Sylthana danced among the leaves of her grove, her bark-colored skin and green hair giving her the appearance of a living tree. She closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet smells of flowers and the earthy petrichor. She felt her toes pushing into the mossy floor and connected with the forest. The beasts and birds would always wait around the edge of her circle and watch the dryad as she danced with the tall oak tree at her back towering above all the other trees. She waved her arms and used her magic to make the flora and fauna dance with her, she smiled and laughed, and as she did the evening flowers began to bloom.
When it was over, she laid on the soft ground and looked up at the canopy as some of the animals now made their approach and curled up around her. A few of them carried some offerings that were left at the base of her tree, piling those with ill intentions near the edge of the clearing. She placed some of the trinkets in her hair, among the small flowers and live vines. As the sun began to set, and the forest became darker and colder, the flowers began to glow and fireflies danced between them, giving a warm light to the area as she started moving toward the tree for her evening meld.
Then there was silence near the edge of the grove, and the trees creaked as they tried to move away. The animals scattered, and the fireflies parted, creating a pathway of gloom to the great oak tree. Sylthana moved like a leaf caught in the wind towards the disturbance and looked down the path to see a figure draped in tapestries pulling a cart behind them. The dark feathers of a Kenku and a long beak poked out of its hood, and it looked up to meet her gaze.
"Ah, Moon-Mumble," Sylthana sighed with relief, moving forward like a ballerina approaching the front of a stage. "Come to leave an offering for safe travel through the woods as usual?"
Moon-Mumble made a sound like a cash register.
"As always, Daughter of the Forest," Moon-Mumble said with a bow. "I am sorry for the late visit, I know you must have been preparing for your sleep."
"A visit from a friend is always welcome," Sylthana said, eyeing the animals who remained at the edge of the grove. "What has got everyone so on edge? Have you something new causing such a disturbance?"
"Something like that," the merchant said, taking a few steps forward. The fireflies dimmed, and Sylthana felt an icy breeze run up her body. Moon-Mumble reached into his pack and took out a large iridescent fruit. Its skin reflected a large array of colors in the twilight. "I found this on my travels, it's called a Starshade Plum."
Sylthana approached with cautious fascination, the reflection of the plum gleaming in her eyes. She took the plum gently from his hands and brought it to her face, smelling the sweetness on the air.
"Is it safe?" Sylthana asked as she gave the fruit a small squeeze, feeling its smooth skin and the juicy flesh underneath. "I've never seen a fruit so beautiful, I can't imagine the tree it came from."
"Oh yes, I've had my fair share," he replied, putting a hand over his belly and patting it. The trees moaned silently and swayed. "Just one bite could leave a normal person full for a day, and just as satisfied. I do wonder how you would react to it though."
"Well... it would be rude then to enjoy such a gift without you present," Sylthana said as she brought the fruit to her lips and took a bite.
Her mouth was filled with the sweet and tart burst of plum, followed slowly by swirls of moonlit nectar and vanilla. She closed her eyes and could taste hints of elderberry and midnight jasmine and felt weightless like her roots were no longer bound.
As she went for a second bite, she felt a wiggling between her lips. She opened her eyes and saw the fruit covered in maggots, wriggling and crawling onto her hand. She felt them in her mouth, over her tongue, and down her throat, as the sweet taste of the fruit was replaced by the taste of rotting meat. Her nose no longer smelled sweetness, but a metallic and sharp scent that burned her nostrils.
She turned to vomit the fruit and felt warmth on her face. Sylthana looked up to see her bound tree aflame. The old wood popped and cracked in the heat as the creatures that called its branches home fell to the ground one by one, as if someone were knocking on a door.
"N-No! Why is this-" Sylthana moved forward but was grabbed suddenly by Moon-Mumble who wrapped his hand around her mouth and pulled her backward so that they both fell.
When their backs were supposed to hit solid ground, it instead felt like they were falling through a pile of leaves and roots. At first, she thought it was a grave, but suddenly it felt as though the gravity shifted and her green and vibrant world was replaced by a colorlessness she had never known. This place was devoid of life as she knew it; there was no passion or growth here. It was stagnant. It was the Shadowfell.
She looked around and saw various other Fey creatures bound by chain and magic, going through some sort of transformation. She saw a Satyr, its eyes panicked and screaming as a gray and white exoskeleton grew over its body, its limbs being replaced by blades and talons.
"NO MY HOME. NO ITS BURNING. ITS BURNING WHY," the Satyr screamed.
Sylthana looked in the other direction and saw others also screaming with the same panic. And when she looked forward, she saw her tree and friends all lit ablaze.
Moon-Mumble stood at her side for a second before bringing a tapestry up to his face. She saw his face move onto the tapestry like wiping dirt away, and as the figure lowered the tapestry, she saw his face was now blank, with two empty holes where his eyes should be. His body was now taller, more hunched, as he tilted his head and got closer to her, placing a hand on her head.
"You're not Moon-Mumble, y-you look familiar," Sylthana said, panting as she tried to maintain her composure. "Y-yes you're... you're Ellistair of The Court of Moons! Y-you were exiled!"
The Maskweaver circled around her slightly so she could see his face.
"I will assume you said my true name because I was not capable of hearing it," he said as he looked back at her head while his finger drew a shape in the soft bark above her eyes. "No matter, I will have it back soon enough. And know that my throne will only be re-achieved by your sacrifice. As one of my Fey-Fell Soldiers."
Her breathing quickened as she stared back at the tree, unable to look away now.
"W-why are you-"
Before she could finish, the Maskweaver pushed a finger into her forehead, as memories began to empty like sap flowing from a tree.
In the coming weeks, her body would become like the others, losing her sense of self as her body began to warp with the energies of the Shadowfell. Her face became mostly covered by coiled black and gray roots, her hands with pincers and talons. Everything living on her body was replaced by rot.
Her memories were ultimately replaced by a singular task. One goal. But she held on to that image of her tree. Her oak lit on fire. The one thing she meant to protect.
But she was in pain. Agonizing pain. And as she heard her native tongue of Sylvan again, she had a stronger hold on herself. She attempted to hold back her actions as she battled internally with the animalistic rage instilled within her. Struggled with her orders to find the boy.
In her final moments, when the Satyr Warlock offered her a way out, she took it. She rushed forward so that her pain would stop. And as she was tackled to the ground and was finally allowed to rest, she used the last of her magic to create a garden.