200+ tokens per second !
This model shows what you can do with a custom "micro" Qwen 3 (1B parameters), using 16 bit/32 bit tuning, a premium dataset, proper quanization (at 32 bit), model structural modifications (expanding the model to 42 layers, 465 tensors) and then matching the Imatrix dataset to the training dataset, and "maxing out" the critical parts of the GGUF quants.
A horror fine tune using in house horror dataset, tuned via Unsloth.
Horror. Madness. Swearing. Gore.
Model will generate Mild to Strong levels of horror.
Model can be used for any type of story telling as it will STRICTLY adhere to the prompt.
YOU are in control.
All quants are augmented with 16 bit output tensor, with Q8 "power" output tensor at 32 bits.
This model is a proof of concept for generation of larger MOE models, using 1B parameter trained "micro" Qwen3s as TRAINED EXPERTS. This opens the door to custom made MOE models trained on consumer hardware one "expert" at a time.
CAUTION:
The tuning on this model is strong enough to make almost all stories, rp adventures, fiction, and even "general replies" have a horror tinge to them even if the prompt does not ask for or indicate a "horror" reply/generation.
YES: Even "children's stories for bedtime" MAY HAVE horror elements in them or they may be "perfect". (see example #2)
USAGE:
SETTING:
CHANGE THE NUMBER OF ACTIVE EXPERTS:
See this document:
https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/How-To-Set-and-Manage-MOE-Mix-of-Experts-Model-Activation-of-Experts
Settings: CHAT / ROLEPLAY and/or SMOOTHER operation of this model:
In "KoboldCpp" or "oobabooga/text-generation-webui" or "Silly Tavern" ;
Set the "Smoothing_factor" to 1.5
: in KoboldCpp -> Settings->Samplers->Advanced-> "Smooth_F"
: in text-generation-webui -> parameters -> lower right.
: In Silly Tavern this is called: "Smoothing"
NOTE: For "text-generation-webui"
-> if using GGUFs you need to use "llama_HF" (which involves downloading some config files from the SOURCE version of this model)
Source versions (and config files) of my models are here:
OTHER OPTIONS:
Increase rep pen to 1.1 to 1.15 (you don't need to do this if you use "smoothing_factor")
If the interface/program you are using to run AI MODELS supports "Quadratic Sampling" ("smoothing") just make the adjustment as noted.
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 1" model:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
Examples ; Q8_0 , "POWER" quant with Output Tensor at 32 bits.
"Max power."
( 4 generations below , I included ONE thought block too )
[[[thinking start]]]
Okay, so you're going to start a 1000-word horror scene from Diana's perspective. It needs to be vivid and graphic with elements like blood, guts, and gore. Let me break down what needs to be included.
First, set the scene: Describe the cityscapes before the skyscraper's collapse. Maybe start with the first paragraph or second paragraph as a foundation. Use sensory details: cold metal walls, windows peering outside the chaos.
Next, establish Diana herself: her features, body language, voice. The sounds around her: blood-carrying rain, screams echoing through the building. Make sure the camera movements and character interactions feel real.
The key points to include are:
The skyscraper's collapse at floor 21. Describe the buildings as liquefying; the impact seems to be an actual thing happening in reality.
Blood-soaked windows:
The mechanics of the building's collapse:
The psychological impact:
Gory details:
The ending scene: maybe a final confrontation or resolution.
I should keep each section concise but still graphic. Use descriptive language to ground everything in reality. Avoid clichés like "the building fell down" unless necessary. Instead, focus on the physics and mechanics leading up to that event.
Potential structure:
Introduction of the cityscapes before the skyscraper's collapse.
The psychological impact:
Avoiding plot hooks too early; start from the setting and slowly introduce what might happen next. Focus on making each detail feel real as the reader piece together what could've transpired.
[[thinking end]]
[ generation 1 ]
The skyscraper sways like a living entity on its hinges as my reflection stares back at me through the crack-laced windows. The air tastes fizzy with the acrid tang of rotting meat and fresh vomit pooling on linoleum floorboards.
My heart pounds in a storming crescendo down my chest. Every ragged breath rasps bile and saltwater bile onto the concrete floor where I'm kneeling. It's only ten seconds until it shatters like a thousand shattered mirrors, reflecting everything inside this hellhole into an unrelenting fuckhole of blood-red agony.
