Phoenix had ran full pelt into the forest, but you can only run for so long.
She kept expecting the Queen to appear by her, but alas she did not.
After stumbling and jogging away from the castle, hours and miles away, she became hopelessly lost.
Darkness tampered and tiredness tampered with her train of thought and the spectres of childhood fairie stories returned to her.
These woods were wide, and these woods were old.
But it had began as nothing more than a park, the plaything of a former Monarch.
But as of any magical object tailored to a living soul, a wood or a doll, it feeds off that who it is made for.
And as this young Monarch of old had grew up and become corrupted, so had the woods.
The former protector of it, so called by legend the 'Hunter', had turned Rogue.
Or that was so the legends went.
And this was what Phoenix remembered as she lay on the forest floor shivering.
She had only ever known the inside, she had no means of protection from the elements, she was lost and alone and cried outright for the first time in her life in that cold, dank, wood.
As her tears fell from her eyes, they glowed.
And suddenly, there was a rustling from the undergrowth, and a shadow preceded what would soon emerge from them.
Phoenix scrambled back in shock as-