Although the storm is still raging above us, we’re somewhat sheltered beneath the forest canopy.

We walk in silence, Felix holding my hand firmly as we make our way through the dark. Kitty’s a few steps behind us, struggling over roots and leaf litter in her stilettos, which she refuses to take off. Her reasoning? She says she has plenty of Louboutins, but only one pair of feet.

I can barely see two feet in front of me, but somehow Felix seems to know exactly where he’s going. From time to time I look up at the dark leafy veil of leaves overhead. I can see heavy black clouds through the gaps, lit purple by streaks of brilliant lightning forking through the air.

Even as Kitty and I shriek when a loud peal of thunder roars above us like a giant’s war cry, there’s not so much as a flinch from Felix. Without missing a beat, he continues leading us forward through the woodland gloom, impervious to the pandemonium in the sky. He moves sure and steadfast as a star on its fixed course across the heavens, cutting boldly though the dark night like a comet.

He never stops, never steps aside or changes direction.

After a while I realize that we’re walking in a perfectly straight line. Not a straight-ish line, or a meandering curve like a track though the forest, but rather an unnaturally rigid path. Even though we’re surrounded by trees on all sides, they’re never directly in front of us, almost as if they’re opening the way up for us as we walk. I look over my shoulder and see only the gloom of tangled vegetation and twisted trees behind us, no discernable path or opening.

I wonder whether Kitty or Felix have noticed this, but something keeps me from asking them directly. A niggling fear, a feeling of being left out. They’re keeping something from me. Some secret, sitting dark and heavy between us, even as we walk together through the storm.

My flimsy ballet-style beribboned shoes, suited more for a school dance than scrambling over slippery rocks and broken braches, begin to literally fall apart on my feet. The stitching unravels, and the soles wear thin, as if I’d been walking for days, years, rather than an hour. They hang on to my feet like desperate stowaways, useless and burdensome. Eventually the inevitable happens, and I step on a sharp spike of wood sticking out the side of an upturned branch. I cry out, letting go of Felix’s hand as I hop on my left foot, holding my right foot above the ground.

Pain like a hot searing blade stabs the underside of my right sole. I can feel liquid in my shoe.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Felix asks urgently.

“And that’s why I’m not taking these babies off until we’re home,” says Kitty, clicking her beat-up stilettos together. She gasps, stepping closer to me with her eyes wide. “Shit Ash, that looks really bad.”

I look down at my foot and watch in detached horror as the toe of the ivory slipper turns crimson, and a single drop of blood pools on the outside of the silky fabric, then drips down onto the moss below.

Don’t faint don’t faint don’t faint…

Strong arms scoop me up. Felix carries me like before, clutching me tight against his chest as he walks.

I fight the pull to close my eyes and pass out.

Our clothes are still wet, but I can feel the heat of his body through his hoodie, and I cling to him for warmth, hoping that I’m warming him a bit too. Kitty follows behind, muttering about the Twilight Zone and wanting to see some receipts.

 We walk this way for what feels like an hour, until I see a soft golden light illuminating the tree trunks up ahead, a welcoming warmth in the distance beckoning us forward.

We step out into the clearing.

The cabin is lit up, a beacon blazing at the glade’s center. Even from this distance, I can see that all the lights are on and the front door has been left open.

There’s not as much cover from the storm out in the open, so we make a dash for it. I clutch tighter as Felix sprints nimbly over the moss-slicked stones, the rain battering us as Kitty hobbles behind in her wrecked heels.

We finally reach the cabin, and Felix darts up the steps, carrying me through the front door and over the threshold.

I unwrap my arms from around his neck, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll take you upstairs,” he says. “You shouldn’t stand on it yet.”

I cast my eyes over to my injured foot, the dilapidated white shoes now almost entirely stained red with blood.

Kitty follows close on our heels, slamming the front door and shutting out the storm behind her.

“Oh. My. God,” she says, slumping against the wall as she gasps for breath. “What just happened?”

“3am,” Felix mutters under his breath, ignoring Kitty. “Impossible.”

He’s staring at the grandfather clock at the end of the entrance hall. The time clearly shows five minutes past three, which can’t be right – we must have left Byleth Park at around 9pm, and there’s no way we’ve been wandering around the forest for six hours.

But Kitty pulls her phone out of her clutch, and shakes her head, before holding the screen up so we can see.

The numbers 03:01 blink challengingly, daring us to deny the reality of what just happened.

Somehow, we lost time. Or maybe we really did walk for six hours, and we were somehow going in circles, like when we were trying to reach my house earlier but we were stuck in some incomprehensible infinite suburban loop.

