Petunia stumbled out of the forest, her legs shaky, her breath still uneven as she made her way back to the familiar streets of Cokeworth. The encounter with the Guardian of the Wood had left her drained, the stag's words—Bring the Vyrthangrim to me—echoing in her mind like a haunting refrain. She kept her eyes on the ground, her hands clutching the straps of her school bag, the fear of seeing more creatures keeping her gaze low. The town was quiet, the winter air biting at her cheeks, but she barely noticed, her mind a whirlwind of terror and disbelief.
When she reached her house, she slipped inside, grateful her parents were still at work—her mum back at her job, her dad likely at the factory. The house was silent, a stark contrast to the chaos in her head. Petunia bolted up the stairs to her room, shutting the door behind her and locking it with trembling hands. She dropped her bag on the floor and climbed onto her bed, pulling the blanket over herself as she curled into a tight ball, trying to make herself as small as possible. The blanket was a flimsy shield, but it was all she had, a way to block out the world, to hide from the creatures, the stag, the nightmare her life had become.
Exhaustion seeped into her bones, the weight of her fear and the morning's ordeal pulling her under. Her eyes grew heavy, her breathing slowing despite the panic still simmering in her chest, and she fell asleep, the blanket cocooned around her, her body curled in on itself.
When Petunia woke, the room was dim, the gray light of late afternoon filtering through the edges of her closed curtains. She sat up slowly, her head pounding, her body stiff from the awkward position she'd slept in. The clock on her bedside table read 3:30 p.m.—she'd missed school entirely, the whole day gone while she'd hidden in her room.
Petunia's breath hitched, her hands clutching the blanket as the memory of the stag's glowing form filled her mind. She didn't want this—didn't want to see the creatures, didn't want to be part of this unseen world—but the stag had said her sight couldn't be undone. Yet a small, desperate hope flickered in her chest. Maybe if she did what the stag asked, if she brought the Vyrthangrim to the wood, it could stop this—stop her sight, stop this "condition," make her normal again.
After some contemplation, her fear warring with her determination, Petunia made up her mind. She had to retrieve the book from the library. If there was even a chance the stag could take this sight away, she had to try. She couldn't live like this, always afraid, always hiding, always on the verge of being thought mad. She had to do this, no matter how much it terrified her.
Petunia climbed out of bed, her movements slow, her body still heavy with exhaustion. She needed to be careful—more careful than she'd ever been. Cokeworth was a small town, the kind where everyone knew everyone, and the librarian, Mrs. Harrow, would recognize her the moment she walked in. If she tried to take the book and got caught, Mrs. Harrow would know it was her, and word would spread quickly. Her parents would find out, and Petunia couldn't bear the thought of that—they already thought she'd been acting strange, seeking attention after Lily's departure. If they heard she'd stolen something, they'd be furious, maybe even start asking questions she couldn't answer. Worse, Petunia was careful about her reputation—she prided herself on being responsible, dependable, the "good" daughter who didn't cause trouble. She couldn't let anyone know what she was doing, couldn't risk being seen as a thief or, worse, as someone losing her mind.
She had to steal the book without anyone knowing. That meant finding it herself, taking it out of the library undetected, and doing it all without raising suspicion. But there was another problem—her fear. She couldn't let anyone see the terror in her eyes, the way they darted around, searching for creatures she knew were there but no one else could see. She needed a way to hide her eye movements, to mask her fear, to make herself less noticeable.
Petunia glanced around her room, her gaze landing on her mum's dresser in the corner—her mum often left things there when she was in a rush. A pair of black sunglasses sat on the edge, a simple pair her mum used in the summer. Petunia hesitated, then grabbed them, slipping them on despite the low light of winter outside. There was no real need for them—the gray clouds and short days meant the light was dim—but she didn't care. The sunglasses would hide her eyes, keep people from noticing her fear, her constant scanning for creatures. They made her feel a little safer, a little more in control, even if it was just an illusion.
She pulled on her coat, her scarf, and grabbed her school bag, emptying out her books to make room for the tome. She'd need to hide it somehow, but she'd figure that out once she had it. With a final glance in the mirror—her pale face, the dark sunglasses, the scarf wrapped tightly around her neck—she headed downstairs, her heart pounding as she stepped out into the cold afternoon air, the library her destination.
Petunia stood outside the library, her heart pounding, her hands trembling as she gripped the straps of her empty school bag. The faded brick building loomed before her, its creaky wooden door a gateway to the nightmare she'd been trying to escape. She kept her eyes on the ground, the dark lenses of her mum's black sunglasses shielding her gaze, hiding the fear that made her eyes dart nervously. The low winter light made the sunglasses unnecessary, but they gave her a small sense of control, a way to conceal her terror from anyone who might notice. She couldn't let anyone see her fear—not in a small town like Cokeworth, where everyone knew everyone, and certainly not Mrs. Harrow, the librarian who'd known her since she was a toddler.