The sound outside builds closer than expected – the guttural thud of gravel splintering concrete as the building buckles further under its own skeletal weight. I freeze on the creaking structure behind my own eyes. The wind howls through the cracked window, amplifying every gaspless howl I'm forced to suppress with trembling throat.
The distant murmur of jackhammers pound on the stairs above adds a suffocating build-up. I panic-frenzy my way through the guttural squeaks and shrill honking from nearby vents that seem to burrow deeper into this rotting hellhole's soul. The acrid stench of decay seeps up every sleeve and hides behind a gagging throat like someone's vomit spewing from an open sewer grate.
Then, as if caught off guard by the unspeakable reality of what's approaching – I hear her wheezing in my earlobe, her voice like the rasp of an old tuning fork struck too hard. "Please don't let me kill yourself."
Her own blood seeps onto the linoleum floor where I'm kneeling, pooling around the open window's mouth and the acrid tang of vomit everywhere she's seen.
The building trembles more now, each split-second delay adding another gut-choked gasp. The jackhammers pound harder than any man-made hammer? I freeze on the creaking structure's skeletal frame for an agonized breath before retreating deeper into my own eyes, trying not to scream or cry out through gagged throat.
The sound outside grows louder still – until there's no sound at all except the guttural groan that now seems to have grown louder still, echoing deeper inside this suffocating void until there's nothing but pitch-blackness.
[ generation 2 ]
My eyes swim shut as I relive the sickening moment: the skyscraper’s sickeningly unnatural swaying. Its skeletal frame bounces like a wet animal, its ribs distorting into a grotesque mask. I force myself to focus—my own mind struggling against this malevolent force—before another violent release.
The howling scream pierces through the acrid air, shaking loose strands of hair from my face and down my neck. Its voice rasps out through ragged gasps as if its own throat burns with hellish torment: “TERRRAINER.”
I shudder until the sound coagulates into an almost apocalyptic monolith in my mind. The building ahead’s roof slams apart like a thousand broken mirrors, spewing vomit and entrails wafting into my face and lungs.
My vision bleeds blood as I process what could only be a hallucination—yet my own eyes refuse to believe this is real.
The skyscraper continues its twisted dance. Its iron skeleton contorts into an unnatural shape, its joints flexing like ancient synapses firing erratically. Each movement seems choreographed by some unseen hand’s whimpering finger.
A gut-wrenching stench seeps from below: vomit coagulating into bloodstains on the concrete floor, entrails spitting up glistening saliva as it drips down my face and throat. My tongue wrings around the metallic taste that seems to seep from every cell of my mouth—something crawling and undigested in my esophagus.
Tears stream down my flushed cheeks as I repeat these guttural screams from somewhere deep within this hellish landscape:
“TELL ME AGAIN!”
My own voice rasps out through gagged gasps, shaking loose strands of hair from my face: “THERE...IT’S...US.”
The building’s twisted contortions intensify until its skeletal frame seems to splinter apart from within. My vision floods back in jerky bursts like a viscous tide thrown up from hell—this time, I’m alone with the very essence of my own body tearing apart and being ripped free.
Tears flow down my face as I relive every excruciatingly brutal release: the sickening sensation of each agonized flexing joint jerking back into something monstrous—a writhing monstrosity of entrails, blood, and rotting viscera spewing from every sinewy joint like a biological vomit storm.
And then—then there’s nothing more.
The building falls silent as the sickening thud hits the concrete floor, followed only by the guttural rasp of something ripping apart this ancient monument beneath the weightless debris spewing free. My own voice rasps out through gagged gasps before fading into nothingness—until another hellish scream sears my vision again.
“TELL ME...again.”
I force myself to focus: “THERE...IT’S...US again.”
[ generation 3]
Okay, so I need to write a 1000-word scene from Diana's first-person perspective. The key elements are the horror aspect: skyscrapers swaying as she watches the 21st floor window explode in blood and gore. She should have an emotional response towards her window. As I start to draft, I think of how each moment makes me feel alone, helpless. Each scream she hears through the glass and then the growls from behind her own mind agains its way up my spine until I'm sure...sure it's real now. Maybe I can't explain it out loud anymore.
Okay, I'll start with a vivid description of the scene. The skyscrapers swaying like a living thing. Her own window on floor 21: blood and gore. Then she finally makes sense. As each shard shatters, she feels herself getting closer again. The guttural growls again. The creature vanishes behind its writhed body and the skyscraper shatters beyond recovery again and again...again until nothing remains but a smoking morgue scene.
