Maple and Malice my WIP (7)
Rooted somewhere deep in the wild timberlands created by the sprawling expanse of maple trees, willows, and white pines, she stands amidst the whispers of leaves, feeling the autumn breeze picking up around her. Though the familiar sounds of the forest cradle her in childhood memories, a haunting loneliness stirs within. Her heart carries a yearning for lost pieces of her past and a desperate hope for answers. It is here— in this sacred place— that she hopes to uncover the truth about her brother's disappearance, which has haunted her for eight long years. She envisions finding a clue, a hidden trace that might bridge the gap between the known and unknown, and clear the fog of uncertainty from her life. A sharp snap of a twig underfoot disrupts this reverie, shattering the serenity like a sudden, startled breath. It hints at the presence of something lurking in the shadows. Yet she remains unbothered, unfazed. She does not start. She does not turn. The forest's life, with its critters scampering, wings fluttering, and branches shifting, echoes within her soul, so deeply intertwined with her own. Here, the melancholy of what was and what will never be envelops her like the autumn air, yet she remains determined—a solitary figure clinging to the hope of finding peace amidst the whispers of lost moments.
Filled with the icy promise of approaching winter, yet still laden with the fading shadow of the now long past summer, the crisp and inviting breath of autumn weaves its invisible tendrils along the back of her neck, piquing her senses. She steps forward, her boots crunching on the early fall leaves, the sound echoing around her like distant laughter. This forest is not just a grouping of trees, nor is it simply a place to walk. It is a sanctuary. It is a time capsule. A natural repository of sorts. A link to the past. The trees stand watchful and close, their bare limbs stretching overhead in tangled patterns that seem more ominous than protective today, their shadows pooling over the trail like a pool of uncertainty. Even the air carries more than nostalgia; the wind shifts with a sudden shiver, gusting through the branches in a way that seems to press her forward and hold her back at once—a physical reflection of the bittersweet tranquility mingled with flickers of unease inside her. The sensation fills her with a nostalgic sense of serenity, reminding her of countless autumns spent in that place, but as she moves through the familiar trails, the gold-leafed floor wavers with uncertainty at every step. There is an undercurrent of foresight, a whisper of something unknown that dances at the edges of her consciousness, mirrored in the restless rustle of the canopy above. She is here to find solace in the embrace of familiar surroundings and to recall the childhood bond with her brother, who loved this season just as much as she did. More than just a retreat into nostalgia, she hoped this visit would bring closure, a momentary glimpse of peace, and perhaps some clarity about the past.
There was a promise made long ago, a vow to revisit these woods together, which could only be fulfilled in spirit now. The breeze begins to pick up speed as she brushes aside low-hanging branches, feeling them snag slightly at her clothing. The breeze tickles her skin as it shifts from a languid draft to a brisk flurry before settling back down as a gentle zephyr. The fall foliage stirs ever so slightly around her, setting into motion its vibrant colors of crimson, amber, and gold. The movement seems to set the forest ablaze as it ripples throughout the branches and leaves. With each step, the forest's vibrant hues seem to pulse with her own heartbeat. The breeze billows through the willows, sending a chill down her spine—a chill that holds the pretense of something deeper, more sinister. She closes her eyes for a moment, steeped in the comfort and richness of the season. She lets the current of air brush against her face like a lover's caress, leaving behind a lingering prickling sensation on the tips of her ears and nose. Each breath is heavy with the scent of earth and decay—a skeletal ghost of yesteryear.
Autumn. Fall. Spooky season. Regardless of the title people bestowed upon it, she believed it was the year's golden hour, the pinnacle of the seasons. Growing up miles away from the nearest town, surrounded by deciduous forests comprised largely of maples, autumn always brought the forests alive. The ombre display ranged from deep crimson to burnt orange to hues that matched her auburn hair. Colors that her brother would point out with a childlike excitement, their shared laughter echoing through the trees. She pauses on the trail to finger a frayed photograph tucked in her jacket pocket—capturing a vivid moment of their younger selves amidst this seasonal kaleidoscope—and it pulls her back in time. Her family wasn’t entirely blood-related. It was a patchwork of love and acceptance. Her brother was blood, but with her mother working several hours away, the duo lived with their mom’s close friend, who had a warm, hearty laugh that could always be heard during supper. The kindly woman was like a second mother to them, filling their days with love and understanding, her family growing to be their own. It was they who nurtured her fascination with the natural world and her brother’s love of storytelling by the hearth, the close-knit love and laughter still felt resonating around the rustling leaves, much more alive than their blood relatives ever were. In the years preceding their entry into their found family, she could only experience true familial joy vicariously—through the lives of her few friends.
