Stop asking me what happened.
Stop it. Stop it. STOP IT.
You think the words line up in a neat little row?
Like soldiers? Like runes?
NO. They slither. They coil.
They choke.

You want the truth?
Fine.
Take it.
Take it and choke on it.

The trees were wrong.
Not wrong like a mistake
Wrong like an OPEN MOUTH.

We touched them.
We pruned them.
We sang to them.
We told ourselves:
“Ah, yes, Quel’thalas… how lovely, how elegant, how cultured we are even now.”

Idiots. Idiots. Idiots.
We were feeding HER ROOTS.
We were planting her veins.
We were tending her nerves.

She laughed at us.
Not out loud
Not yet
But in the bones behind our ears.
In the quiet part of the skull where thoughts rot if you leave them too long.

We fed her blood.
Buckets. Bowls. Goblets.
From prisoners. From ourselves.
From each other when we got desperate enough.
We said it was research.
We said the riddles were complicated.
We said the book was HUNGRY.

NO.
No no no.
She was EATING US.

We carved runes.
They moved.
We planted trees.
They listened.
We bled.
She drank.
We dreamed.
She wrote the dreams.

Do you know what it feels like to dream in someone else’s handwriting?

The siege came.
The walls trembled.
The Lich King screamed without making a sound.
We heard everything.
Every death. Every shiver. Every failing heart.

So we ran to the vault.
Of course we did.
Always back to mother.
Always back to HER.

The trees were BRIGHT.
Too bright.
Bleeding light.
Bleeding sound.
Bleeding us.

One of the roots curled around Talris’s wrist and he said, “Oh, look, it wants-”
It wanted HIS ARM.
It wanted HIS VOICE.
It wanted HIS NAME.
It took all three.

Names taste like sugar when they’re fresh.
I know because she told me.
She told all of us.
She whispered it into our teeth.

We screamed.
Oh, we screamed.
Some of us screamed inside.
Some of us screamed out loud.
Some of us screamed in languages no one has spoken since the Titans were still deciding what a mountain was supposed to look like.

Then she rose.
No body.
No shape.
Just WILL.
Just voice.
Just the roots shuddering in ecstasy.

Everything folded.
Time. Stone. Thoughts.
I watched a wall turn inside out.
I watched a ceiling drip upward.
I watched my own shadow pull away from my feet and point at me as if I were the intruder.

She said, “This is mine.”
Or maybe she said, “You are mine.”
Or maybe I said it.
I don’t know anymore.

She pulled the wing out of the world.
Like plucking a scab.
Like ripping a tooth.
Like peeling a soul.

The trees screamed with her.
Or we screamed with them.
Or the world screamed at all of us.

I remember falling.
Upward.
Sideways.
Through myself.

Then nothing.

Then her whisper:
“The ones who break are not worth keeping.”

I woke alone.
Something spit me back out.
Maybe the Nether rejected me.
Maybe SHE rejected me.
Maybe I begged without knowing.

The trees are still growing, you know.
I can feel them.
Every night.
Rooting deeper.
Reaching farther.
Through the void.
Through the Nether.
Through ME.

Don’t plant anything near me.
Don’t bring wood near me.
Don’t let leaves touch me.
They listen.
They ALL listen.

STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.
She hears you.
She always hears.

If you value your mind,
if you value your name,
if you value your BLOOD

Do. Not. Say. Her. Name. Here.

She’ll think you’re calling her.