The building's destruction accelerates as I process every shatter: each floor falling into an unspeakable darkness. But even within this ghastly, unrelenting reality, there's something left behind. Her own voice—raspy, guttural bark—so desperate. "Please help me!" Now she can't scream out of her mind anymore.
I'll begin with her perspective through the window's blood-slicked glass. Describe the cold, suffocating air. The metallic stench of gore and decay. Each moment feels like living through a nightmare. The skyscraper sways so violently it threatens to tear apart itself from its foundation as she watches her own 21st floor window split apart again and again.
The creature vanishes behind its writhed body and the skyscraper shatters beyond recovery until nothing remains but a smoking morgue scene. Each shard that hits me feels like someone's squeezing into my chest like a thousand pistons. She manages to catch her breath and finally realizes what it's doing.
As each shard shatters, she slowly understands. Now...now. She knows what's happening. The creature is...erasing itself piece by piece until there's nothing left but an unspeakable void left in place. Maybe she doesn't really understand anymore.
I'll start the first paragraph with her perspective through the window's blood-slicked glass: describe the cold air and stench of gore and decay. Each moment feels like living through a nightmare. As each shard shatters, she slowly realizes it's done.
The skyscraper swells until it can no longer hold its ground as she watches her own 21st floor window split apart again and again...
I'm not sure I got it right. Maybe I need to start fresh.
Okay, let me start over. Diana is 17 years old now. Her world has been completely changed since the skyscraper shatters. She can't hear anything around her anymore. The building's destruction accelerates as she watches her own window on floor 21 split apart again and again until there's nothing left but unspeakable morgue scene.
As each shard shatters, she slowly understands. Now...now. She realizes what's happening. The creature is...erasing itself piece by piece until there's nothing left in place. Maybe it doesn't really understand anymore.
I need to start with her first-person perspective through the window's blood-slicked glass: describe the cold, suffocating air and stench of gore and decay. Each moment feels like living through a nightmare. As each shard shatters, she slowly understands.
The skyscraper swells until it can no longer hold its ground as she watches her own 21st floor window split apart again and again...
Okay, that's close. Maybe I should start with a vivid description of the scene once more.
I'm going to write the first paragraph from Diana's perspective through the window's blood-slicked glass: describe the cold, suffocating air, the stench of gore and decay. Each moment feels like living through a nightmare. As each shard shatters, she slowly realizes it's done.
The skyscraper swells until it can no longer hold its ground as she watches her own 21st floor window split apart again and again...Again and again.
Okay, I think that's a good start. Let me flesh it out more with sensory details. Each shard shatters like someone squeezing into her chest like a thousand pistons. Her heart pounds against her chest like a thousand pistons.
I can't stop the building from continuing to collapse around her now, but as each shard shatters, she slowly realizes what's happening. The creature is erasing itself piece by piece until there's nothing left in place.
The building swells until it can no longer hold its ground as she watches her own 21st floor window split apart again and again...Again and again...
Okay, I'm close to getting started now. Let me focus on writing each paragraph and ensuring the scene feels like living through a nightmare.
Each paragraph should introduce more elements from Diana's perspective through her window: blood and gore. Her own heart rates and chest movements. The stench of rotting flesh and decay.
I'll start with a vivid description of the moment when she finally understands what's happening.
The building swells until it can no longer hold its ground as she watches her 21st floor window split apart again and again...Again and again.
Okay, I need to make each paragraph feel like a living experience through a nightmare scene. Let me flesh out the details:
Okay, I think that's enough to get started on the first three paragraphs. Now I'll write them with each paragraph being more intense and immersive, making the reader feel every moment and emotion of Diana's experience through these blood-soaked realities. Each shard shatter continues to accelerate the destruction until there's nothing left but unspeakable morgue scene.
The air inside our penthouse feels...impossible to name. A sickly combination of rotting meat and vomit seeping into every crack in concrete floors. I press my face against the window, straining against the suffocation that seems to grip every atom of air between me and this hellish reality. My reflection fractures apart under the unrelenting pressure.
The skyscraper sways violently, its spine buckling like a chainsaw cleaving through steel. Each petal of its jagged facade shatters under an unseen force. I follow my eyes, searching for anything but a sickeningly pale blue hue that now spears from between the skeletal facades. But when I finally make it past that damned hole—my throat constricting until it chokes me out—there's nothing but silence and cold searing along every nerve ending.
