…
The deeper we went, the more unnatural the forest became. Tree trunks bowed in on themselves like bones trying to curl inward. Moss crept too far up the bark, clutching branches like fingers. And though snow clung to the earth, the air had a wet, stagnant feel that didn’t match the cold. Like something unseen was breathing under the surface. I was the first to feel it. A prickling sensation at the back of my neck, like we were being watched.
My pace slackened, a growing unease making me drag my feet. Finally, I stiffened, unable to move a muscle.
“Did you hear that?” I asked Erindor.
He turned toward me sharply. “What did you hear?”
“My voice,” I whispered, pointing my finger. “Calling from the trees over there.”
A moment later, my voice echoed again. Exactly. A perfect mimicry, but wrong in cadence. Cold. Mocking.
Erindor didn’t hesitate. He moved between me and the voice, blade in hand.
Then I saw them, half-shadowed figures in the boughs, revealing them—gaunt, stooped figures, their forms draped in whispering leaves, like ancient, emaciated apes. Their faces were wrong. Smooth white masks, too large for their heads, carved with smiling lips and wide, empty eyes. But their faces—those were the true horror. Smooth, oversized masks of bleached white, the lips stretched in an eternal, sickening grin, the eyes wide and devoid of all feeling.
One, balanced on a precarious limb, cocked its head with a jerky, unnatural motion. Then, came a chilling echo of him, mimicking my earlier words, perfectly mirrored, issued from its frozen grin. “Did you hear that?”
Another giggled, light and mischievous, before itlauncheditself with fluid grace to the neighboring tree.
They spoke again—snippets of the group’s voices.
“Help me!” it cried in Jasira’s tone.
“Wait! Over here!” in Gideon’s laughter.
Then my voice: “Please…don’t leave me.”
Their tonecurdledinto something both cruel and infantile, achillingchildlike sing-song that raised the hair on my arms.
“Wynessa,” one cooed. “Come play. Come play.”
“They don’t want you,” said another, in a deadpan version of Erindor’s voice. “Only we do.”
“They’re Mimics,” Erindor hissed. “Don’t listen to them. Don’t speak.”
The entire group had slowed, tense and silent.
“They lure travelers off the path,” he added, low. “With voices and memories. Then they…take something.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes fixed on them in fear.
“Your heart. If they can reach it.”
A cold tremor ran down my spine, raising goosebumps. Then came more. Dozens of them.
The forest bloomed with pale masks. The trees above us shimmered with movement—thin limbs hanging, crawling, and clutching at bark. Their heads tilted in unison. Mocking laughter echoed.
“Pretty girl,” one rasped. “Soft heart. Break it. Drink it.”
“Take her smile,” another hissed.
“They’re all liars. Give her to us.”
They slithered down the trees in a silent, sinuous crawl, their forms coalescing within the deepening shadows.
Erindor stepped forward, jaw tight. “Run,” he announced, his voice carrying to each of us.
