Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
HOOK
Alright. Enough. No more bloody trees.
I don’t even bother marking them anymore as I trudge forward. What’s the point? They’ll just shift around again. They’ve already done it—twisted the path like a drunken sailor on deck, making it feel like I’ve been walking in circles. But there, up ahead, I can see the end. Thank Christ.
I quicken my pace. The sooner I get out of this forest, the better. Only...
“No. Shitting. Way.”
I step out of the trees, breaking from their shadow, and there it is. The same damn road where the three paths meet. And right in front of me? That smug, mocking sign.
“The Queen’s Palace,” it says, oh-so-helpfully. “Certain death.”
I glare at it. “It can’t be the same one.” But I know it is, even without taking a closer look. Same damn sign, same damn crossroads. I let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Well, this is just bloody fantastic.”
Hands on my hips, I spin around, trying to figure out which path is the one I just came from. But they’ve all twisted together, just like everything else in this madhouse.
Right, screw it.
I close my eyes, stick out my arm, and point. “That one.”
I start walking again, teeth grinding, fists clenched. But—oh, hallelujah—no more twisted trees. These ones are different. Spread out, taller, and a strange mix of colours—purples, blues, and other shades that don’t quite sit right.
“Glass?”
The trees shimmer, delicate and perfect.
Their branches catch the weak light from the warped sky, reflecting it back in strange, distorted ways.
Curiosity gets the better of me for once, so I reach out, running my fingers along one of the branches.
It ripples under my touch, like water instead of solid glass.
The leaves, razor-thin and sharp as knives, shift in the wind, creating this low, eerie tinkling sound.
Almost like music—ancient, haunting, twisted.
I pause. “Wait. Is that music... playing backwards?” I don’t know how that makes sense, and honestly, I don’t care.
The path pulls me deeper into the glass forest. The wind whistles through the branches, and the music grows louder. It’s like the whole damn place is mocking me. But I’m not stopping for their nonsense this time. No way. This pirate’s no fool. Not twice.
And then I see it—up ahead, a lake. Black as pitch, still as death. In the middle, a path of stepping stones stretches across the water. The riddle the flower gave me comes rushing back. Cross the brook where dreams are lost.
Dreams. Right. Like I’ve got any of those left to lose. But there’s something about that water... it pulls at me, like it knows too much. Too many shadows lurking beneath the surface.
I step onto the stones anyway. No turning back now.
I’m halfway across when I catch sight of him—out of the corner of my eye. It makes me stop and tilt my head.
“What the...?”
It’s a boy. Which would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s... me. A younger version of me, standing there in the water. Shorts, a Scooby-Doo t-shirt, dark hair a bit messy. And those eyes—bright blue, full of wonder, back when I still had some left.
I freeze, blinking hard. No. No fucking way.
He stares up at me, and I can’t help but wave my hand across the water. He mirrors me, waving back.
“You’re not real,” I mutter.
But I get down on my knees, kneeling on the stepping stone.
I’m in the middle of this eerie pool, surrounded by glass trees that shimmer and twist, their reflections rippling on the surface.
I dip my fingers into the water. It’s warm, almost inviting.
But the boy’s face doesn’t ripple. Doesn’t vanish.
“You’re not real,” I say again, pushing myself halfway up. No time for this. It’s just another distraction.
But as I rise, I hear it. That soft, accusing voice. “You’re leaving me. Again.”
I freeze, narrowing my eyes at him. “I never left you.”
He nods slowly. “You did. You left me. Left us.”
I stare at him, feeling that familiar knot tighten in my gut. His voice doesn’t waver, his gaze cuts right through me. “You walked away. You let it all happen. You left me there. Alone.”
I want to look away, shove the feeling down, but his words dig in. “I did what I had to do,” I say through clenched teeth, forcing myself to stand up and walk. But I don’t need to look to know he’s walking right beside me, step for step.
“You didn’t just leave,” he says, his voice following me. “You abandoned me.”
“I...” I stop. And suddenly, he’s not a boy on the water’s surface. He’s standing further back, not quite there, but not far. And I know this moment. Oh, I know it too well.
“You left.”
The funeral. My mother's coffin. Lowered into the ground. The wind, sharp as a blade, cutting through my skin. My uncle’s hand, heavy on my shoulder, telling me to “be a man.”
Rage flares up in me, hot and quick. I don’t want to see this. Don’t need to relive it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap at him, shoving past the boy, forcing myself to leap to the next stone. But the image clings to the water’s surface, shimmering, refusing to let go.
“I didn’t leave you. It’s how we survived.”
“You didn’t survive though, did you?” His voice is quieter now, but it hits harder. “You—”
“Enough.” I roar, fists clenching, burning with anger. I’m ready to tear him apart, this version of myself. I don’t owe him anything. Nothing.
I spin around to tell him just that, but he’s gone. And in his place, standing there as if they’d been there the whole damn time, are the Queen’s guards. Tall, faceless figures in blood-red armour.
I don’t even think. I just react. I go to pull my sword—only to realise, of course, it’s not there. Brilliant.
But a fight’s a fight. And if these bastards want one, I’m not backing down. I raise my fists, slipping into my stance. Blade or no blade, I’m ready. “Come on, then,” I growl. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The guards don’t move. Not at first. Then, from the shadows, I catch a flicker of something. A tail. Blue-grey. And then it’s gone. But I know exactly what that means.
“Traitorous cat,” I mutter. Of course. Of course, he’s involved.
I crack my knuckles, flexing my fingers. If the Queen’s dogs want a fight, they’ve come to the right place.