Annie Hayden's Arc

Chapter 1 of 27

Annie Hayden had walked through a ring of pale mushrooms in her own backyard, and now she stood in a forest that did not exist an hour ago. Her breath fogged in front of her. She rubbed her bare arms, but her thin crop top did nothing against the cold. The sun was already sinking behind unfamiliar trees. She had no idea where she was, and she had no idea how to stay alive here. She kept moving because stopping meant freezing. Snow crusted the ground. Her boots slipped on roots. Her fingers had gone numb, and her teeth clicked together. "Okay," she whispered, just to hear a voice. "Find shelter. Find anything." But every direction looked the same. Dark trees. Blue shadows. The light draining away fast. Then she saw it. A thin curl of smoke rose above the branches. Annie stumbled toward it, tripping, catching herself on frozen bark. A small wooden shack sat in a clearing. Warm light glowed in its windows. She reached the porch, raised a shaking fist, and knocked. The door opened. An old woman stood there, barely taller than Annie's shoulder. Her ears rose to sharp points beneath a bun of silver hair. She held a wooden spoon and stared up with wide, startled eyes. "By the roots," the woman breathed. She looked Annie over, from her round ears to her ripped jeans. "You have no points on your ears. Your face has no markings." Her free hand lifted, then paused. "You're one of them. A human. I thought you were only a story." Annie's legs shook. "I don't know what I am right now. I'm just so cold." Her voice cracked on the last word. The woman's caution melted at once. "Look at you, half frozen. Come, come." She grabbed Annie's sleeve and pulled her inside. "I am Mirael Thornweave. Sit by the fire before you drop." Heat hit Annie like a wall. A stone hearth crackled in the corner. Mirael pushed her onto a stool close to the flames and wrapped a rough brown blanket around her shoulders. Annie hunched over the fire, and feeling returned to her hands in painful prickles. "You should be dead," Mirael said, not unkindly. She pressed a warm cup into Annie's palms. "Night in Deadfall kills soft things. You are lucky my smoke found you." "Deadfall," Annie repeated. She sipped. The drink burned sweet down her throat. "Is that where I am?" "It is." Mirael settled across from her and folded her small hands. Her eyes stayed fixed on Annie, curious and careful. "And it does not want you here. This land runs on magic, child. Everything that lives learns to bend it, or it does not live long." Annie stared into the fire. She was warm now. She was safe for one night. But she had no home to return to, no way to feed herself, and no magic to bend. “What should I do?” Annie asked, looking up at Mirael with terrified and confused eyes