DEEP IN THE heart of the Alderwood, three gnarled faeries, older than even the sacred trees that surrounded them cut a path through the forest. Even by the laws of the Great Mother Aala, no creature should ever have lived as long as these three, and for that, she had wrought her price upon each of their faces. Though they may have abandoned the natural order of things in favour of profane vitality, their bodies were still borne of her ilk. Beneath the great mound of hides they wore, the bones were odd and misshapen, bowed by many millennia of use, their greying skin stretched almost too tightly over the bones so that they protruded like poles in a tent. Great and terrible magic whispered from beneath the shrouds of their tattered hide cloaks. They did not exist to serve any known god, their lives were indebted to another, something that could not and should not exist, some older, deformed entity.

They each wore multiple hides layered one atop the other, making them appear hunched beneath the weight of the corpses. A collection of rotting fae, human and animal skins.

Sickly-coloured tendrils of power oozed from the faeries, clearing a desolate and arching path through the undergrowth and causing trees to wither and die; twisting away as if desperate to escape in their last acts of life. Warping beneath the foreign magic and forced to wrench their roots from the soil, though even in death, the tree roots still clutched their ivory hoards like dragons stockpiling gold as Alderwood trees fell and upturned the centuries' worth of dirt and bones trapped beneath them.

For the first time since its birth, the Alderwood cowered as it felt itself being cleaved apart. Birds leapt terrified from their branches as the trees screamed, arching in the agony of that unholy power. The three creatures left a trail of death in their wake so great that it tore a wide gash straight through the centre of the Alderwood, and despite the distractions taking place at the Queen's Jubilee right at that very moment, a few rogue villagers had already strayed far enough from the celebrations to notice the vile wound to their sacred Alderwood.

Some remained to gasp and gawk at the gaping maw torn so violently into their sacred forest and wonder at how hideous the beast to do such a thing must surely be, and so close to their homes. Some ran screaming towards the celebrations at the Sennon, where with all the commotion their cries would surely go unheard. None dared to venture beyond the tree line, despite how the gathering slowly grew over the hours. For there was nothing to be done. Not one person among them was brave or strong enough to step past that god-forsaken line in the grass where soil turned to the ripening mulch of Alderwood leaves; as if doing so would be a certain death sentence. The city guard came and they did not dare enter. Then the city guard summoned the high fae, the strongest among them to come and investigate the rumours of something impossible, but once there and faced with the utter violation of the Alderwood, even they refused to enter. Whispers spread fast that perhaps whatever foul thing had done this had also been the Queen's killer. But there was nothing to be done now, no crime that could be uncommitted, and so they waited to see what kind of monster would emerge.

"SHE IS HERE, beneath the aalias," said the first of the three faeries, halting before the patch of ruby wildflowers. Each petal a violet-lined plume and appearing as if a droplet of blood splatter had created the slightly swollen body.

"How deep?" asked the second, its ancient voice hoarse and shallow, like something out of a long-lost dream.

The first creature replied, almost gleefully, "until you hit bone."

With a unifying nod, the three began to dig, shifting those half-visible claws of power into something corporeal that could be wielded as fluidly a weapon or tool to cleave out tremendous chunks of dirt, stone and red flowers from the earth. The three faeries remained impassive, as if they were no more than witnesses to this sacrilege, and within a matter of minutes, the hole had turned into a crater and was nearly fifty feet deep.

"Ah, look what we have here," cooed one as it heaved a sickly tendril from the pit, "My darling Aala, it has been such a terribly long time, hasn't it?" The perfectly preserved skull nestled in its cradle of magic gleaming like a pearl despite being underground for countless years. And a singular red flower grew rooted to the base. The faerie scoffed then crushed it as easily as a snail's shell in its fist.

Finding the bones of the mother meant that the child they sought would not be far beneath, waiting ever patiently for her release. It took all three of the creatures' combined magic to haul her great lichstone sarcophagus from the hollow and set it upon the surface with a colossal thud. Residual clumps of mud and dirt deeply ingrained into the thousands of intricately carved grooves hid the true extent of the coffin's pallor, not that these desecrators cared for the wicked beauty of the resting place, only the unimaginable power of the girl held within it.

The three strange faeries spoke in tongues as they passed a silver dagger between them, taking turns to slit their skeletal palms. The little blood they managed to squeeze from their wounds was already half-congealed and thick with age as they placed their hands upon the dark lichstone, baying words that had not seen the light of day for many millennia. The many groves and rivets of the sarcophagus seemed to come alive at their touch, tiny thread-like spindles of green crawling through the furrows like channels of emerald water until aalia flowers began to appear, red as those that had smattered the grass above and it became clear that those verdant threads were a web of plants; growing from within and slowly stretching to embrace the entirety of the coffin.

The words were archaic and brutal, slicking their forked tongues into weapons to be wielded upon the sarcophagus, each lash tearing down the ancient magic more brutally than the last, piece by piece; like for like. Lifting slowly, the lid separating itself, sliding away to reveal the unconscious figure in the recess beneath; Lennox, daughter of Aala.

Even these sexless demons could not help but stare upon the glory of the sleeping woman. Though she appeared to be high fae and no older than adolescence, with the peaks of her sharp ears pointing through her neatly braided copper hair, there was something more, something entirely else about her. She had been buried in white, as was Senic tradition for unwed women. The ivory lace of her dress crept up to guard the forever-frozen half-blush at her throat and Lennox's pale skin did not flinch as one of the faeries chucked a careless stone into the coffin. It struck the princess across the cheek and the creature asked, "How long 'till she rouses?"

"Midnight." Said the third and the largest of them, "Gives us six hours to get her out and contained."

She remained motionless as they used those corporeal hands to hoist her into the air.

"Best hurry then."