“Where the Daffodils Die” by Jenna Morrison
Copyright @ Jenna Morrison, 2024
You stand motionless in the marsh, the water lapping over your feet with an icy embrace that sends shivers deep into your bones. This is no ordinary marsh; the water is black as pitch, swallowing any trace of light that dares to touch it. Each step you take sinks into a murky blend of human ash and bone fragments, crunching underfoot. Jaw bones, still bearing the ghastly remnants of their owners’ teeth, emerge like macabre pearls from the depths.
Above, the tree leaves rustle together, their hollow clapping creating an eerie symphony that echoes through the still air. The darkness lies thick and impenetrable behind the marsh forest, an abyss that seems to watch you with unseen eyes. Weeping willows, their drooping branches like the fingers of sorrowful ghosts, loom over the water. Their ancient limbs weave up and down, casting twisted shadows that dance on the surface.
"He stalks us all," a whisper of a woman emanates behind you, her words carried away by the cold wind. Her tone is soft, almost soothing, yet it carries a weight of unspoken secrets. You don't turn around, sensing her presence close enough that her breath tickles the back of your neck.
The marsh water, black as pitch, licks at your ankles, sending icy tendrils up your legs and through your veins. Each step you take is swallowed by the murky depths, a blend of human ash and bone fragments swirling atop the water’s surface. You wonder whose bones you’re stepping on, and how long it’s been since they died.
"Like a prowling lion, he devours anyone that lives," she continues, her voice barely above a murmur, yet clear in the stillness. The weeping willows, their branches drooping like sorrowful specters, loom over the water, casting twisted shadows that seem to reach out to you. "He cloaks himself in darkness and thrives on deceit. He preys upon the lost." The darkness behind the marsh forest seems to pulse with a malevolent life, an abyss waiting to consume anything that ventures too close.
The woman's presence feels both comforting and unsettling, as if she harbors truths too dangerous to speak aloud. "The battle between good and evil reaches its zenith," she whispers, and you can hear the edge of fear and determination in her voice. "The fate of humanity teeters on the brink of oblivion."
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