Story 1011: Deadlight Fairies

In the blighted glade beyond the ruins of Wythermoor, there blooms a forest that should not be.

By day, it lies dormant—twisted trees of blackened bark and bone-white leaves, casting no shadow beneath the dim, cursed sky. But when the sun sinks low and the veil thins, they come.

Tiny lights. Dancing. Whirling.

Deadlight Fairies.

Their glow lures the lost and lulls the weak. But their wings slice air like razors, and their songs steal memories.

Nara Hexley had seen them once, as a child—mistaking them for forest sprites. She’d followed their shimmer into the dark and returned days later, silent and scarred, her blood smelling of ash and rust.

She knew better now.