"I'll help myself," I blurted out.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a blur of movement. One of the figures dropped from the towering branches, landing with a silent, predatory grace on the mossy earth.
"It's going to hurt," the voice said. "It's going to hurt so very much, but it will be worth it."
He stepped into my field of vision, and for a moment, my breath hitched for an entirely different reason. He was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His features were carved, his green eyes glittering with a dark, bored amusement. He stood over me, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets, watching me struggle against my bondage.
"Keep going," he encouraged, though his voice was more amused than kind.
I growled low in my throat and redoubled my efforts. I thrust my knee upward, but the response was instantaneous and violent. The roots matched my efforts as they tightened. A thick, corded root wrapped around my thigh, squeezing so tightly that I could barely feel the rest of my limb.
"—Ngh! It hurts!" I gasped, my face pressing into the damp moss.
"I know it does," he said. He didn't move to help. "It feels so real, doesn't it?"
"How– how do I free myself?" I choked out.
"Focus your mind," he commanded. His voice sharpened, losing the hint of mocking. "Stop fighting with your body. Close your eyes and visualise the roots. See them in your mind's eye."
I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out the sight of his perfect, indifferent face. I pictured the roots. I felt their weight, their rough texture, their suffocating grip. But as I focused, my fear took the wheel of my imagination. I thought of how much they stung, how they felt like they were adorned with...
"Ow!"
A sudden, white-hot agony shot through my limbs. I screamed as the roots beneath me spontaneously sprouted wicked, curved thorns. They punctured my jeans, my sleeves, and my skin.
"Not like that!" the voice snapped. He sounded annoyed now. "What are you doing, silly lost girl?"
"I'm imagining them as you told me to!" I yelled back through the tears of pain.
"Not with thorns! You're making them worse. Imagine them with blossoms, or leaves, or... or nothing at all. Imagine them loosening. Imagine them wanting to let go of you."
I opened my eyes, blurry with tears, and found him leaning down, staring directly into my face. His green eyes were so enchanting. He looked entirely calm, entirely collected, while I was literally being violated by a tree.
"Close your eyes again," he whispered. "Do it, before you lose consciousness."
I shut my eyes again, my heart racing. I pushed the image of the thorns away. I forced myself to think of something soft– silk, water, the way the moss felt earlier. I imagined the roots as tired, old things that just wanted to rest back in the cool dark of the earth. I pictured them uncoiling, their grip softening...
At first, nothing happened. The pain stayed. But then, slowly, the stinging receded. I felt the pressure lift from my chest, then my wrists. The roots slid away, withdrawing back into the soil.
"See?" he said. "You could do it all on your own."
I opened my eyes cautiously. I was shaking, my skin covered in small, bleeding puncture wounds. I didn't wait for him to offer me a hand– I knew he wouldn't. I pushed myself up, my muscles aching, and stood on trembling legs.
A second graceful woosh announced the arrival of the other voice. He landed beside the tall man who hadn't helped me, his expression a stark contrast to his companion's. Where the tall one was amused and disinterested, he looked... pained.
"That was unnecessarily cruel, Caius," he said. His voice was soft and caring, and for a fleeting second, it made me feel safe. It made me want to run toward him.
"Why is that, Aemon?" Caius countered, rolling his shoulders. "She helped herself, didn't she?"
"I know," Aemon sighed, his dark blue eyes fixed on the bruises darkening my skin. He was shorter than the one named Caius, but he was just as attractive. "I'm just saddened that I couldn't help her."
I took a shaky step back. Their bickering seemed innocent, but it felt– dangerous. "I—I should go. I'm dreaming. This is a fever dream."
Caius laughed. "You're bruised like over-ripe fruit. Look at your skin. Does this feel like a dream?"
"I could have dreamt the pain," I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction.
"No," Caius said, his voice dropping an octave, suddenly dark and serious. "The pain was real. You know it was real."
The hair on my arms stood up. My subconscious, which had been bouncing off the walls, was now shouting a single word: RUN.
I didn't think. I saw an opening in the treeline– a path that looked clear, leading away from the oak. I turned and sprinted. I expected to hear footsteps behind me, the heavy thuds of a chase, but there was only silence. Then, the faint, distant sound of laughter.
I ran until my lungs burned. I ran until the trees blurred into a wall of green. I ran until the woods opened up.
I stumbled into a clearing.
My heart shattered. There it was. The massive oak. The white pebbles. The raw, bleeding pink mark I had made on the bark. And standing right beneath it, as if they hadn't even noticed I was gone, were Aemon and Caius.
The futility of it hit me. I didn't have the strength to run again. My knees buckled, and I dropped into the moss, burying my face in my hands as the first sob broke through my throat.
"Come now, lost one," Caius said, his voice closer now. "It's not that bad after all, is it?"