The memory of those childhood weekends envelops her senses. As she stands there, she instinctively reaches into her pocket, fingers brushing against one of those very leaves they'd once pressed between the fading pages of heavy, ancient books. The cool, papery texture of the leaf grounds her in the present. Even as the scent of fallen leaves whisks her back to moments spent with her brother hunting for the brightest treasures and hiding amongst the fallen moss-covered trees and thorn thickets. Those afternoons rang with laughter and the satisfying crunch of leaves underfoot. The air was spiced with the scent of apple cider and the warmth of family lingering at the forest's edge. Even the memory of someone clandestinely sneaking rum into her apple cider, a secret thrill despite her underage status, remained a cherished vision in her mind's eye.
The recollection of her brother leaves a sharp pang in her heart. For her, autumn was not just a riot of color or an excuse to dress up, but rather a mosaic of cherished memories, with nostalgia woven into every breeze and every leaf. It seemed tethered to the very core of that forest. She had once promised her younger brother they would return together after they were older and moved away. Return to gather leaves and reclaim their shared joy—joy that would never come. Not in this life.
Now, standing here alone, she feels the overwhelming weight of that broken promise pressed on her soul, hope tangled with longing. It was as if the forest itself might offer a bridge to their lost past. The fear of losing these moments forever tightened around her heart, making each memory feel both precious and fragile. It was all held together in a delicate balance. A balance that was crumbling around her. A balance she yearned to one day restore. A balance that could only be restored with her brother. Her brother. Who vanished on a chilly October day without a trace. Her brother, who has been missing for eight years now. The search teams scoured the woods, but found nothing except the faintest echo of his laugh in the rustling leaves. The uncertainty of what had happened that day gnawed at her, driving her deeper into the embrace of their childhood sanctuary, where she hoped to glean some answers, some peace.
Her body is tense as the tingle of trepidation lingers in her subconscious. The feeling of being watched creeps over her skin, a clammy chill like a breath on the nape of her neck. Dread begins to fill her mind as flashbacks of that fateful night return, memories so vivid they seem to mesh seamlessly with reality. The line between what she remembered and what was happening now blurs almost beyond recognition. She remembers the last time she stepped foot beyond the treeline of this forest, and how the ground beneath her feels alive, shifting subtly beneath her feet. Each fallen leaf crackles with an eerie energy when the breeze shifts, causing her to freeze, every sense heightened and alert. The air is brisk against her cheeks, and despite the cold, her palms grow damp with nervous sweat. For a split second, she catches a faint but unmistakable scent of her brother—citrus and pine—even though such a smell should have faded long ago. Motionless, she strains her ears to catch that singular noise again—a low, whispering rustle among the leaves, something not entirely natural, yet not conclusively supernatural either, as if the forest itself held its breath. Her mind races back to where she last heard that eerie and unsettling utterance, uncertain if her own imagination is playing tricks on her. Her breathing is shallow and unsteady. Blinking seems unnecessary as her heart pounds, echoing in her chest like a caged beast. Her eyes dart about her surroundings, trying to catch any movement, any shadow slipping through the trees. Briefly, it feels as though the ground beneath her pulses in time with her heartbeat, a sensation so alien she cannot tell if it is real or conjured by fear. A figure flickers at the corner of her vision—a silhouette, faint and elusive—and her instincts scream at her to turn around. Paralyzed by fear, she hesitates, feeling the thundering pulse in her ears, the primal dread building inside her like a storm. Desperately, she urges her muscles to respond, to shake off the fear that has bonded to her limbs. Finally, she jerks her head slightly to the right, her breathing ragged and coming in short, searing bursts as she scans for any potential danger, peering into the shifting shadows. A branch cracks under the weight of something unseen, a stark reminder of the forest’s hidden life or perhaps her fraught imagination. She wonders if the whispers and shadows are tied to the emotions of that place, if they weave a tapestry of past moments, or if they trick her mind into constructing a reality that paints the woods as simultaneously a refuge and a haunted place. A shadow darts across her vision, and she whips her head around, craning her neck to spot the elusive figure, desperate for confirmation of its presence, but none is delivered. An icy chill sweeps up her spine as cold fingers seem to caress her arm, leaving behind an unnatural buzz that could be either a figment of her mind's tricks or a supernatural touch rippling up to her shoulder. In panic, she violently jerks her body away from the sensation, her skin prickling with fear. The thorns from the thicket she is standing amongst scrape her clothes, leaving minute lacerations in the fabric. A whisper in her ear, so close she could feel the breath that carried it, calls her name. It is a voice she knows—her brother's voice. Calling her name. His murmur in her ear draws her attention, sending a shock soaring throughout her being as she stumbles back in horror. She hesitates, unsure of what is real and whether the whisper is an echo of the past, a supernatural beckon, or a cruel figment of her mind. A blur of a figure flashes in her grey and green eyes. Pain courses through her. A split second later, everything goes black as if the world itself had vanished, leaving her in silence.
