Everfree

A/N: It can't just be a myth. Maybe because we all know better. Maybe because we made it ourselves. Whatever the case, it can't because it isn't so it's not. And it knows that too.

You run forward, never slowing down, never looking back. It's not possible- you are moved by fear and necessity. You can't stop, because stopping means death.

(And death is formed from fear.)

Yes, you have much fear. Fear of the bullies that chased you here, fear of the forest surrounding you, fear that the stories are true. Stories of living vines and deadly flowers, of hydras and manticores.

(Guess what, little one? The stories are true.)

And the serpents will hide in wait until they can leap out and grab you, in the shadows of ferns greener than they. The vultures and crows will circle overhead, their caws pulling Death to you so he can take your soul and they can take your flesh.

(They like the taste of blood here, little one. But you already knew that.)

You keep running, spurred by the all-consuming fear. Fear of death, fear of injury, fear of fear. It fuels you until you run yourself ragged. You are born into fear, you live in fear, and you die in fear. It's a vicious cycle that feeds off itself, never ending, never ceasing, never letting up, a cancer that creates itself.

(We're all alone eventually.)

So you continue to run, though you can't remember exactly when the pain overcame your ability to move, or when your legs seized up and you fell. Fell into the mud and grime, clawing your way back to the haggard path only to find it gone.

(Terrifying, isn't it?)

And you moved, pulling yourself up and trying to run but you couldn't, couldn't walk or crawl or speak anymore. And now your throat is dry and constricted and your heart is pounding and you can't so much as twitch.

(Broken record broken record broken record)

And you will surely die here, you think as the noises of animals and insects and plants around you fade. You will surely die because of exhaustion, you tell yourself, you cannot live long enough for these creatures to kill you.

(Because you can't outrun your fear.)

And something slithers forward, a monstrosity unlike any you've ever heard of, made of bones and muck and sludge. A skull for a face, a skull that doesn't come from natural creatures but other things.

(Doesn't it feel warm?)

It oozes over and looks at you with those hollow eyes, all other noises completely gone. And now it is not fatigue that pins you to the ground, no, it is fear. And ah, it all circles back to fear again.

(I told you so.)

The beast leers over you, wormlike body stretched out behind it. You cannot move, cannot breathe, cannot think for fear. It seems to contemplate this as it leans down until it is eye level with you, and your heart is beating painfully fast.

(What the Scarecrow wouldn't give to be you right now!)

It stays still for another moment, giving you time to wonder if it is Death, come to claim you. But it isn't, so it doesn't, because it can't. And then it moves again, away, leaving an acid trail of slime behind it.

(All the grass burns in the fairy ring)

You stay completely still for a moment, regaining the ability to breathe as you wobble to your feet. As soon as you stand, you realize that even if that thing didn't eat you, others gladly would.

(Eat 'em up, eat 'em up, om nom nom!)

You run for what seems like hours, pushing yourself forward as the small amount of light wanes. You see the path, and how the foliage begins to open up, and you think that now, finally, you are free!

(But you're never free in the Everfree...)

And you run into the clearing as the sun begins to set, and you are confused. Statues, everywhere, solid stone. It wouldn't be quite as creepy, you think, if the statues looked happy. But these don't look happy- instead, expressions and postures exuding fear adorn them.

(Jack-in-the-box.)

You look around, hoping someone, anyone is there, but no one is. Until you hear a rustling in the bushes and you turn, hoping it's a friend.

(Don't be silly!)

The last thing you ever see is a pair of glowing red eyes and a mass of snakes lunging forward.

(I moved here from Greece.)

It was always the mistakes of those like you, little one. When the Bog Thing doesn't take you, the others will. And they do because they can and they must.

(And, as we stated earlier, they like the taste of blood here.)

But don't feel like you had any hope to begin with. It wasn't your fault, little one, you were destined to perish the moment you stepped in.

(We can't afford the keep out signs.)

Welcome to the Everfree Forest. We hope you have a pleasant stay.

(Seeing as you're never getting out.)