The nymph watched from behind a veil of ivy and moss, her gaze fixed on a tall male with hair like fire and skin pale as the moon. She had seen him cross the line that separated their world from hers. She observed as he wandered, curious but cautious.

  His movements were slow, deliberate, as if trying not to disturb the delicate balance around him. She was used to their hunters and their vultures, but they never ventured this way. Never into the woods. This human, however, was strange... She couldn’t sense his intention. His presence was a puzzle. He did not wander with the hunger or violence she was familiar with. No, his steps were guided by something other than purpose: inquisition, perhaps.

  His gaze lingered on the plants, on the blooms and leaves, as if studying them. Understanding without taking. There was a reverence in his eyes she had never seen before in those who pillaged her world. And somehow, that unsettled her more than any blade or bow ever could.

  She should’ve left, but still, she lingered, unable to tear herself away. She watched as he lowered himself to the earth, his fingers brushing gently over the edge of a flower, tracing its contours with something akin to awe. And then, flipping open his journal, he scribbled notes, his movements quick and focused.

  For a fleeting moment, she found herself drawing near. Too near. And she recognized her mistake the second his eyes met hers.

  She left in a heartbeat, but the human gave chase, sluggish and clumsy and yet, annoyingly persistent. The nymph finally lost the human, ducking behind a tree as he ran past. She climbed into the arms of an oak, taking refuge in her branches. From there, she caught her breath, eyes locked onto the boy from afar. She watched as he turned about, looking for her to no avail.

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  She exhaled softly, about to retreat again, when a flicker of motion stopped her cold.

  Her breath caught. The forest recoiled. A low hum omitting, like a discordant whisper.

  Whatever it was didn’t belong.

  A stag stepped into view. Or what remained of one. It had once been a creature of grace now twisted beyond recognition, its very presence curdling the air. The sickness clung to it like sap, spreading death with every step.

  It had become Withered.

  The human stood frozen, fingers gripping the knife at his side but making no move to raise it.

  Her brow furrowed. What was keeping him?

  The nymph’s muscles tensed, instincts urging her to intervene.

  He’s human. Let him die. The words of her elders hissed through her thoughts. They had warned her since she was young. Humans were at the heart of decay. They poisoned rivers. Felled sacred groves. Choked their skies black and turned a blind eye.

  But…

  Still another voice whispered within her, soft but present. What if…what if there’s more to man than destruction?

  The nymph’s grip tightened around the branch she perched on, ancient magic stirring beneath her skin like a rising tide. She drew closer, eyes focused on the creature as it lowered its head. With a sickening crack, its skull began to part, cleaving from ear to opposite eye, the flesh peeling back with an unnatural grace. It opened like a blossom—delicate in motion, monstrous in form. Flesh sloughed back in ragged folds, revealing a mouth that had no business existing rimmed with layered teeth, each jagged as broken bone

  It charged forward, and so did she.