The witch and the werewolf

Corvus was eight when he moved into a small town, on the outskirts of all civilization, the town was called Turnchip and by God, it was beautiful.

The school, grocery store and main buildings were situated on a plain of flat grass, a small way away was a beach connecting to the belly of the fjord and behind the buildings, snowcapped mountains, and forests of thick green and tangling brown, went on for miles.

There were multiple buildings and structures and land that were particularly interesting to Corvus, the first was a museum, he was always a bit of a fanatic on history, particularly the parts on continental drift, he liked to know how the world came to be with the slow currents of the sea.

The second location was of course the forest, the lush greens and dense wood was so alluring, the fact that it was untouched by the disgusting hands of others made it so that it could be all for him, his to explore, his to claim, his, his, his.

Well. not yet. it was his father's for now but soon, it would be all his, and lastly.

There was a house at the end of the town, somewhere near his house, it was large and old, more of a manor than a modern-day 2001 household, there was not a single electronic line anywhere near it, the one connected to his house refused to go anywhere near it.

He could've ignored the building, everyone else did, but there was something enchanting in its wood, in its pillars, in the porch and doors and windows that were constantly covered by curtains the colour of Russian blue.

There was something about the building and area around it actually, there was an aura of mystery and sadness and fear around it, but there was also happiness and confidence and answers around it.