High atop a towering sequoia, a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered in the gentle breeze, their wings catching the dappled sunlight that filtered through the dense canopy. Mary gazed up at them, her heart lightened by the sight, as though the weight of the waking world had been lifted from her shoulders, everything felt more vivid, more alive, yet strangely distant, as if she were merely an observer in a world not entirely her own.

The forest around her was ancient, its trees tall and thick, their trunks covered in moss that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. She could feel the presence of the trees, a subtle hum of life that resonated with every step she took. It was as if the forest itself was aware of her, watching her with a quiet, ancient wisdom. The air was filled with the sweet scent of pine and damp earth, a fragrance that brought back memories of childhood hikes with Lucas, long before their lives had taken a darker turn.

As Mary began to walk, she noticed something peculiar—whenever she brushed her hand against the bark of a tree, it seemed to respond, almost imperceptibly, with a soft whisper of leaves or a gentle rustling of branches. The trees were not just alive, but sentient, communicating in a language she couldn’t quite understand but felt deeply within her soul. They spoke in hushed tones, as if sharing secrets meant only for her.

The butterflies, once content to remain among the sequoia's branches, began to follow her, fluttering just above her head in a delicate dance. Their presence was both comforting and unsettling, their movements synchronized, as though they were guided by a collective will. There was an intelligence in their flight, a purpose that Mary couldn’t quite discern. The more she walked, the more she felt as though they were leading her somewhere, beckoning her to follow a path that only they could see.

She had no reason to resist. The dream was peaceful, devoid of the anguish that had plagued her since Lucas’s death. Here, in this dreamscape, she felt a sense of freedom, as if the sorrow that had weighed her down in the real world had no place in this ethereal realm. She was simply Mary, unburdened by grief, walking through a forest that welcomed her with open arms.

After some time, she came upon a river, its waters clear and sparkling under the sunlight. It flowed gently, the current slow and steady, inviting her to drink. Mary knelt beside the riverbank, cupping her hands to scoop up the cool water. As she drank, she felt a wave of refreshment wash over her, a sense of renewal that made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t in months. The water tasted purer than anything she had ever known, as if it were infused with the very essence of life itself.

Nearby, a cluster of wildflowers caught her eye. Their vibrant colors stood out against the deep greens and browns of the forest, and she couldn’t resist the urge to gather a few. As she plucked the flowers, she noticed a particularly beautiful bloom—a delicate, pale blue flower that seemed to glow with an inner light. As she reached for it, a butterfly, equally blue and luminous, alighted on the petals.

Mary stared at the butterfly, captivated by its beauty. Its wings were a deep, iridescent blue, edged with a shimmering silver that caught the light as it moved. But it was what she saw when the butterfly opened its wings that truly took her breath away. There, on the delicate wings, were the unmistakable shapes of two eyes—eyes that were hauntingly familiar.

She froze, her heart skipping a beat. The eyes on the butterfly’s wings were not just any eyes; they were Lucas’s eyes, the same warm, gentle gaze that had always made her feel safe and loved. The realization struck her with the force of a physical blow, and she felt tears well up in her eyes.

The butterfly seemed to study her, its tiny body still as its wings held the gaze that had once belonged to Lucas. It was as if the butterfly carried a piece of him, a fragment of his soul that had somehow found its way into this dream. Mary felt an overwhelming sense of loss, but also a strange comfort, as if Lucas was trying to reach out to her, to tell her something through this impossible connection.

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She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers inches from the butterfly’s wings, but before she could touch it, the butterfly took flight. It fluttered away from her, its path weaving through the trees as it disappeared into the forest’s depths. Mary watched it go, her heart aching with a longing she couldn’t quite put into words. She wanted to follow it, to chase after that fleeting glimpse of Lucas, but something held her back—a sense of foreboding that made her hesitate.

As she stood there, lost in her thoughts, the other butterflies that had been following her began to close in, their wings creating a soft, almost hypnotic fluttering sound. They circled around her, their movements growing more erratic, more insistent. The peacefulness of the dream was starting to give way to something darker, something more unsettling. The butterflies’ presence, once a source of comfort, now felt oppressive, as if they were trying to communicate something urgent, something she needed to understand.

The whispers of the trees grew louder, their words still indecipherable, but filled with a sense of urgency. The forest around her seemed to shift, the once welcoming atmosphere now tinged with an undercurrent of danger. Mary’s heart began to race, her breath quickening as she realized that this dream was not as benign as it had first appeared.

She tried to move, to continue walking, but the ground beneath her feet felt unsteady, as if it could give way at any moment. The butterflies pressed closer, their wings brushing against her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine. They were guiding her again, but this time it didn’t feel like an invitation—it felt like a warning.

With a sense of growing dread, Mary allowed herself to be led by the butterflies, their path winding deeper into the forest. The trees grew taller and denser, their trunks twisting into unnatural shapes that loomed over her like ancient sentinels. The light grew dimmer, the canopy above thickening until only slivers of sunlight pierced through, casting long, eerie shadows on the forest floor.

As she walked, Mary couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched, not just by the butterflies, but by something else, something hidden in the depths of the forest. The air grew colder, and the sweet scent of pine was replaced by something sharper, more metallic—a scent that filled her with an inexplicable fear.

Finally, the butterflies led her to a clearing, at the center of which stood a single tree, ancient and gnarled, its bark dark and cracked like old leather. The tree was different from the others, its presence dominating the clearing with an air of malevolence. Mary hesitated at the edge of the clearing, every instinct screaming at her to turn back, to flee from whatever awaited her beneath the tree’s twisted branches.

But the butterflies were relentless, urging her forward with a persistence that left her no choice. She stepped into the clearing, the ground beneath her feet cold and unyielding. As she approached the tree, she noticed something strange—carved into the bark were symbols, runes that glowed faintly with a sinister light. They pulsed in time with her heartbeat, drawing her closer despite her growing fear.

She reached out to touch the tree, her fingers brushing against the rough bark. The moment she made contact, a shock ran through her, like a jolt of electricity that left her gasping. The runes flared to life, their glow intensifying as they began to writhe and twist, forming new shapes, new patterns that seemed to convey a message.

Before she could decipher the symbols, the ground beneath her feet began to tremble. The tree’s roots shifted, curling and uncurling like the limbs of some great beast awakening from a long slumber. Mary stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest as the tree’s bark split open with a deafening crack that eventually turned into a cave.

From the depths of the cave emerged a figure, shrouded in darkness, its form indistinct yet unmistakably human. The figure stepped forward, its presence sending waves of terror through Mary’s body. She wanted to run, to scream, but she was rooted to the spot, unable to move as the figure approached.

“Mary,” it whispered.

Its voice echoing through the clearing like a mournful wind.

“Why didn’t you save me?”

The last thing she saw was Lucas’s face, twisted with anguish, as he reached out to her, his hand just out of reach. long before the fateful accident. that had ended his life.