Mira Solen

Briar’s Rest appeared to Mira Solen like a postcard dropped gently into a weary traveler’s path. Lanterns glowed despite the afternoon sun, soft gold swaying as though welcoming her home from a journey she hadn’t meant to take. The air smelled faintly of honey and spring flowers—odd, considering the skeletal trees lining the road. Mira stepped through the wooden gate. A woman sweeping her porch offered a bright smile, though for a heartbeat her expression twitched—like a puppet string pulled too tight. Mira blinked, and the smile was perfect again. “Welcome, traveler!” called a man at a fruit stall. “Haven’t seen someone new in… hm.” His brow creased. “Quite some time, I think.” A ripple of unease nudged Mira’s thoughts, but it passed as quickly as it came, dissolving like mist. She bought an apple; it was strangely warm, as though plucked from a sun that didn’t shine here. In the square, children played hopscotch. Their giggles rang bright, yet whenever Mira turned her head, they paused—mid-step, mid-laugh, mid-breath—before resuming as soon as she focused on them again. She chuckled nervously. The children giggled louder, as if echoing her amusement. She glanced at the sky. The sun looked lower… or higher? She couldn’t remember how it had looked moments before. Time felt slippery in Briar’s Rest. At the inn, a kind-faced innkeeper ushered her inside, fluttering around her with a warmth that bordered on smothering. “Stay as long as you like,” the woman said, placing a gentle but insistent hand on Mira’s back, almost guiding her to sit. “We so love visitors.” Her voice carried a soft hum. Pleasant. Lulling. Later, lying in the narrow bed, Mira heard faint humming through the walls—like a lullaby half-remembered. Each time she tried to concentrate on the melody, it slipped away, leaving only a warm heaviness in her chest. The town was peaceful. Friendly. Safe. So why, as Mira drifted toward sleep, did it feel as she's being watched.