revise

The forest exuded the scent of crushed elderflowers, mingling with an undercurrent of wild rebellion. I hadn't intended to venture into the Unseen Grove. It was a simple misstep—chasing my dog through the Scottish Highlands—and suddenly, I found myself there. The moss-covered stones beneath my boots hummed softly, like the snores of sleeping dragons. Overhead, birch trees wore crowns of bluebells that tinkled gently in the breeze. "May Day," Grandma used to whisper, "is when the veil between worlds grows thin." I'd dismissed her words then, but now, my heart pounded in a primal rhythm as a figure emerged from the mist.
She was a striking contradiction: all thorns and velvet. Antlers sprouted from her russet hair, and her cloak was intricately stitched with delicate moth wings. "Lost, mortal?" The May Queen's voice crackled like a bonfire. Behind her, shadows took shape into fantastical creatures with foxfire eyes: a boy whose skin resembled rough bark, and a woman with hair that cascaded down like lush ivy. My terrier, Finn, wagged his tail enthusiastically at a three-legged hare.
"Join the Riding," the Queen commanded, tossing me a hawthorn mask. It clung to my face, feeling as natural as a second skin. As twilight deepened, the forest came alive with a symphony of sounds: drums made from hollowed oak, flutes carved from swan bones. We danced through meadows where flowers glowed neon-bright under the moonlight. A goblin with cracked porcelain teeth pressed a clay cup into my hands. "Drink," he rasped. The mead tasted of stolen sunlight and the boldness of dandelions.
"Your world forgets," the Queen murmured as we passed a crumbling stone altar. "They pave over roots that remember their names." Her fingers brushed a scarred oak, and suddenly, I was overwhelmed by a flood of sensations: centuries of sap coursing like blood, the sharp ache of chainsaws, and the faint whispers of acorns planted by Roman soldiers. Finn yelped, dashing after a glowing squirrel that shed sparks like a shooting star.
At dawn, the Queen stopped at a crossroads. One path led back to the familiar world of home; the other disappeared into a sea of silver fog. "Choose," she said. But my hands were already stained green with chlorophyll, and my pockets were filled with seeds that seemed to hum with hidden energy. I thought of the concrete cities, of friends who'd never gazed upon the Milky Way.
"I’ll be your bridge," I heard myself say. The creatures around me hissed in approval.
Now, back in my university dormitory on the 14th floor, ivy creeps through the cracks in my windowsill, defying the laws of nature. Finn naps peacefully beneath a mushroom that has no business growing indoors. My classmates smirk at my flower crown, oblivious to the roots quietly cracking the sidewalks beneath their feet. Late at night, I scatter the seeds from the Unseen Grove in parking lots and corporate gardens. They sprout into otherworldly blooms that thrive on starlight, invisible to security cameras.
The May Queen’s laughter echoes in the rumble of thunderstorms. With each passing year, the veil between our worlds grows ever thinner.