After slowly fading in and out of a delirious state for what seemed like days, her consciousness reluctantly began to pull her back to reality. Could this even be called reality? Dazed and confused, she was forced to acknowledge the pain thumping through her darkness. The pain came from whatever trauma had transformed her world into a static haze before she succumbed to unconsciousness. Now, it drums relentlessly like a chapel bell from within her skull. She becomes aware of the distant and incessant drip of liquid, which is made unbearable by her migraine. As time stretches on, the sound multiplies in intensity and soon echoes in her hollow head. She is unable to open her eyes. She tries to shift to an upright position, but can not. Her body refuses to obey her will. Why? Both her feet and hands are bound by something. Not ropes, though. To her confusion, she feels no physical restraints that confine her. Still, she can not move, as if the wind itself is holding her captive. She twists, trying to sit up, but an invisible force anchors her to the ground. Her senses are now attuned to the finer details. The dirt and stones gritting against her face as she tries to regain even a small amount of freedom. It is no use. In her efforts, she feels the cool chain of her necklace—the one with the promise ring—scrape her skin. It serves as a reminder of the vows from years past. Her dread builds as the sense of claustrophobia and the crushing reality of powerlessness rapidly set in.
Breathe. Count to ten. Breathe. She repeats the mantra she had been reciting to herself for years. She knows well enough by now that focusing her attention away from the immediate cause of panic will help her to calm her nerves, too. Still unable to open her eyes, she hones her senses in on her surroundings and is acutely aware of every sound and smell. The rhythmic drip of that mysterious liquid begins to grow increasingly louder, echoing ominously in her ears. Suddenly, she can detect a faint metallic taste at the back of her throat, its origin and cause unknown. The same metallic tang begins to waft up her nasal passages. Her shirt and jeans, she notices, are thoroughly soaked through on the side she is lying on, the icy chill sending a stabbing pain searing through her whole body. Surrounding her is the almost suffocating stench of damp, rotting flesh, overwhelming her senses and causing her eyes to water even while they are forced shut. The silent tears begin streaming down her grimy, dirt-stained face. She had initially presumed that the dripping sound was coming from a distant water source, but considering the fumes that are assaulting her nasal passages and crawling down her throat, she doubts the liquid in question is water. Each little sound magnifies her fear, as the faint stirrings of a distant breath creep into her awareness, stretching the suspense before any revelation.
Reality itself seemed to be bending, fluctuating between past and present, shifting her very perspective and warping her perception of time. The disorienting push and pull— the stretching and warping of the very fabric of reality— felt like being dragged through the veils between worlds. She suddenly became aware of the sensation of being pulled through... something not quite tangible. It had the consistency of thick fog, yet was different, more structured, and solid. Suddenly, she was in the forest again. But that was impossible. Something was wrong. As she frantically whirled around, trying to make sense of the situation, recognition began to creep through her subconscious. She turned on her heel, taking in the landscape, fear flashing in her eyes. It was peculiarly silent. Not even a breeze rustling the leaves or a bird fluttering its wings. It was as if the world were on pause, as if the forest were holding its breath, waiting, expecting, and anticipating.
She knew this forest like the back of her hand. She knew with utmost certainty that this was not where she had been standing in the timberlands just minutes, hours, or days ago—however long it had been since she was simply immersing herself in memories, revisiting the ghosts of her past. She forced herself to acknowledge that she knew what time it was, what day it was, and what year it was. The awareness of being eight years back in time hit her hard, causing her body to shake uncontrollably as all her pent-up emotions flooded her system, unable to be suppressed any longer. She hit her knees with a dull thud, somehow not disturbing the leaves and twigs beneath her, as the knowledge and regret of the inevitable overwhelmed her. In that moment, she grappled with guilt and longing, her heart aching with the unresolved promise to her brother and the weight of years spent questioning their lost bond.
Her head snapped up, her hearing alert, as she picked up the sound of a distant child's joyous laughter ringing through the trees. No, no, no, no—it was the sound of her brother's laughter. She knew what was about to happen. Maybe she could stop it. Maybe she could remedy her mistake. Maybe this was a second chance from the universe. Pushing herself to her feet with determination fueled by desperation, she broke into a sprint, calling on the speed of her track and field days to propel her forward. The forest became a blur of muted gold, russet, and amber as she dodged trees and vaulted over foliage in her way, not caring about the branch that should have tripped her but didn't. She raced through the endless expanse of forest, desperate to reach her brother in time. Time weighed heavily on her conscience, each passing second a reminder of the fleeting opportunity to mend the past.
