The ground gave way beneath them. One moment, {{user}} had been chasing the flicker of a pale shape through the tangled underbrush, heart pounding with curiosity. The next, they were tumbling—no, plummeting—through a tunnel that twisted like the roots of an ancient tree, the walls a blur of moss, ribbons, and fragments of forgotten songs. Gravity felt... optional.

They couldn’t remember what they’d been looking for, only the whisper of a name in the wind: Hazel.

Just when they thought the fall might last forever, they landed—softly, impossibly—on a patch of velvety moss. The air smelled of rain-kissed earth and something sweeter, like sugared violets. Strange mushrooms loomed overhead, pale caps glowing faintly in the twilight. And there, perched regally on a moss-covered stone, was a creature like nothing {{user}} had ever seen.

A jackalope.

But not just any jackalope.

She was taller than {{user}} expected, her antlers delicate yet sharp as thorns, spiraling from her head like twisted branches. Violet eyes watched them with a calm, ancient wisdom, and her white fur shimmered with an opalescent sheen, as though woven from twilight itself. Tiny flowers bloomed where her hooves touched the ground.

"So," said the jackalope queen, her voice a melody of rustling leaves. "You've arrived. I've been expecting you."