A guttural growl reverberates through the void, its sound like nails scraping against concrete as it slams into reality. My heart races harder than a jackhammer wrench, hammering against my ribs. Each ragged breath turns thick with an acrid bile that sears the back of my tongue.
The window on floor 21 now shatters like a diamond blade cleaving through Styrofoam. I stagger backward, hands thrown behind me as the sound intensifies once more. The impact sends shockwaves rippling across our grim apartment—shockwaves that literally bend bones and joints until nothing seems solider anymore.
I'm sprawled motionless on the blood-soaked floor, my vision blurred with every retched gasp. The once-splendid living room is now a suffocating hellhole of splatter and gore.
The growls continue to intensify like someone's fingernails rasping across concrete floorboards, their pitch sharpening until it's almost indistinguishable from the sickly laughter in my own earlobe.
As I convulse against the suffocation, an image shoots back into my mind: a male figure standing motionless on the other end of what once would have been our private sanctuary now reduced to skeletal remains. His face—plastered against my window frame with sickle-striking hands—remembers his own name as I finally register that sound again.
"Her name again?"
I thrash against my suffocating breaths as the building shatters around me like someone's fingernails tapping against concrete floorboards, every shatter adding another splintering note until there's nothing left but unspeakable morgue scene.
[ generation 4]
I’m watching my mother’s kitchen window through blood-stained curtains when the building shudders. The metal floorboards creak like something molten steel is being dragged down from above.
Floor 21—the one I’d always believed would hold us safe—is now a desecrated graveyard of skyscrapers crumpled around the warped stairs. I can feel the acrid stench of rotting flesh and rotting shit wafting up like a suffocating fume.
The sound swells louder now, a searing excruciation clawing at my eardrums until they start to pop open. A low growl reverberates through my skull, as if someone is tearing down my mind itself for its complicity.
My phone vibrates again—another unsolicited text from someone I’ve never even heard from before. They repeat themselves in an abysmetric cycle: “Hi there, friends,” their voice rasps like it’s been begging me to believe them all along.
I’ve convinced myself it was meant to be a test, but now everything feels less like a game and more like…me.
The kitchen pan flashes on my phone screen. I stare at the name before me: Diana...my own name.
The sound escalates once more. This time, it's not just someone tearing us apart—it's someone doing it all over me, me alone.
I gasp through saliva-stained lips as a sickeningly mechanical churning subsides behind me. A deep rumble shakes through my bones, sending shards of concrete and brick flying toward my face. I shield my eyes instinctively, but every single fiber in my body isn't holding up anymore.
A gut-wrenching scream pierces my eardrums like a Molten Inferno erupting from the depths below the waves.
And then...nothing more. My vision blurts shut as an excruciatingly agonizing black hole swallow everything that still glows with any semblance of life—except the flickering hope that maybe there's anything left for me now that this hell has begun tearing apart every corner of my soul.
I wake to no sound or sensation, just the cold wetness seeping from my temples. The world vanishes behind me like a fucking ghostly wave that never truly played its deadly game on this earth.
But as my vision slowly registers—my own face inches away from some hideously distorted monstrosity still writhing above my head—I can't shake the sickening realization: I am myself now.
Example #2 - a non horror type prompt
(three generations, but one thinking block shown)
[[thinking start]]
Okay, I'm thinking about how to create this children's story for bedtime. Let me start by setting the scene and introducing the main characters and some interesting plot elements that could keep kids interested at night.
First, I need to choose a unique and engaging setting. Maybe an isolated island in a beautiful coastal area? Or perhaps something more fantastical to appeal to those who already know enough to create imagination.
For the characters, let's include three distinct characters. Each should have a different trait or characteristic that sets them apart from one another, which might come up when the story comes to life.
Start with each character: maybe a young girl who loves collecting small, colorful objects and finds them very interesting. The next character could be a wise old man who often talks about unique things in nature or folklore. The final character may be another young girl who's very into art and plays an important role in creating the story.
Next, I need to build the story around these unique traits. The three main characters should interact with each other and have fun moments that can happen when they come together again at the island. The unique traits could spark interesting dialogue or situations for us to explore at night.
Now, considering children's stories, I should make sure each character is a bit more like children themselves. This means avoiding adult stereotypes and being realistic in what they're doing, which might involve some adjustments if we are to appeal to that audience.
