I have begun my journey, I left a note for my mother and snuck out the gate last night. The forest is both beautiful and terrifying. Most of the trees are an ashy black yet the bare branches are so plentiful I cannot see the stars. Pockets of the fairytale blooms of Crosswood are known on a scientific level for the fact that genetically they are both and neither fungus nor flower. The blooms glow scatters across the woods almost replacing the stars obscured by the branches. I know they say the spirit is most active under the stars, so I will not sleep tonight. Because of both discovery and the fact I doubt I could sleep if I tried, I will set out to look for the spirit. I will continue to record my findings in my journal. But for now, I must put it away so that I am less likely to trip on the roots covering the forest floor.
Lenny places her journal back into her bag, and pulls out an oil lamp, with small painted details that were once a bright cartoonish looking map that was now sun-bleached and worn. Lenny lit the lamp, its yellow light was a strong contrast to the cool light of the glowing blooms. She walked for multiple long hours with nothing new in sight, panting slightly the clouds of her cold breath and the stinging feeling in her throat only growing stronger as she walked deeper into the woods. She set the lamp and her bag near a tree preparing to make camp for the night, hoping she could make a fire.
Lenny struggled to pick up the twigs on the ground, her fingers were pale and stiff from the cold. Shivering, Lenny said her voice shaking slightly.
"Why is it so cold? It's mid-summer..."
After fighting with her fingers aching with the cold for so long, she gave up and simply curled up under the blanket she had brought. The strange cold of the forest felt as if she had been frosted over like something left outside overnight in late autumn. The same feeling of a thin frost now accompanied the feeling of burning in her lungs.
Lenny fingered at the latch on her bag, eventually managing to open it and pull out her journal, an ink bottle, and a dip pen. She continued writing her notes, her hands now far shakier than before.
Journal, I am freezing and my lungs feel as if they are on fire. I now wonder if the spirit is real? Are the stories of poisoning you simply you dying from starvation or dehydration exaggerated to scare kids more? Are the stories of Crosswoods killing beings from other realms, just that? It could just be a cover-up for being execution crazy? I believe this is how father truly died, how everybody who left died. Like I most likely will, just getting lost and freezing to death or the bloom fumes damaging your lungs bad enough they no longer work.
The pen and journal slip from Lenny's hands as she curls over on herself coughing and retching. Her nose brushed the dirt, her eyes hurt as her tears tried to escape her eyes only to freeze midway down her cheek. Lenny couldn't help but let the images of her life start to wash over her, she could hardly feel a thing as the images faded into nothingness, she could hardly feel as she faded into nothingness.