The Spirits of the Forest

Chapter 1

Harriot

When you first open this book, I hope you won't search from the first page for a hero. I hope you won't judge me as quickly as the humans did when they chose me as their villain.

Good and bad people, rich and poor. Nothing you never heard of before, right?

When you first open this book, I hope your head won't be in the clouds and your back won't painfully collide with a pole in an attempt to drag you back on Earth. Trust me, your bed is far more comfortable.

However, on closer inspection, the guilty pole looks exactly like the candle at the edge of the tunnel. The only difference is that instead of holding sparks, it holds boards with directions written on them.

After walking blindly between ruins that look exactly the same, I finally allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief.

The capital used to be unmistakable, split in two halves exactly like its people. The kindness represented by grandiose palaces and the wickedness highlighted by an even more impressive mess. But now, as if in agreement, both sides abandoned their differences—choosing chaos as the new fashion.

As I read the directions, I can't help but wonder what the witchers would think about all this damage. After winning the war, it seemed almost impossible that they just decided to leave the island and give to us, the humans, their most important city. They were ancient warriors who used to steal every inch of magic from our lands and we were just ordinary servants. But you know what they say: never refuse a gift.

So, we waved goodbye to the witchers and rushed to our gift. While some of us built, the others destroyed. The ambitious heroes. The greedy villains.

My eyes travel on the boards one last time. Peace street. The street belongs to the good people, and it's full of expensive inns and bewitching ballrooms, or at least that was how I left it.

I walk in the indicated direction with a strange feeling in my stomach. Guilt. This story isn't about the witchers' war; it's about the attack I blindly started.

I finally managed to fall in love, and now, that I returned home, instead of having a ring on my hand, I have the blood of my people hiding under my fingernails.

I pull my hood tighter over my face, ashamed to be seen. Ashamed to show others that the bad people's girl truly became a murderer.

Sirius would lift my chin and purr convincing lies into my ears, but the truth of what I did bends my head.

Still, even from the corners of my eyes, I am able to recognize the street. You couldn't have missed it. Cause it's the only one that remained intact.

In a whole city, the only part that still looks functional is the 'peace street.'
If I didn't know Sirius, I would say that it's luck. That this is a blessing.

Unfortunately, I know Sirius. I fell for his soft brutality, despite the fact that I only recently cracked the codes that guarded the doors of his heart. He didn't touch a single building of this street just so he could mock the humans. At the next attack, this will be the first place razed off the face of earth.

My ears are buzzing. The simple and polite conversations that the good people had at the inns are now replaced by loud arguments and swear words. Nevertheless, the ballrooms are filled with an even more horrific sound. And it's not a bad song. It's the pain.

The s c r e a m s.

The ballrooms are now hospital rooms.

"I don't think we can help you" a voice whispers behind me, soft and yet sharp at the same time. For a moment, I wonder if it wasn't the wind that spoke to me.