The forest had teeth.
Seraphina realised this as she crashed through the undergrowth, her boots sinking into ground that pulsed beneath her like living flesh. The trees here were different—black-barked and weeping thick, viscous sap that smelled of rust and rotting fruit. Their roots rose to snag at her ankles as she ran, their gnarled lengths curling like skeletal fingers hungry for purchase.
The crown's whispers had become a constant roar in her skull, its voice layering over itself until she could no longer tell where its thoughts ended and hers began.
Faster, it urged. Deeper.
Behind her, the hunting party's shouts had turned to screams. The horn's dark note still hung in the air, vibrating through her bones in a way that made her teeth ache. She didn't look back. Couldn't. The image of that creature—that thing wearing her sister's eyes—sinking its needle-teeth into the hunter's throat was burned into her mind.
A root lashed out, wrapping around her calf. Seraphina went down hard, her chin striking the spongy earth. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, but the pain barely registered beneath the crown's insistent pull. It thrummed against her hip, its heat searing through fabric to brand her skin.
Get up.
She rolled onto her back just as the root tightened, its rough bark biting through her leggings. More were coming, slithering across the forest floor toward her like a nest of awakened serpents.
The dagger was in her hand before she'd consciously decided to draw it. She brought the blade down in a shining arc, severing the root in a spray of black sap that burned where it struck her cheek. The severed end writhed, spraying more of that corrosive fluid as she scrambled back.
The other roots recoiled.
Not from the dagger.
From the sap.
Seraphina touched her stinging cheek, her fingers coming away wet with blood and something else—something silver that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
The crown's laughter echoed through her mind.
Now you understand.
A root lashed toward her face.
She didn't think—just swiped her damp fingers across the blade.
The effect was instantaneous.
Where her bloodied fingers touched, silver flames erupted along the dagger's edge. The root struck the glowing metal and shrieked, a sound too human to come from anything born of earth and bark. It recoiled, its tip blackened and smoking.
The other roots stilled.
Then, as one, they retreated, slithering back into the earth like chastened hounds.
Seraphina stared at her blade, at the silver fire that danced along its length without consuming the metal. The flames cast no heat—if anything, they leached warmth from the air around them, leaving her skin pebbled with gooseflesh.
The crown pulsed approvingly.
Her power.
Her birthright.
A branch snapped in the distance.
Seraphina was moving before the echo faded, her dagger held before her like a torch. The silver flames illuminated the path ahead in flickering, monochrome tones, revealing things the daylight had hidden—
Symbols carved into the black bark.
Faces in the knots of the trees.
And the roots—
The roots were watching her.
Their ends had split open into bulbous, lidless eyes that tracked her progress, their dark pupils dilating as the silver light passed over them.
The crown's whispers grew urgent.
Hurry.
She broke into a run, the dagger's flames streaming behind her like a banner. The forest grew denser, the trees pressing in until their branches formed a tunnel that forced her to bend nearly double. The air thickened with each step, until every breath felt like swallowing syrup.
Then—
The tunnel ended.
Seraphina stumbled into a clearing so abruptly that it felt like stepping off the edge of the world.
At its centre stood a tree.
Not just a tree—the tree.
It dwarfed the others, its trunk wider than the castle gates, its branches stretching so high they vanished into the low-hanging clouds. Its bark wasn't black but a shimmering, iridescent silver, shifting colours like oil on water as she watched.
And its roots—
Its roots cradled a throne.
Not of hair or bone.
But of wood, grown seamlessly from the tree itself, its back fused to the massive trunk.
Upon it sat a figure.
No—
Lysandra.
Or what remained of her.
Her sister's body had become one with the throne, her legs disappearing into the wood, her arms fused to the armrests. Silver sap pulsed through visible veins beneath her skin, which had taken on the same shifting, iridescent hue as the tree. Only her face remained untouched, though her eyes—
Her eyes were gone.
In their place grew two perfect silver flowers, their petals slowly unfurling as Seraphina approached. The crown at her hip screamed, its voice finally clear.
"Sister."
Not to her.
To Lysandra.
The flowers turned toward the sound, their petals trembling. And from the tree's highest branches, something began to laugh.
The laughter from above was not a sound meant for human ears. It crackled through the clearing like breaking ice, each note sharp enough to draw blood. Seraphina's grip tightened on her dagger as she craned her neck upward, squinting through the dappled silver light filtering through the massive tree's canopy.
At first, she saw nothing.
Then—movement.