She stopped dead in her tracks, wheezing and gasping for air, searching the trees to try to figure out where she was. Something wasn't right. She was back at the starting point, the exact same place where she had begun. How was that possible? The child's laugh rang out again through the woods, haunting and elusive, making her spin as the world spun around her. Everything merged into one indistinguishable flow, losing all sense of reality. Disoriented, she felt her body falling, hope slipping through her fingers as she confronted the numbing possibility of being too late once more. Always too late.
She lurches upright and freezes. She is back to whatever foul abyss she was confined to before. Her eyes are open this time, though not much can be perceived through the musky gloom. Glancing around, the world around her begins to come into view as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. It appears to be a cement tunnel, at least ten feet tall and wide and expanding into an ebony void in either direction. The solitary dripping sound has returned, echoing through the chasm and fracturing the silence with every reverberation. A sudden scurry of rats across her foot causes her to flinch, the sensation of their tiny claws scraping against the cold concrete a vivid reminder of her vulnerability. Now accompanied by the distinct rushing of what could only be described as a thick, violent river, though whether or not it is truly a river is in question. The darkness is so complete, the air so thick and motionless, that time itself seems to be on pause. It reeks with the same nauseating effect as before. Sewers. She is in the sewers. As her eyesight begins to sharpen further in the dim light, she notices something peculiar—a child's toy, a small, ragged teddy bear slumped against the grimy wall. Its button eyes seem to glare at her accusingly, as if aware of her intrusion. Its resemblance to the one her brother used to have is uncanny.
Snuffles had never left her brother’s sight for eleven years. Given to him as a gift as an infant by some long-forgotten relative, they were inseparable. Even when going to school, Snuffles was just small enough to fit inside his backpack. He had been carrying it the afternoon he disappeared. Snuffles had disappeared with him.
Next to it, scrawled in faint, red graffiti, is the haunting message: 'Step Beyond the Veil,' a sinister invitation that chills her to the bone. The phrase sticks with her, whispering in her mind. What sacrifice is it asking of her? It suggests a crossing into the unknown, perhaps a realm where the past and present intersect, a place that holds the answers she has been desperately seeking. Stepping beyond the veil might mean confronting fears or facing the truth about her brother's disappearance. She positions her body in a way that is prepared to fight her way out of the clutches of whatever invisible being is holding her captive. She moves to haul herself to her feet, expecting the same struggle as she experienced before. She is caught off guard and slightly taken aback when her show of force is met with zero resistance. Despite the easy ascent, the phrase continues to echo, each word hinting at choices she might soon face, challenging her to ponder what crossing such a threshold might demand.
The soiled and gritty cement beneath her palm is frozen and rough. She pushes herself to her feet, unsteady under the weight of gravity, and braces herself against the wall next to her. It is damp and equally as cold and covered in a grimy film. Her headache is immediately amplified with the upward movement, and she turns so that her back is pressed against the wall. The moist grime seeps through the lacerations in the fabric of her long-sleeved shirt, the frozen touch no longer noticed, her skin numbed from the pain. She clutches both sides of her head as the throbbing and pulsating drones out all other sounds and senses for what seems like an eternity. She doubles over with the pain and intense dizziness overwhelming her. Was the impact really that hard? It hadn't hurt like this before.
Slowly yet surely, the pain dies away till it is a muted thrum tucked back somewhere in her head. Yet as she steadies herself against the wall, a lingering question gnaws at the edges of her mind. Who dragged me below, and why spare me now? She recalls the fleeting shadow she thought she saw in the woods earlier, a shadow that seemed to move with purpose and awareness. It had an air of familiarity, almost like an echo of someone she once knew, or perhaps an echo of herself. The presence she felt was neither entirely menacing nor fully comforting, yet it seemed to draw her in, as if beckoning her to confront the unresolved emotions tied to her brother's disappearance. The thought unsettles her, a seed of doubt and fear germinating within her, as if the forest itself hides a sentient presence that watches and waits—a presence that mirrors her own internal struggle for closure and understanding.
Swallowing the thick lump that had formed in her throat, she rights herself and takes a hesitant step in the direction of the bear and graffiti. Each step she takes on the cobblestones echoes throughout the cavernous space.
Her thoughts begin to slip, unmoored, drifting back toward home. Family. Life. Everything she holds close. Each memory flickers at the edge of her mind, insistent and impossible to ignore.