Cokeworth was the kind of place where news traveled fast, and if Petunia got caught stealing the book, Mrs. Harrow would know it was her in an instant. Her parents would hear about it before the day was out, and Petunia couldn't bear the thought—they already thought she'd been acting strange, seeking attention after Lily's departure. She was careful about her reputation, always the responsible, dependable daughter who didn't cause trouble. She couldn't let anyone know what she was doing, couldn't risk being seen as a thief or, worse, as someone losing her mind. She had to steal the book without anyone knowing, which meant finding the tome herself and taking it out of the library undetected, all while hoping that delivering it to the Stag might stop her sight, might end this nightmare.
Petunia took a deep breath, forcing her legs to move as she pushed open the library door, the familiar creak making her flinch. The smell of old books and polished wood hit her, a scent that used to be comforting but now made her stomach churn. Mrs. Harrow sat at the front desk, her gray hair pulled into a tight bun, her sharp eyes glancing up from a ledger as Petunia entered. "Petunia," she said, her voice warm but with a hint of concern, recognizing her immediately as someone she'd known for years. "I was worried after you got locked in a few days ago—spending the whole night here! Shouldn't you be at school today?"
Petunia's throat tightened, the memory of that night—the locked doors, the strange book, the jolt of energy—flooding back, making her hands tremble even more. She forced a small smile, keeping her head slightly bowed, her eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. "I… I wasn't feeling well earlier," she said, her voice quiet but steady, the lie coming easier than she'd expected. "I'm just here to look for a book for a project." Mrs. Harrow nodded, her expression softening, though her eyes lingered on Petunia for a moment longer than she liked. "Well, let me know if you need help finding anything," she said, returning to her ledger, her pen scratching against the paper.
Petunia nodded, her heart still racing as she moved past the desk, her steps quick but careful, her eyes scanning the floor to avoid looking up. She couldn't risk seeing the creatures—not here, not now. The library was quiet, only a few other patrons scattered around: an elderly man reading a newspaper near the window, a mother with a toddler in the children's section, their soft whispers the only sounds besides the faint hum of the radiator. Petunia headed straight for the back, toward the small reading room where she'd found the tome that night, her memory of its location sharp despite her fear.
The reading room was empty, its single table and chairs untouched, the shelves lining the walls filled with old, dusty books that rarely saw use. Petunia's hands shook as she approached the shelf where she'd found the book, her fingers brushing against the spines as she searched. The tome was still there, tucked between two larger tomes, its worn leather cover unassuming but unmistakable to her now. Her breath caught as she pulled it out, the weight of it heavy in her hands, the memory of the jolt it had given her making her skin prickle. She couldn't linger—she had to get it out, had to get away before anyone noticed.
But getting it out was the hard part. Mrs. Harrow always checked bags before anyone left, a habit she'd picked up after some kids tried to sneak out with comic books a few years ago. Petunia couldn't hide the book in her bag, not without risking being caught. She glanced around, her mind racing for a solution. Her coat was long enough to cover her waist—maybe she could slip the book inside, tuck it under her arm, and keep her coat closed. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the best she had. She slid the book under her coat, pressing it against her side, her arm holding it in place as she buttoned the coat up, the bulk of the book making her movements awkward but hopefully not noticeable.
Now she needed a distraction, something to keep Mrs. Harrow from watching her too closely as she left. Petunia stepped out of the reading room, her eyes still on the floor, her heart pounding as she scanned the library for an opportunity. The mother and toddler were still in the children's section, the toddler starting to fuss, pulling books off the shelf while the mother tried to shush him. Petunia saw her chance. She moved toward the children's section, pretending to browse the nearby shelves, her movements slow and deliberate. As the toddler's fussing grew louder, the mother sighed, gathering her things. "We'll come back later," she muttered, scooping up the child and heading toward the front desk to check out a book.
Petunia followed at a distance, her head still bowed, her arm tight against her side to keep the book in place. The mother reached the desk, the toddler now crying softly, and Mrs. Harrow looked up, her attention fully on them as she processed the checkout. "He's just tired," the mother said, her voice apologetic, and Mrs. Harrow smiled, her focus on the transaction. Petunia seized the moment, walking past the desk with her head down, her steps quick but not rushed, her breath held as she pushed open the door and stepped outside.
The cold air hit her like a shock, but she didn't stop, didn't look back, her legs carrying her down the street as fast as she could walk without running. She kept her arm pressed against her side, the book still hidden under her coat, her sunglasses shielding her eyes as she scanned the ground, avoiding any chance of seeing the creatures. She didn't breathe properly until she was several streets away, the library out of sight, the weight of the Vyrthangrim a heavy reminder of what she'd just done.
She'd stolen the book—without anyone knowing, without getting caught. But the fear didn't leave her, the hope that the Guardian of the Wood might stop her sight now mixed with the dread of returning to the forest, of facing the stag again, of facing whatever came next. Petunia clutched the book tighter, her steps quickening as she headed home, her mind already racing with the next challenge: getting the tome to the woods.