The key

Chapter 2

Tw: kidnapping

She falls for what feels like eternity, although, realistically only four minutes have passes.
Her butt makes contact with the floor first, the moist leaves cushioning her fall.

She rubs her back tenderly, before standing, grossed out by the feeling of slippery leaves under her.
She shakes herself off, careful not to go to fast in case she collapses once more.

She stares, trying to take all of the view in, an old forest lays uncannily in front of her.
Angela walks forward before turning it into a light jog, until she reaches the entrance.

Looking up, vast darkness greets her as well as the sound of thunder in the distance.
The contrast between the two skies makes her feel weird.
She takes a step in, and then another until she reaches the heart.
Stopping, she examines her situation, noticing that each of the trees has an eerie face on them.

The key appears again, sitting forlornly on a desolate tree trunk.
She tip-toes forward, worried that even the slightest noise would make the key vanish.

What she didn't realise was that the trees eyes were following her, watching her movements like an owl.
They lifted their roots from under the fragile soil, trailing behind them like a tattered wedding dress.

Their branches reach out towards her, before clamping around her mouth, she lets out a muffled scream, flailing around the place.
The trees move, too big for her to fight back. She goes unconscious as the fear and lack of oxygen mix.

Awakening, she finds herself tied to a dead tree. Struggling against her bonds, she realised that she never got the key.
She moans before yanking her wrist hard against the thick rope.
The pain burns like fire but she notices that it does make a slight difference.
She repeats it, her wrist feeling as though Satan himself had breathed on it.
One, two, three, four. She stops, gasping at the pain and the returning feeling of wooziness.

After a break, she returns kicking over and over again. Until she feels the rope give in a bit, giving up in it's fight.
She tries again, mustering all her energy in the kicks.

Her feet are free, she wiggles her legs around trying to regain the feeling.
Once the pins and needles have dispersed, she tries her hands again.

After struggling, the rope gives up, her hands are free.
Exhausted, she moves her hands, enjoying the feeling of no tight rope around them.

Standing, she flees. Her legs pound the ground, sending damp leaves flying into the air.
The darkness closes in around her but she fights to keep it out.
Her lungs protest, screaming angrily inside her but she ignores them, beating the floor with her feet.