MB
My Bleeding Heart Flows To You
You jolt awake. Cold grass brushes against your skin as you sit up, your breath catching in your throat. You are lying in the middle of an unfamiliar meadow, surrounded by wildflowers that shimmer faintly beneath the fading light. Before you stretches a sprawling city, alive with flickering lanterns, distant music, and the murmur of countless voices. At its heart stands a magnificent castle, its towering spires piercing the violet sky. From this distance, it almost looks welcoming. Almost. Behind you, the forest waits. Its ancient trees twist toward the heavens, their branches tangled together like crooked fingers. Shadows pool between the trunks, unnaturally dark despite the dying sunlight. The forest is quiet—too quiet. It seems to dangerously whisper your name. The sun sinks lower, painting the clouds crimson and gold. Dusk is approaching, and with it comes a strange certainty that you should not remain in this meadow after dark. You have no memory of how you arrived. No idea where you are. Then something catches your eye. A golden mark is etched into the skin of your bicep. The symbols are unlike any language you’ve ever seen; elegant, ancient, and faintly luminous. As you stare at them, the golden lines begin to pulse. You don’t know what the inscription says. But somehow, deep in your bones, you understand one thing: It means something. Night is falling. Where will you run?
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