The stain on her fingers wouldn’t wash away. Five days now. Dark blue crescents beneath each nail.

Morning fog hung between pine trees. Ella followed the narrow path. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before. The forest floor, damp and springy underfoot.

Her basket swung empty at her side.

The clearing appeared suddenly as if it had moved closer overnight. Bushes laden with blueberries, impossibly large and dark. Almost black in the center. No bird song here.

Ella knelt. The first berry burst between her teeth, sweets then bitter. Juice trickled down her chin. She didn’t wipe it away.

Another. Another. Her fingers worked quickly, staining deeper with each one.

She’d come alone today. Yesterday, Marcus had followed her here. Had watched her eat. Had reached for a berry himself.

“Don’t,” she’d said. But he hadn’t listened.

The sun climbed. Ella’s basket filled. The silence in the clearing pressed against her ears.

At home, her mother looked up from the kitchen table. “Found some nice ones today?”

Ella nodded, set down the basket. Full to the brim.

“You’re getting thin,” her mother said, not reaching for the berries.

Ella’s dress hung loose around her waist. Had it always been so large?

Night came. Through her bedroom window, the forest edge looked closer than before. The trees seemed to lean toward the house.

In bed, Ella’s stomach gurgled. Not hunger. Something else. Her fingers traced her ribs, more prominent than last week. The blue stains glowed faintly in the dark.

Morning. The path shorter still. The clearing larger. More bushes. More berries.

Ella ate. Filled her basket. Returned home.

“Marcus’s mother came by,” her mother said. “He’s ill. Won’t eat.”

Ella remembered his eyes after tasting the berry. How they’d darkened at the edges.

“She says his fingers are turning blue.”

Ella hid her hands in her pockets.

That night, she dreamed of the clearing. Of berries growing from the ground, from trees, from the sky itself. In the dream, she opened her mouth and blue juice poured out, flooding the town below.

Morning. No path needed now. The forest had reached her window. A branch tapped against the glass. Heavy with fruit.

“You should eat something else,” her mother said, pushing scrambled eggs across the table. “You’re fading.”

Ella looked at her arms. She could almost see through them.

Marcus hadn’t been seen in three days.

Ella’s basket sat empty by the door. She wouldn’t need it today. There were berries everywhere now. On the porch. In the garden.

In the mirror, her eyes had darkened at the edges. Almost black in the center.

She opened the window. Reached for the closest berry. Brought it to her lips.

Behind her, her mother called her name. It sounded distant, as if through water.

Ella ate.