Haunted Wood Mother laid her elbows on the bed, whispering her wishes to the threads

The oppressive gloom of the woodland bore little resemblance to any of the sun-kissed fairytales that had defined the wanderer's childhood. The young Foxglove, starry-eyed and bursting with imagination, had always pictured stark goldlit fields — verdure hazed by the sun's bronzed glow, perhaps dappled with bursts of floral vibrance. She'd always tended toward poetics; beauty and simplicity in nature, finding peace in being one with the world, that sort of indulgent pseudo-philosophical drivel. It had become second nature by the time Fox reached adulthood, woven into their core. Yet there was little poetry to be found in the malformed shadows cast by dusty snarling knots of old abandoned oaks — or so the yearling believed. There was a striking aspect to the ugliness, yes, but nothing poetic. Nothing neat and pretty and topped with a bow like Fox was accustomed to. Nothing out of a storybook.
In fact, the reality was quite offensive. Smothered by shadows and moistened by spring showers, the air here seemed rancid, the damp earth fetid and clinging. In other words, Fox had stumbled into their own personal hell. Paws thoroughly muddied, pride equally soiled, the yearling trudged on with head held low and a sullen look about him, ears quirking this way and that in a perfunctory attempt at vigilance. His suddenly gloaming mood matched the murkwood, brought low by disappointment. For miles Fox had been plagued by monotony around her, a maddening uniformity in the landscape that had seemed inescapable. The grove had promised a respite, from a distance, and now —
Fuck this place, Forceful, more so than the yearling had intended. An awkward emphasis on the bad word, the f word, still so new to their vocabulary and carrying all the pungent sweetness of the forbidden. Her chin lifted a touch, subconsciously a little smug in her foul-mouthed freedom. The simple act lifted their mood. The real world might have been musty and underwhelming, but at least it was real. This was no intricate mask, no forced utopia. That, at least, brought comfort.

@Towhee or Meerkat if you want it!