Henry’s eyes grew distant and glassy as the potion’s influence seeped deeper into his mind. He could feel something inside him go slack, as though threads that bound his limbs to his will had been gently snipped, one by one. No. No, no, no. Panic fluttered in his chest, but it was a distant, muted thing, as if viewed through a pane of smoky glass. He tried to tighten his fists, to fight back, but his body refused to listen.

Am I still in here? The thought was thin, fragile, barely more than a whisper.

Elara slipped the flask away with a practiced flourish, her free hand resting lightly on Henry’s shoulder. He jerked reflexively, but his body no longer belonged to him. He stood in a pocket of silence where the only sound was his own measured breathing—and Elara’s quiet hum, as if satisfied with what she’d done. The weight of her hand felt like a shackle, cold and immovable.

Why, Elara? The question echoed in his mind, a pebble tossed into a void.

Just ahead, near a rough-hewn archway, the cave’s dim light took on an ominous hue. A coppery-orange mist gathered, swirling in sluggish, hungry spirals. It gnawed at the cavern’s stone, leaving jagged edges where once there had been solid rock. Crystals hanging from the ceiling flickered, their brilliant glow turning dull as their surfaces rusted, blackened, and finally crumbled. The ground, the walls, the very air seemed to yield before the devouring haze.

A chill slithered down Henry’s spine. It’s alive. It’s eating everything. He wanted to recoil, to flee, but his feet remained rooted in place, traitorous and still.

Then, a figure emerged from that shimmering corruption: a woman in a deep red cloak. She stood at its edge, her face half-veiled by the hood’s shadow. Rather than flee the ravenous mist, she reached out a slender hand, and it recoiled from her touch. Henry’s breath caught. What kind of power does she have? He could sense something in the air, a whispering exchange—words without sound, intentions pressed into the haze. The mist seemed to murmur back, relenting as if grudgingly obeying her will.

Elara tensed beside him, and so Henry’s posture stiffened as well. His muscles clenched involuntarily, a puppet mirroring its master. He watched, mute and helpless, as the red-cloaked woman approached.

Please, no more. His mind clawed at the edges of the fog, desperate for control.

There was none of the hunger in her eyes that he had seen in Elara’s. Instead, there was a tightness there, a concern that softened her gaze.

The red-cloaked woman’s voice drifted over them like a lullaby wrapped in silk. “Elara, you’ve caged him. Let him go. Let him choose the mist’s blessing.” She moved with liquid grace, her hand reaching out to brush Henry’s cheek.

Her touch was cool, almost tender. A shiver raced through him, chased by dread. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this.

“Henry,” she murmured, her words as soft as falling petals, “you’re sick, aren’t you? The world beyond has turned its back on you. No cures, no hope. But the mists—they transform. They can burn away everything that chains you to suffering. Just one step, just one breath.”

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Her eyes shimmered, but in the light, Henry saw something jagged and hungry lurking beneath. A fanatic’s fire, cold and relentless. His mind recoiled, his instincts screaming at him to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there. But his body remained a traitorous husk, frozen in place.

Is this my choice? To be burned or consumed? The thought scraped against his mind, bitter and raw.

Elara’s laughter burst out like a bubble of shattered glass, sharp and frantic. “Oh, she’s good, isn’t she? ‘Blessing!’” she spat, her voice breaking into a high-pitched giggle. “Henry, she’s handing you a sugar-coated dagger and hoping you’ll thank her as you bleed out!”

Her hands trembled, but her eyes blazed with a desperate clarity. “Don’t you see it, Henry?” Her voice cracked, fluctuating between a whisper and a shout. “That mist doesn’t heal. It hunts. It’s a slithering, gnawing beast. And she?” Elara’s finger shot toward the red-cloaked woman, trembling like a splintered branch. “She either believes her own fairy tale or she wants to watch you dance in the fire and see if you turn to ashes or diamonds.”

Henry’s mind swam, caught between Elara’s frantic warnings and the red-cloaked woman’s smooth promises. He could feel the edges of himself fraying, his will unraveling thread by thread.

I have to choose, he realized. But what if I choose wrong? Wait, what am I saying? I still can't even move.

The mist curled closer, a silent predator waiting for his decision.

Elara’s grip tightened, her eyes wet and wild. “I won’t let you gamble your life on her twisted bedtime story. You’re mine to protect, Henry. And I don’t share with other monsters.”

Her fingers bit into his shoulder like iron claws. Pain flared, sharp enough to break through the fog clouding his mind. Mine to protect? The words clanged in his thoughts, heavy and suffocating. He wanted to pull away, to shout, but his body remained unresponsive, a prisoner to whatever potion was coursing through his veins. I’m still here. I’m still me, he thought desperately, but it felt like shouting into an empty void.

Elara’s eyes flicked between him and the swirling mist, her irises glimmering like shattered glass. Her lips curled into an unsettling grin, though her fingers dug painfully into his shoulder. “Henry, sweetheart,” she cooed, voice a sickly blend of syrup and steel. “Stay right there. Don’t wiggle, don’t squirm, or you’ll prance straight into that mist. And we both know what happens then, don’t we?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper, eyes wide and wild. “It chews you up like a starving wolf and spits out bones. I’d rather toss a bunny into a meat grinder than lose you to that.”

A cold sweat prickled across Henry’s skin. The image of himself, broken and discarded like gnawed bones, flickered behind his eyes. Panic surged, clawing at the inside of his chest, but his limbs refused to obey. I need to move. I need to run. Please, just let me move!

Her head snapped toward the red-cloaked woman, neck cracking like a twisted marionette’s. The sound sent a jolt of revulsion down Henry’s spine. What’s happening to her? What’s happening to me?

“You!” Elara hissed. “You think you can peddle this pretty poison as a cure?” A burst of giggles bubbled out, too sharp, too jagged. She thrust her arm toward the corroded rock, her smile stretching thin. “Oh, yes, let’s all just hug the mist and see if it gives us kisses! Look what it does—munch, munch, munch!”

Her singsong mockery scraped against his ears. Each word felt like glass shards grinding into his brain. The mist seemed to respond, curling tighter, its edges hissing with cruel anticipation. No, no, no. Keep it away. Keep it away!

“It eats everything. Breaks it. Ruins it. And you want to serve Henry up like a delicious little snack?”

Her grin faded, eyes narrowing with feral protectiveness. Henry’s breath came shallow and thin, his heart thrumming a terrified rhythm. She’s protecting me... isn’t she? Doubt twisted in his gut. Why does it feel like I’m trapped between two predators?

“I’ll burn this world to ash before I let you feed him to it.”