Blogtober 2025, Day 29: Empty
The sound inside the oak deepened—a slow, rhythmic knocking,
as if something vast were testing the walls of its cage. Emily stumbled
backward, clutching the amulet. Its glow flickered, weaker now, as though being
drained.
“She’s waking,” Emily whispered. “We’re out of time.”
Sarah grabbed her shoulders. “Then stop it! You said your
family kept her sleeping—how?”
Emily shook her head, tears streaking down her face. “It
wasn’t sleep. It was containment. The offerings weren’t gifts—they were
anchors. Every name she took, every trinket she claimed… it held her down.”
Mark’s cracked voice rasped through the quiet. “And now
there’s nothing left to give.”
The forest trembled in agreement. The ribbons that hung from
branches began to wither, their colors draining to gray. One by one, they
crumbled into ash, leaving the trees bare and empty.
Sarah turned to the oak. “If it was the names that bound
her—then we take them back.”
Emily stared at her. “You don’t understand. Taking them back
means letting them go.”
The Lady’s voice drifted through the clearing, thin and
amused. “All debts end the same way. Someone pays.”
The ground beneath them split with a low, wet groan. The
hollow at the oak’s base widened into a mouth.
Mark took a step forward, jaw tight. “Then we find a way to
close it,” he said. “Before she decides who’s left to collect.”
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