Nothing’s making any sense. I mean, Alice in Wonderland made more sense than this shit. What the freaking hell.

“Well, I’m going straight to sleep then,” Kitty says, marching into the living room. “I’ll leave some antiseptic cream and painkillers in your room Ash, but I hardly see the point actually. I expect I’ll wake up in my bed later and realize this was all an absinthe-fuelled hallucination. I knew I shouldn’t have let Jade talk me into that. Night.”

She head over to the wrought iron spiral staircase in the far corner of the room, dodging a foot sticking out from the sofa.

“Maybe leave the lights on for them in case they wake up Fee,” she says. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who had a wild night.”

Felix carries me across the room and stops to stare in disgust at the scene before us. From the evidence I see before me, I deduce that they drank alcohol. A lot of it.

Exhibit A.

Ben is lying sprawled out on the sofa in only his boxers, lovingly cradling an empty bottle of champagne. He’s wearing a coffee filter as a hat, and someone drew a pirate’s eye patch, scars and a scruffy beard across his face.

The guilty party is lying passed out on the floor nearby clutching a sharpie.

Exhibit B.

Alastaire’s fingers are stained black where they grip the marker. His burnished blonde halo of hair is messed up and lopsided in a way he’d never let it be while awake. He’s lying on his back, smiling that devilish angel’s grin of his, the very picture of rakish, aristocratic charm even in his sleep.

Exhibit C.

Lyall is lying across Alastaire’s feet, twisted around in a position that would be very uncomfortable, unless you happen to have drunk several bottles of champagne. I can’t help but notice that he’s wearing green pajamas with emojis all over them, a rainbow of adorable Lyallness. Too cute.

There are globs of some sort of melting purplish stuff all over the coffee table, probably the boysenberry ice cream from the freezer. The creamy liquid has dried in parts and pooled in others, dripping over the edge of the table. Someone’s used his fingers to draw a rather crude picture of a duck smoking a joint on it. Or maybe it’s a bulldog with a mustache. I really can’t tell. Whoever did this probably couldn’t tell either.

Most likely suspect – Ben.

The only person missing is Elliot, who probably did the responsible thing like usual and went to bed before the party got started.

“Idiots,” Felix mutters, shaking his head as he heads towards the spiral staircase.

“Wait,” I whisper, trying not to wake the boys. “You can let me down now. It would be too hard for you to-”

- carry me up the stairs, which is exactly what he’s doing right now.

It’s a strange feeling snaking upwards in a sinuous winding circle, like drifting up through the air, weightless and floating as he holds my cold-numbed body in his arms.

We reach the top of the staircase and Felix carries me down the corridor, passing his own room as he heads along the passage.

Kitty’s door is shut, and the light is already off.

My door is slightly ajar, and Felix kicks it open wider with his foot before passing through. Like the rest of the house lights, my bedside lamp is on, even though I’m sure it was off when I left.

 Felix walks over to the side of my bed, and gently lowers me down, so I’m sitting on the edge.

He kneels before me, and lifts my right foot, carefully peeling what remains of my shoe from it.

“How bad is it?” I ask, gritting my teeth as his fingertips trace the throbbing gash on the underside of my foot, sending a web of pain radiating from his touch.

Felix doesn’t answer me. His eyes, usually so cold and severe, are feverishly wide, his skin is pale, paler than ever, as he lifts his fingertips into the light, now slick with bright red blood.

Then he shifts his gaze to me, his hazel eyes sinking into my own pale green ones. He leans forward, his expression that of a spellbound man entranced by a siren’s song, swimming through the currents towards his enchantress.

Inevitable. Doomed.

“Ash,” he says, his voice slow and lingering, fervent, thick. “Ash, I…”

There’s a fire burning in his eyes, a desire deeper than lust, a need more primal than hunger.

And there’s something else too.

Sadness. Regret.

With a jolt, that twisted expression in the dreams come back to me, the exact same look of yearning, sorrow, love that he wears as he stabs me in the heart over and over again.

I stiffen and cry out, pulling myself away.

Felix blinks, freezing immediately.

“Leave,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut as I cover my face with my hands. “Please, just leave.”

There’s a moment of silence, then the soft rustle of his footsteps and my door closing.

I wipe away my tears, dropping my head to the pillow and reaching for the bedside lamp switch without even bothering to check my bleeding foot.

I don’t care any more about that anymore.

All I care about now is the lulling fragrance of the scarlet roses creeping in from outside my window, and the intoxicating dreams they bring.

Drowsy red fingers of rose scent wrap around me, and my eyes flutter closed.

When I open them again, I’m in the dark.