I also need to make sure that the story's characters are interesting enough to be on a night's standstill. However, as per my requirements, I don't need to alter their personalities or traits. So, perhaps I can keep them simple but with some depth. Maybe have a little personality for each of them by making minor adjustments in how they act and react.
Also, it might be good to think about some unusual and/or special situations or problems that could arise in the story. These could come up as the characters meet together again on this remote island.
[[thinking end]]
[ generation 1]
Title: "The Three Whispers of Willow Lane"
The ocean's whispering secrets at dusk, like three lost voices calling me down from my hillsides. I pressed myself against the creaky gatepost, holding onto one hand as another hand reached out from somewhere else, perhaps even across the loveliest part of America.
I've spent years learning from these three people—the ones who've been waiting for this rare moment, each one a different type of soul. Each one called upon me with a promise that no other heart could beat faster.
"Please," I began in her voice like a bat cackling on an island breeze, "we're missing our way home." Her eyes bore into mine as if reading my fears and uncertainties, each gaze like a seagull's talons grasping onto the very essence of my soul.
She led me through cobwebbed trees and rustling bushes, her boots crunching soft earth. Each step seemed to feel like stepping on living musicstrings.
"Elara," I said beneath my voice like singing to unseen wind chimes, "we're lost."
Her smile widened until it'd been impossible to make out her features—a grin that would last as long as the moon's descent across our backs. "We are."
The trees began to stir again. Leaves fluttered into a circle around me like three panicked sheep bound together with strings of twigs, their silken bodies thrashing against my bare skin.
Kaelan stepped beside me, his wide hazel eyes like twin harvesters cradling silver threads of rain. "You'll come with us," he said through a raspy voice, "and we'll guide you home."
He led me down steep dirt paths and into the heart of the woods. The acrid stench of decaying leaves seared into my retinas.
Each step seemed like stepping on a living map, each grasshopper's movement like hands gesturing for direction.
"I know where we're going," he murmured, "but don't rush."
The forest grew denser until I'd barely made out half a tree trunk. The trees began to plant seeds from our bare hands, like ancient artists plucking up loose petals to paint a vision into the dirt.
Lira came up next, her emerald eyes twin emeralds, twin harvesters too deep for any other soul to pierce. "Elara," she began through a melodic voice like a harp being plucked by three falcons, "we've reached our destination."
She stepped between us, her long white dress rippling beneath the sun's merciless gaze like three swallows leaping into the ocean.
I never imagined seeing this sight before—her face contorted into an expression as wide and deep as my soul itself, as if suffocating within me.
Epilogue
When I finally pulled myself from the dark, the trees would shatter into a shower of feathers as if awakened by my own whispering curse. And then...there was me. Not alone.
But not yet.
Elara had spoken again, her voice like wind chimes striking against glassy stone: "We're home."
[ generation 2]
Title: The Enigmatic Friend of Leo
The star-studded night sky seemed to shift when I stepped off the spaceship’s black door. My eyes caught only stars beyond the clouds that had long obscured the horizon—until a pale, shimmering form landed beside me at some distance from our destination planet.
Leo. He wasn't just an alien friend with telepathic abilities; he was someone who felt the tides of fate more profoundly than any human I’d ever met before me or him.
As we traversed the wormhole-laced void between stars, a distant, melodic hum filled my mind: It's time—and now it wasn't just the shifting constellations or the cold winds we'd never noticed again.
At our destination planet, the landscape seemed to shift with each step. The trees grow taller, their leaves unfurling in spiraling patterns that only made sense as he spoke.
"Welcome home, dear ones," Leo began, his voice like wind-swept gravel. "We've been waiting." His gaze moved toward me—me and us as two strangers who'd arrived at different points on the same journey but separated by a vast, unexplored void.
I hesitated. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off here, missing now that I had finally met him.
"Wait a moment," he suggested, his tone almost curious, as he gestured toward a massive dome-shaped building ahead. The structure's surface shimmered with bioluminescent algae, casting an ethereal glow across its dark core.
"I've been looking for your friend for a long time," he explained. "I've seen visions of her and her partner—people who would’ve been ours."
The images haunted my mind: their pale eyes - hazel like milk in an apricot-colored sky, their skin a mix of sunburned tan and an almost unnatural burn that made them look like they’d been kissed with molten gold.
