Chapter 40 The Veil Of Becoming

• Lucy drifted into sleep long before the lantern guttered out. Her eyelids fluttered as exhaustion claimed her, the soft hum of the generator and the foxes’ breathing weaving a fragile lullaby. Outside, the world lay frozen, but inside her small house, a different storm brewed—one of dread and unspoken knowing.
• She found herself standing in a forest of silver-branched trees, each limb heavy with frost that glinted like broken mirrors in a pale light. The ground was soft beneath her boots, as if the very soil itself were alive, pulsing with the slow heartbeat of the earth. A hush wrapped around her, broken only by the distant echo of snapping branches.
• From the mist emerged the two foxes she had sheltered—now larger, more majestic. Their fur shone like polished ice, their eyes reflecting an ancient wisdom. They paused, glanced at her as if to say, Come, and melted back into the mist. Compelled, Lucy followed.