Emery never expected her life to change with a single painting. When the artwork in her childhood bedroom reveals a doorway to another world, everything she thought she knew about reality begins to unravel. She is drawn into a realm ruled by a dark and powerful queen, a place where forests whisper secrets, shadows hide danger, and magic bends the rules of time and space.
In this perilous world, Emery must rely on her courage, her wits, and a mysterious connection she cannot explain. At the heart of it all is Rhiannon, whose presence is both a challenge and a comfort. Together they navigate treacherous landscapes, unravel hidden truths, and face dangers that test not only their skill but the strength of their hearts. As fear and wonder collide, what begins as trust grows into a love that neither expected but cannot ignore.
Every moment becomes charged with intensity as Emery and Rhiannon’s bond deepens, their connection a fragile light in a world filled with shadows. Every touch, every glance, carries risk and desire, drawing them closer even as the queen’s power threatens to overwhelm them.
In a place where nothing is certain and every choice has consequences, they discover that love can be as transformative and unpredictable as magic itself. Yet the darkness is patient and relentless, and danger waits in every hidden corner. Can their hearts endure the trials ahead? Will their love be enough to survive a world that seems determined to tear them apart, or will it be the very thing that costs them everything?
Suddenly, music begins to play, soft and mechanical, yet no one is winding it. My hand slips, and the elephant falls back into place. I watch, frozen, as the mobile spins on its own. Then the images appear once more. The same couple peers lovingly into the crib, their faces radiant. I look down and see the ghostly vision of a small baby. My stomach lurches, and I step back sharply. Seeing the spirits of my parents is one thing, but seeing a ghost baby that is likely me, it’s another entirely.
As I stumble backward, my gaze catches the mural spanning the far wall. I smile despite the chill running through me. Hand-painted, intricate, and breathtaking. A castle near the top, vast forests stretching below, a large oak tree in the center, just like the one outside, and small villages scattered across the ground. What a beautiful mural, I think.
I notice the signature at the bottom and step closer: J. Donovan. Donovan was my mother’s maiden name, I remember from the files. But who was J. Donovan?
The rocking chair in the corner creaks, then begins moving on its own. I recoil, and another vision blooms. My mother sits there, visibly pregnant, hands cradling her stomach as she rocks slowly, smiling at the half-painted wall. An older man with white hair and overalls smiles back at her, painting the mural. The vision fades. Could that have been my grandfather? The name J. Donovan dances in my mind, but I have no frame of reference ... nobody ever spoke of my mother’s family.
A flicker of light lands upon the tree in the mural. I blink, unsure if it’s sunlight, or something else. It dances, pulling me closer. I feel a strange force, magnetic, drawing me forward. Whispers brush against my ears, soft but insistent. Without thinking, my hand rises, reaching for the tree.
The moment my fingers graze the painted bark, a force seizes me. I feel myself tipping forward, caught in a pull I can’t resist.
I hit the ground with a thud, the sound muffled by a thick layer of fallen leaves. They scatter under me as I roll slightly and press myself up. My hands are scraped, my palms gritty from debris, but I push myself to my feet.
I blink and freeze. The massive oak stands before me, just as it did in the yard, its branches stretching wide overhead.
How the ...? How did I get back outside?
I spin around, heart hammering, searching for the house, the porch, anything familiar. But it’s gone. Only trees, endless and towering, surround me. The forest stretches in all directions, thick with underbrush, the earthy scent of moss and damp wood filling the air. The sun dips low, and golden shafts of light pierce the canopy, throwing long, shifting patterns across ferns and fallen leaves.
“Where am I?!” I whisper, panic prickling at my spine. I begin moving, trying to find a road, a trail, anything that makes sense. I stumble over roots, brush past low-hanging branches, my boots crunching over twigs and leaf litter. The forest is alive with sound ... the distant chatter of birds, the occasional rustle of unseen animals, but nothing is familiar.
My mind races. What was I doing just before I fell? The mural. The tree in the nursery room. Did I just go through that damn mural? I shake my head violently, trying to convince myself it’s impossible, absurd. Yet the evidence is all around me.
I press onward, climbing a small hill densely covered in holly and brambles. At the top, I reach a sycamore tree and pause, catching my breath. Below me, cutting through the forest like a silver ribbon, is a dirt road.
And then I hear it ... hooves clattering against earth. Horses? My brow furrows. That’s weird.
I look closer. A carriage emerges from the trees, pulled by two massive horses, their harnesses jingling lightly. My heart skips. What the hell? Since when are there carriages pulled by horses anymore?
I start to move forward, thinking this might be my only chance to find help, to understand where I am. But before I can take another step, a strong hand clamps over my mouth, yanking me back behind the tree.
I freeze, chest tight, breath caught in my throat. Darkness and the scent of damp earth press in around me. My mind races, searching for a way out, for the figure’s face, for anything familiar, but I see nothing. Only the firm pressure of the hand, the insistence of the command.
“Don’t move.”
