Into the Woods and a Discovery.

You decide to head north towards the woods, then loop about and arrive nearer the castle. The grassy plains would leave you far too exposed, and not even the suspiciously flowery fields could succeed in making you forget this was called Monster Island for a reason. Nothing that lived in fields that perfect could be benevolent. You had learned that when only five and old Miss Cravinger had caught you in her garden, then showed you the finer points of a hickory switch. Who knows what old Miss Cravinger might lurk amongst this garden, and odds are it wouldn’t be a stick they used to destroy your ass.

Realization that your mind is wandering way too far comes as the trees cast their long shadows over you. Unlike the more Gothic section of the island, these trees are tall and pleasant looking, with thick trunks and healthy leaves that rustle merrily in the wind, and grass which tickles your ankles with each passing step. There is an unmistakable peace about the forest, but much like the fields of flowers you find this more suspicious than reassuring. Nevertheless, you push forward into the woods and towards the castle which may well provide safety.

The trek quickly proves to be long and arduous, often forcing you to crawl over giant roots and through thick brush. This, factored in with your earlier march across the desert and only short rest provided on the sphinx’s back, causes your muscles to burn with exhaustion. Worse than that however is a growing thirst and hunger. You were always a bit on the curvier side. In fact, the Paisley researches suspect that your regenerative abilities are directly tied to your metabolism. How much truth there is in that remains speculative, but what is clear is that you need some form of sustenance, and despite the picturesque nature of the forest none are in sight. Not an apple or nut to be found. You lick your dry lips but fail to provide any moisture, and sweat has already begun to drip from your brow. Feet like lead continue to plod onwards, but it has become an automated motion. It rapidly becomes clear if you don’t find something to drink soon; you will be in serious trouble.

Quite unexpectedly, succor arrives. You stumble through some particularly thick trees and low hanging branches. A curse on your parched lips dies there, and your eyes widen in wonder.

Had someone taken a painting and given it life, the scene could not be more perfect. Before you opens a large clearing filled with verdant and wild green grass. A light dome of branches seemingly grown for the specific purpose of providing shade permits but the barest of sunshine to filter through, casting the whole glade in a golden glow.

But the most arresting feature, and that which you focus on with such an amazing intensity, is a fountain made of marble sitting in the very center of the glade. Weeds and vine cling to the sides of its Romanesque curves, but they do nothing to diminish its beauty, giving it in fact a fantastic and time lost appeal. Despite its seeming lack of use, water still pours out of the top in two streams, spouts cleverly hidden in two urns held by a nubile and nude young man and woman made of marble. They are locked, you note with a blush, in a decidedly carnal embrace. You pull your attention with some effort back to the streams of water, which sparkle in the sunlight with a purity that’s a temptation all its own.

As though hypnotized, you stagger into the clearing. You think you can hear harps and pan flutes, but that may just be your imagination again. You collect yourself, only to find you are slumped by the lip of the fountain. You raise your head and look about warily, but no menace seems present to mar this perfect scene. You lick your lips and scoop out some water, gulping it down greedily. The crisp and pure water causes you to close your eyes and practically moan in pleasure. It’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted! All thoughts of caution are cast away and you actually plunge your head into the cool depths, drinking your fill and enjoying the chill waters after your rough journey.

You drink deeply, and as you do pleasant warmth suffuses your body. It’s a tender feeling, one that seems to reach deep inside to your very soul and cradle it like a babe in arms. Such a sensation of security you have never felt, and it causes you to lounge in the sweet smelling grass of the glade like a contented cat. You purr as the warmth continues to grow, but never to an unpleasant degree. It soon begins to become rather pleasurable, your skin growing sensitive beyond anything you’ve felt before. The light brush of the wind causes you to gasp and your nipples harden to diamond pink nubs. Your cheeks grow flushed, your breast rising and falling as your breath quickens. Your hand runs along your leg causing a moan to escape your lips, breath hitching as it reaches the dip of your thigh.

This is so nice, you think with a smile of blissful stupor curling your lips. You wetly smack them together, remembering the cool and refreshing taste of the water. It has become rather hot, you note, though admittedly you don’t mind this sort of heat. You roll back to your knees and hang off the lip of the fountain. Instead of drinking immediately, you find yourself captivated by the waters, watching them with eyes lidded in ecstasy and head cradled on an arm.

Something inside the waters catches your eye. You squint in bleary curiosity at what appears to be a plaque on the bottom, words written in a curling font decorating it. A sudden chill crawls down your spine and your eyes snap open wide. Here is what you read:

Warning! Love Fountain!
Do not Consume
If Consumed, Immediate Affection For
The First Living Thing Seen Will Follow

“Fuck!” you breathe in horror. You suddenly notice some more written in smaller print below the plaque.

Please Address All Complaints to the Paisley Institute

“Fucking Marketing Department!” You stumble to your feet, panic forming a rock at the bottom of your stomach. This isn’t good. This is not good. You have to get out of here. Shit! How long ago did you arrive? You think you might have fallen asleep at some point. Shit. Shit! You have to-

A sound causes you to whirl around instinctively, too late recalling the warning label at the bottom of the fountain.