Lily had never touched the forest before.
She had seen it, of course—always from a distance. From the highest window of the castle, the trees looked calm, almost gentle, their leaves swaying as if waving to her. But the elders said that was how it lured you. That beauty was the forest's first lie.
So Lily learned to look away.
Her life followed a rhythm as predictable as the bells that rang every morning. Wake. Eat. Learn. Obey. The corridors echoed with soft footsteps and softer voices, as if even sound feared to linger too long. No laughter ever lasted. No question ever went unanswered—only ignored.
"Some things are not meant to be known," they would say.
At night, Lily pressed her forehead against the cold glass of her window and imagined what the air beyond the walls smelled like. Freedom, she thought, must have a scent. Maybe like rain. Or fire. Or something unnamed.
The fear came later.
It always did.
Whispers slipped into her dreams—never clear words, just fragments of promises and warnings tangled together. She would wake with her heart racing, convinced someone had spoken her name. Yet every hallway remained empty. Every door stayed closed.
Until the evening she stopped listening.
The sun was sinking when Lily reached the edge of the permitted path. The stones beneath her feet ended abruptly, replaced by soil dark and soft, as if untouched for centuries. The forest stood before her—silent, waiting.
She hesitated.
Then she stepped forward.
The air changed immediately. Cooler. Heavier. It wrapped around her like unseen arms, neither gentle nor cruel. Just present. The trees leaned inward, not threatening, not welcoming—observing.
That was when she heard it.
"Lily."
Her name floated through the trees, perfectly spoken, perfectly calm.
She turned sharply. "Who's there?"
No answer came—only the sound of leaves shifting, as though something had moved just out of sight.
"You shouldn't be here," the voice said at last, almost kindly.
Her breath caught. "You know my name."
"I know more than that."
Fear rose in her chest, sharp and instinctive. This was what they warned her about. This was the darkness hiding behind beauty. She took a step back, but the forest felt… closer now.
"Don't be afraid," the voice continued. "I've been watching you for a long time."
"Watching me?" she whispered.
"Yes. Trapped. Lonely. Dreaming of things you were never allowed to have."
Lily clenched her fists. "You're lying."
"If I were," the voice said gently, "you wouldn't still be listening."
The truth of that scared her more than the voice itself.
"I can take you away from here," it went on. "Beyond the walls. Beyond the rules. I can show you mountains you've only imagined. Valleys where fear cannot follow."
Her heart pounded. "And what do you want in return?"
There was a pause—just long enough to feel intentional.
"Trust."