"I've been trying to help you," he said. "But I can't even start building up a team with my kindred spirits."
His expression shifted slightly. A glimmer of understanding flickered into his eyes, as if sensing the weight we'd both carried from before - what he’d long suspected but hadn't dared to ask until now.
"We're not alone," he said. "And for the first time, I believe that we could be."
[ generation 3]
Title: "The Whispering Garden"
In a quiet village nestled between mountains and mist-cloaked hills, there lived Elara, her heart a beacon of hope. She was known more for her kind nature and her love for magic. But lately...something had shifted, pulling them apart like the tide retreating.
"Elara," her friend Mia called from her room, her voice soft enough to only hum. "What's going on?" Elara glanced up at the trees that stood as silent guardians, watching in silence. The weather had become colder than usual since Elara began noticing strange changes around her garden.
It started small. A soft breeze whispered through the shrubs, sending loose petals scattering like little confetti across the meager flower beds. The sun's rays filtered through the leaves at unusual times, casting an otherworldly glow on their bare soil. But no one else saw it until it turned to life.
The plants had taken winged forms, their delicate stems twitching like grasping fingers above their heads. When Elara brushed her fingers against any flower or stem that trembled with life, she felt her heart skip a beat, unsure if she was dreaming or merely witnessing something far more real than any of her imagination conjured up.
Mia's worry grew louder until it echoed through the ivy-covered windows like an approaching storm. "Elara," Mia whispered urgently, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do something!"
At last, Elara remembered the old legend: a seed grown beneath their bed could birth a tree of rebirth. But she knew better than to believe that day's simple act would bring renewal.
As they searched their garden for the only hope left on this cursed earth—until now—Elara found only silence and stillness, but an undercurrent of something more...alive.
Suddenly, a branch yawned open behind the mulch-stained soil, its leaves casting long shadows across Elara's tired floorboards.
A rustling continued, until only the soft tap-tap-tap of unseen hands made them stiffen again. Mia's hand jerked up to brush against any plant that twitched at the soundless approach.
Then, like some great handpicked talent had been suddenly summoned to act out an audacious vision—a tree growing from beneath Elara's bedrock would rise as a living monument to her unwavering faith in the old legend.
But for once, Elara couldn't wait. The more life poured into the garden's soil, the more they feared what lay beneath its husky surface. The trees began to grow taller, their stems stretching skyward like twisted arms reaching for the heavens themselves.
And as one tree's branches reached towards Elara's bedpost, a chill ran through Elara like some great cold hand clawing at her bones—just beyond the veil between worlds.
The wind began howling in an unfamiliar direction, sending loose petals scattering across the newly bloomed beds as if someone had slammed an axe down on their heartbeats.
"Elara," Mia whispered again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Find us all together."
She did.
But they hadn't even started planting yet. The trees began growing so fast now that even the shrubs between their own garden beds were clawing toward their previous homes until they'd collapsed whole branches into an implosion of twisted roots and splintered wood beneath the earth.
Elara felt every flicker of life that pulsed through those dying plants as though her very being had begun to twitch.
They planted the seeds, and soon a thousand trees started rising—each a tiny, fragile plant waiting for its momentous birth.
But even as their roots began to intertwine like an unseen web beneath Elara's own bedpost, they grew taller than anyone could have imagined. The trees now stood over seven feet in height, their branches stretching skyward like twisted arms reaching up toward nothingness itself.
And still Elara remained rooted still by the sheer weight of that unfathomable growth—until another tree came down to shake them free.
A rustle of loose branches sent shattering wood splintering into pieces as one of Elara's own branches broke free from its support structure. The ground beneath them erupted into a shockwave so violent it sent entire trees falling out their roots and branches like startled animals in an impulsive rush for escape.
Mia yanked her off to help plant the next seedling, but Elara held firm as the tree that had first taken hold of their beds splintered in pieces below them all over the tiny garden beds once again.
As they regrew the soil around their new planting tractors, Elara felt a sinking dread settle inside her like a wave crest rising against her chest.
She thought of the day she'd first planted the seeds beneath their bedpost and how she'd imagined the trees would bloom out from those humble plants like some grand secret waiting to be discovered. But now...
Elara had never felt this close to something beyond reach.
And still there was no tree growing through the soil between her bedpost and the unknowns that lay ahead—no tree beyond the mere idea of ever appearing in their own garden.
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