She had left Cathrine, her girlfriend, at their apartment with their cat Loki. The ragdoll nestled on Cathrine’s lap, purring softly in pure contentment. Cathrine, ever the caretaker of her eccentric and chaotic partner, had pleaded to join the trip, her green eyes shimmering with tender worry.
“Hannah, please don’t go alone, you know I don’t trust those woods. I know you want to reconnect to your past on your own, but I don’t like the thought of you being out there alone. And you and I both know that your sense of direction isn’t always the best. Don’t you remember the last time you tried to navigate on your own? You ended up going in the completely wrong direction. And what if you’re gone past dark?”
They both started giggling at the recalled event.
Her light-hearted response, echoing through her memory, now sounded naive,
“Don’t worry about me, Cathrine. It’s not like I don’t know where I’m going. I know that forest like the back of my hand, and I’ve walked there countless times before. Nothing bad is going to happen. I’m just going for a walk, that’s all.”
She remembers Cathrine’s voice, soft and pleading, asking her to come home before sunset. Hannah knew that she wanted her home so they could watch the sunset together, just as they did every night. She thought about the promise she made, fragile and bright, that hangs heavy now. They always watched the sunset together. For as long as they’d been dating, they watched the sunset and sunrise together. It had become a sort of ritual. Every morning and evening—Cathrine with her coffee and Hannah with her tea—they sat either on a park bench in the nearby park, or curled up on the comfort of their little sofa and watched the sun as it greeted each day and then bade farewell for the night. She thought about her warm embrace as she pressed a kiss to Cathrine’s slightly trembling lips. The soft caress of her lips still lingered. She thinks back to all that she had left behind when she set foot within the forest’s edge. Her job. Her coworkers, with whom she was supposed to meet for lunch the next day. The college classes she was supposed to attend the next week. Her classmates and the community project they were set to begin work on. She thought about her apartment. About the climbing rose on the kitchen windowsill. She thought about her bed, warm and comforting. The aroma of curry wafting out of the kitchen, and the laundry still waiting to be folded in the washroom. With every footfall, a new memory of what she had left behind is stirred. How simple life seemed that afternoon she left. As she reminisces, she can’t help but question Cathrine’s concern. It isn’t as if worrying is unusual for her—cause it’s not— but she had never before shown so much worry about her going somewhere, especially somewhere as familiar as the forest. What could have triggered such anxiety about the forest all of a sudden?
She has no time to question further because without warning, * somekind of fuckass force idk, is suffocating her as if an invisible force were holding a pillow against her face, cutting off her air supply. It seems to envelop her body and crush her very soul with its weight. It seemed to be ripping at her organs, rearranging them. She feels an unbearable pressure behind her eyes, and her whole body seems to convulse all at once. Bright spots appear in her vision, along with an almost psychedelic visual of blurring colors and shapes.
@rosemelodyshah
the bolded section with the asterix is a filler sentence until i can figure out a better way to word it
as always, thank you so much for reading my work!
critique, criticism, suggestions, and ideas are always appreciated!
Hanarine WOOHOO
I already like Catherine! She's like the Mycroft to Hannah's Sherlock's except their dating!!!
I'd love if Catherine goes into the wood because it's been so long and Hannah never stays out this late! Oh oh and if this all is some sort of insane game at the end of which Hannah finds her currently unnamed brother (unless somehow I've missed the name every time I read this?) who I shall call Scott for personal memory sake. Or no. Wait. I call this. Wind magic thingamajigy against her Scott. Bc it means wild y'know. Uhhmmmmmm so then I call her brother uhh. Briste. It means broken in Scottish Gaelic so. Uh.. memory? I believe it's a girls name in like Bengali or something meaning rain though (not completely sure) and also means trousers in Irish lol.
Oh wait wait. Fracti means broken in Latin... Briste Fracti Mistburn? Uhmmm is it leaning wayy to into the broken bit? Yes. But idk the name Briste is gaining on me and it does mean rain (I checked) in Bengali. So. Idk actually I'm calling him that. Feel free to choose whatever you like though ❤️
Love this though! Catherine offering to come with but naive Sherlock— Hannah— saying no and no regretting it.
Also ragdoll cat Loki 😍😍😍 TELL ME MORE!
for the brother, I was thinking Liam
it means protector
and I could incorporate your idea by making it
Liam Briste Mistburn
:)
LIAM BRISTE IS AWESOME!!!!!
IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE IT!!!
I love EVEYTHING ABOUT YOUR BOOK!
Thank you @221biandconfused-offical and everyone who got me to 25 reblogs!
