marrow of her bones. Suddenly, a tall, imposing woman with black trimmed robes stepped forward, raising a single hand. At once, the guards hesitated, their grips tightening on the man they had dragged forward. The girl hadn't noticed them at first, being enraptured by the crimson women and their chanting.
The guards held a man, who until the tall woman stepped towards him seemed to be limp. “No,” the man whimpered, his voice cracked with terror as his eyes flicked to her black-trimmed robes. “Please, no, no, no—”
The leader made a slow, deliberate gesture, fingers twisting in the air. The space around the slave shimmered, the air itself bending. His pleas turned to shrieks as his body lifted from the ground, his limbs flailing as if he were drowning in invisible waters. The chanting began again, and drowned out his screams.
The girl dug her fingers into the bark beneath her, her nails biting deep. She had lived through cruelty and suffering. But this—this was something else.
The slave floated, his toes stretching toward the jagged wound another great tree. It's swollen, pale trunk stood as thick as a fortress wall. The bark was smooth and ghostly white, with an eerie glow that even the girl could make out in the darkness. No branches grew low, only a tangled canopy of sickly green leaves streaked with red. The roots pushed up through the lumpy, uneven earth like the bones of the dead. It had a split in the trunk, where something dark and putrid wept from it.
His screams reached an unnatural pitch as he thrashed against the unseen force pulling him forward. The leader’s fingers clenched, and the pull grew stronger. His body jerked violently as his feet met the oozing bark.
A shriek tore from his throat, raw and desperate. The red women did not falter. They did not flinch. Their chanting wove through the agony with unshaken waves of determination.
The man writhed, his legs sinking into the tree as if the wood were no more than thickened mud. His hands scrabbled at the air, fingers clawing for purchase, as if the air could save him.
Horror held the girl fixed in place as the tree changed. The bark turned from a haunting white to a deep, sickly green. His screams faltered, choked into silence, but his mouth remained open—too open. And then, the voices came.
Not his.
A cacophony, hundreds layered over one another, some whispering, others wailing, a symphony of torment. His eyes were lanterns now, burning with that same green fire, his face stretched into a grotesque mask of agony. His fingers twitched, curling in unnatural spasms as the tree devoured him inch by inch.
The tree sealed shut with an audible snap, as though it had merely taken a deep breath.
The silence that followed was worse than the screaming.
The leader exhaled softly, lowering her hand. The chanting ceased as one. The forest remained still, the only sound the distant rustle of leaves stirred by the wind.
“Bring the next.”
The girl finally turned and ran.
