She came into a clearing in the twisted thicket, watching her feet to keep from getting her boots caught in the gnarled, wicked roots that weaved and whipped through the dirt-packed path. The wind seemed to die. And even the ominous sounds of animals lurking just at the shadows of her vision quieted. A fog settled in front of her and revealed the massive structure, just as twisted and out of place as the rest of the wood had been. Jagged stone carved out the base of the unnatural thing—a stone path wending its way to a broken and aged stone, as if some castle rook had sat here some millennia forgotten. Above the base, sitting upon the shattered rook, balking at gravity and the natural laws of this world, sat a homely looking cottage with neat wood-paneled walls, glowing stained glass windows, and a thatched roof where a pipe chimney jutted out at an odd angle from the roofing. A small attic space sat atop that, gothic Victorian style spires capped the structure.

The space around the cottage was not saved from the reality-rending force of the grotesque thing.  Rocks and earth rent from the ground floated about the spire.  But nothing living dared to approach it.  Indeed, the forest seemed to lean away from the strange thing.  Neither fowl nor fauna dared enter this space.  It was that which shouldn’t be.  A thing that shouldn’t exist, but against all reason, it stood there.  Nothing rational could explain what she was gazing at, as the fog continued to depart from the space.  Rose held her breath as she beheld it, fearing beyond fear that if she let out so much as a sigh that she would be swallowed by it.  Even so, something about it called to her.  She had sought it out, after all.  But she couldn’t find the strength to move toward it.  Every inch of her screamed against the thought.  Something primitive inside her, some long lost beastial survival instinct begged her to run the way she came and never look back.



Still, she took a step forward.