Lydia & Helena & Snails.

Waterfall.

Grimwraith Mire.

Uncharted, Critic-Ishire.

*************

Lydia's stomach growled, her hunger growing more insistent. "Yes, what is it?" she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.

Helena pulled her gaze away from the waterfall, her brow furrowed. "I was uncertain before, but now I am convinced we are in dire trouble."

Lydia glanced at her, her frustration barely masked. "Why? Are you only just now realizing the gravity of our situation?"

"No, it is more than that," Helena said, her tone serious. "I believe we have repeated this day."

Lydia's brows knitted together. "What do you mean, repeated? It feels as though we've lived this day before, yet now it seems like it was a week ago."

Helena's voice was tinged with concern. "Lydia, I fear the forest is preventing our escape. We have merely returned to where we began."

Lydia frowned, scanning the surroundings. The towering trees, thick with vines, stood like sentinels, the mist swirling around the roots, and the waterfall roared endlessly in the distance. It was a hauntingly beautiful place, but there was something unsettling about it. "Could it be enchanted?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

"This is not simply Grimwraith Mire; this is the *enchanted* Grimwraith," Helena confirmed, her tone heavy with realization.

"But enchantments like this are usually reserved for punishing creatures. What wrong have we committed to deserve repeating time?" Lydia's voice faltered slightly. Helena, being more versed in witchery, had a deeper understanding of such things.

Helena shook her head, her expression shadowed with doubt. "We have committed no sin. The trouble lies in your lack of mastery over teleportation. I fear my spell is unstable, and the forest is taking advantage of it." She sighed. "We shall seek aid and provisions come morning."

A troubled silence stretched between them. Helena's unease deepened as she studied her sister. Was Lydia beginning to forget more? The signs were subtle, but the situation was growing perilous. They had to escape this place before it affected them further.

Just as they began to wonder where they would find food, their eyes caught the glint of slimy creatures moving slowly across the rocks. Snails, dozens of them, coated in the glistening mist from the waterfall, their slick bodies leaving trails of moisture behind them.

"There," Helena murmured. "Snails."

The sight of them brought a strange sense of relief. It wasn't an ideal meal, but it would suffice. Helena, feeling sluggish from the day's tension, set about building a fire while Lydia gathered the snails. She moved with precision, picking them one by one into large leaves, making several trips back and forth until she had far more than they needed.

As Helena worked, she couldn't help but watch Lydia from a few paces away. Their resemblance had always been striking—both with ocean-blue eyes that mirrored the sky on a clear day, and black hair that cascaded down their backs like silken waterfalls. But despite their physical likeness, anyone who truly knew them could easily tell them apart. Lydia had an air of grace, a lightness in her step, a quiet elegance that Helena admired. Helena, on the other hand, was more grounded, her movements deliberate and calculated.

Tonight, however, something was different about Lydia. As she paced along the water's edge, her silver-white lace dress catching the light with each step, there was an almost frantic energy in her movements. Her eyes darted toward every shadow, her focus sharp, as though she were waiting for someone to appear.

Theodore, Helena thought to herself. Lydia's thoughts were always with him, especially in moments like this. But this wasn't the desperation of grief or mourning. This was the urgency of someone who believed they could return to the life they had lost. It pained Helena to watch.

The love Lydia had shared with Theodore had been deep, unbreakable. Helena had witnessed it firsthand—the way they would look at each other as if the world around them ceased to exist. Their bond had seemed otherworldly, destined. Helena had always thought nothing could break it.

Yet now, Lydia's only focus was on finding him, as if she had forgotten the horror of his death. How could Lydia forget that terrible moment? Helena had been there. She had seen Lydia fall to her knees, cradling Theodore's lifeless body, her heartbroken screams echoing through the night. Lydia had whispered his name over and over, as if clinging to the last shred of hope.

Helena's heart ached as fear gripped her. Could her magic be to blame? What if, in her desperation to save them from their father, she had done something to Lydia's mind? Could she have altered her sister's memories, made her forget that Theodore was gone?

Helena sighed deeply, her guilt weighing heavily on her. She had never attempted such powerful magic before. Teleportation had been a last resort, and she had known it was dangerous. But she had done it anyway—for Lydia, to get them away from the horror. What if her inexperience had caused this strange loop in time?

Helena watched Lydia pause, her gaze lost in thought as she stared into the distance. Helena wanted to reach out, to comfort her sister, but the words wouldn't come. How could she offer reassurance when she couldn't even admit the truth herself?

"Lydia," Helena called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lydia turned toward her, her wide, hopeful eyes glinting in the firelight. It was as if she were waiting for news, for a miracle.

"Yes, Helena?" Lydia's voice was steady, almost cheerful, a contrast to Helena's troubled thoughts.

"How are you feeling?" Helena asked, choosing her words carefully.

"I'm fine," Lydia replied quickly—too quickly. "I just need to find Theodore. I know he's out there, waiting for me."

Helena swallowed, her throat tight. "And what if… what if he's not, Lydia?"

Lydia's expression hardened with determination. "He is, Helena. I can feel it. He promised he'd always be there for me, and Theodore never breaks his promises."

Helena forced a smile. "Of course, Lydia," she murmured, even as doubt gnawed at her insides. She could only hope that whatever was happening to Lydia's mind was temporary, that they would find a way to escape this enchanted forest. But as she watched Lydia turn away, her heart ached with the knowledge that some wounds might never truly heal.

The fire crackled as they washed the saliva from the snails, cleaning them carefully before placing them directly into the flames, like roasting potatoes. The scent of the cooking snails filled the air. After a time, they ate the roasted snails, the meal simple but enough to stave off their hunger. And before they could pack up and continue their journey, an eerie sense of ease washed over them, and they drifted into sleep, as if lulled by an unseen force.