Chapter 4

I drifted in a sea of pain and memory. James, as a child, his face earnest. "I' ll always protect you, Lady of the Woods, and the Big Tree."

His small hand in mine, a fleeting touch I had cherished.

Then, years later, the crisis. Sterling Corp, a hostile takeover. James was frantic, on the verge of losing everything. His father was ill, his advisors panicked.

I felt his fear, a raw wound in the estate's aura. I couldn' t let the Harrison line, the protectors of my tree, fall to ruin over corporate greed.

I drew upon my own ancient energy, a vast reserve. I wove it into the currents of chance, nudged events, whispered caution to one ally, sowed doubt in one opponent. It was a monumental effort, leaving me weakened for months, my own leaves dull, my connection to the Patriarch strained.

But James' s company survived. He emerged stronger, hailed as a brilliant strategist.

He never knew.

Brenda arrived much later, after the dust settled. She heard the stories of his "miraculous turnaround." It was easy for her to insert herself into the narrative, to claim she' d given him some crucial piece of advice, some vital connection. He was already smitten, eager to believe her a savior.

And he had cared for the Patriarch then, after his "triumph." He' d doubled the conservation efforts, consulted new experts. I' d thought it was gratitude, a renewed understanding of the estate' s true wellspring. Now I saw it was just... habit. Or perhaps a lingering echo of the true Forest Spirit' s influence, a spirit he faintly resembled.

The memory faded as a sharp, new pain lanced through me.

James and Brenda stood in my doorway.

"She still looks dreadful," Brenda said, wrinkling her nose. "James, darling, you know how I value my complexion. That old woman, Elara, she always had such... unique herbal concoctions. Her skin, before... well, it was rather remarkable for her age."

James looked at me, a calculating glint in his eyes. "You' re right. She did have a certain... vitality."

He stepped closer. "Elara," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Brenda needs to maintain her youthfulness. The city is so harsh on the skin. We' ll need a sample of your... unique essence. For study, of course. To replicate its benefits."

He believed I was just an eccentric old woman with strange gardening skills.

"My staff will assist," he continued, as if discussing a botanical specimen. "It won' t hurt. Much."

My essence? My life force? For her vanity?

This was no longer just cruelty. This was a death sentence, delivered with a smile.

The staff came, two large men with nervous eyes, and a woman with a tray of medical-looking implements. Needles. Vials.

They held me down. I was too weak to resist.

I felt the prick, then a cold draining. Not just blood, but something deeper, the very core of my dryad nature, the sap of my stolen life.

My vision dimmed. The room spun.

James watched, his expression unreadable. Brenda stood beside him, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

The draining continued. I felt myself unraveling, my spirit fraying like an old rope.

"Enough," James said suddenly. The draining stopped.

I lay gasping, on the very edge of dissolution.

He leaned down. "Now, Elara. Tell me. Why all this deception? This act? What is your game?"

Still, he did not believe. He could not see the truth, even as he siphoned my life away.