She dropped her bag on the rotten porch and walked toward it. The grass was cool and wet against her ankles. Each step felt heavier, as if the earth were pulling her down.
The water was black. No reflection. No sky. Just depth. And then—a ripple, though there was no wind.
Before Elara could ask what that meant, the woman shut the door. The click of the lock was soft, but it echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
By SHADOW...
The bus didn’t so much arrive at Mother Village as it gave up. With a final, shuddering cough, it wheezed to a halt before a rusted iron arch where a sign once read: WELCOME. WE’VE BEEN EXPECTING YOU.
“Welcome home, little bird,” the old woman said. “The Mother’s been hungry.”