A shape detached itself from the highest branches, unfolding with unnatural grace. Long, spindled limbs caught the light as it descended, its body composed of what appeared to be woven bark and silvered vines. Its face—if it could be called a face—was a smooth oval of polished wood, featureless save for two deep grooves where eyes might have been. From these grooves spilt endless strands of liquid mercury, forming a shimmering veil that cascaded down its form.
The Hollow Queen.
Seraphina knew it with a certainty that settled like a stone in her gut. This was no mere creature of the woods—this was something older than kingdoms, older than crowns.
The Queen alighted upon a low-hanging branch, her vine-like fingers curling around the wood. The laughter had stopped, but the air still vibrated with its echo.
"Little thief," the Queen spoke, her voice the sound of wind through dead leaves. "You've brought my crown home."
The words slithered into Seraphina's ears, coating her thoughts in honeyed poison. She fought the urge to reach for the cursed circlet at her belt—its weight had become a constant, gnawing presence since she'd entered the clearing.
"Let my sister go." Seraphina was surprised at how steady her voice sounded.
The Hollow Queen tilted her head, the mercury tears streaming faster. "But she's exactly where she belongs." A vine-finger uncurled, gesturing to the throne where Lysandra sat entombed. "The roots remember their own."
Seraphina took a step forward, her silver-flamed dagger raised. "You're lying."
"Am I?" The Queen's form shimmered, and suddenly she stood directly before Seraphina, close enough that the mercury tears formed a glistening pool at her feet. Up close, Seraphina could see that the Queen's wooden skin was carved with countless tiny scenes—a woman weeping over a grave, a child holding a crown of thorns, a door opening onto endless dark.
The Queen reached out, her vine-fingers brushing the wounds on Seraphina's palms. "You bleed silver, daughter of kings. Just as she does. Just as I did."
A memory not her own flashed behind Seraphina's eyes—
A girl with blood-moon hair kneeling at the base of this very tree, her hands pressed to its bark. A crown of thorns was placed upon her head. The first scream as the roots took her.
Seraphina staggered back, breaking contact. The memory faded, but the horror lingered, thick in her throat.
The Hollow Queen sighed, the sound like dry leaves scattering. "You see now, don't you? This is how it's always been. How it will always be." She gestured to the throne. "Your sister is becoming what she was meant to be. As will you."
Lysandra's head twitched at these words, the silver flowers blooming wider. Tiny roots began to creep up her neck, weaving through her hair like living jewellery.
Seraphina's dagger flared brighter. "No."
The Queen's mercury tears stilled. "No?"
"I said no." Seraphina lunged, her blade aimed straight for the Hollow Queen's heart.
The Queen didn't move.
She didn't need to.
The roots erupted from the ground, forming a living shield between them. Seraphina's dagger struck true, its silver flames licking hungrily at the wooden barrier—but more roots came, and more, until she was forced back, her arms trembling with effort.
The Hollow Queen watched from behind her writhing wall, those empty grooves somehow conveying amusement. "You'll learn, little thief. They all do."
From the throne, Lysandra made a sound—not a scream, not a sob, but something in between. The silver flowers turned toward Seraphina, their petals trembling as if trying to speak.
Then—
A horn blast shattered the tense silence, its note clear and bright and utterly human.
The Hollow Queen recoiled as if struck, her vine-fingers clutching at her featureless face. The roots shielding her faltered, their movements becoming erratic.
Seraphina didn't hesitate.
She ran for the throne, her dagger slicing through the weakened roots like parchment. Up close, she could see the truth—Lysandra wasn't just fused to the wood; she was being consumed by it, the tree's silver sap pumping through her veins in a grotesque imitation of blood.
"Sera..." The whisper was so faint that Seraphina almost missed it. It didn't come from Lysandra's mouth—that remained sealed shut by creeping roots—but from the flowers where her eyes had been.
The horn sounded again, closer now.
Seraphina pressed her bloodied palm to the throne's armrest. "I'm getting you out of here."
The silver flames from her dagger leapt to the wood, spreading rapidly. But instead of burning, they crystallised, freezing the throne in jagged silver veins that cracked and splintered under their weight.
The Hollow Queen shrieked, a sound that shook the very earth.
And Lysandra—
Lysandra fell forward as the throne shattered, her body free but her legs still trailing strands of silver sap like torn ligaments. Seraphina caught her just before she hit the ground, her sister's weight frighteningly light in her arms.
The flowers were Lysandra's eyes should have been turned toward her, their petals brushing her cheek like a caress.
"Run," they whispered.
And Seraphina did. Behind them, the great tree shuddered, its iridescent bark splitting as something ancient and terrible began to wake.