Ingrid is being naughty. The Gate - a crack in an uneven fence with dappled light and vines shining through - was too much for her to ignore when she ducked down the alley to escape the blistering sun. The alley was cool and dressed in shade, but the Gate offered the promise of something more. When she popped through to the Other Side, she found herself in a circular glade, thick with flowers and the slanted shadows of great trees. A wind teased at her clothing, soothing the oppressive heat, and juicy scents hung thickly in the air.

She followed them.

Ingrid is a mucky lass. She found the old tree being strangled by a black vine. The vine had orange fruits: cylindrical objects with a fleshy texture that left a film of juice on her fingers. The scent was almost intoxicating: a mix of sex and vengeance. Ingrid was hooked the moment she licked her fingers. After that she was greedily reaching for one fruit and then another.

The flesh, rendered to a pulpy stain, splashed across her pale skin. It stained her hands with luscious stickiness. The juice dribbled down her chin and soaked into her shirt. Somehow it stained her hair.

Lost in her hunger, she almost missed the sound rumbling through the trees. It was enough to draw her back from her feasting instincts. Suddenly self aware, she noticed how messy she looked; how the fruit seemed suddenly wrong - like she was holding something more then a fruit and less than piece of meat.

Abashed, she dropped the goblin fruit and set out to find her way back.

She didn't even know how long she had been standing there.