The Curse of Fellhollow

Chapter Three: Whispers in the Dark

The day passes in a haze, though my mind is anywhere but here. Even as I chop firewood, boil water for tea, or sweep the floor, Vardyr's golden eyes flicker in my thoughts, dragging me back to the forest no matter how hard I try to resist. His words linger: I've watched you for a long time. You belong to the forest, Lyra.

I shake the thought away, but it creeps back in, slipping between the cracks of my mind like water through stone. It stirs something old inside me, memories I buried long ago. Snatches of voices, long forgotten, rising to the surface like shadows in a dream.

I remember the whispers first—my parents' voices, hushed and tight with fear. They thought I couldn't hear them, but I always did.

"She was born under the moon. They know, Elias. They'll come for her..." My mother's voice, sharp and urgent.

My father's reply was harder to make out, a low rumble of words that felt like thunder rolling over distant hills. "We shouldn't have stayed here. We should've left with the others—"

A silence followed, heavy and dreadful, until my mother whispered, "It's too late."

I was only a child then, but I remember the way fear clung to their every word, coiling like vines in the dark. They never told me what they were afraid of. They only told me to stay away from the forest. Always, the forest. "Don't wander too far, Lyra. Don't play near the trees." But the warnings only made me want to explore more. I was drawn to the forest, even then—like it was calling me, whispering my name in the rustling leaves and the howl of the wind.

The other villagers knew, too. They never said it aloud, but I saw it in the way they looked at me. With wary glances, quick nods, and silence that stretched too long. When I walked through the market as a girl, they avoided me like I carried a curse. No one would tell me why. Only Old Maurel dared speak to me, though even her kindness was laced with caution. She was the one who bandaged my scrapes when the other children pushed me into the mud, the one who sang lullabies to me when my mother's arms grew too tired.

She never told me the whole truth, either—just bits and pieces, woven into stories and riddles I didn't understand. "You're a wild thing," she'd say, brushing my hair with gnarled hands that smelled of herbs and smoke. "Born with too much moon in your blood. That kind of magic doesn't sit easy with people." When I asked her what she meant, she only smiled, her eyes distant and sad. "You'll see, little bird. One day, you'll see."

It was Old Maurel who sent me away, too, just after my parents vanished. I was barely sixteen when she packed my things into a small bag and pressed a handful of coins into my palm. "The city will do you good," she'd said, her voice brisk but not unkind. "This place—these people—will only suffocate you. Go live, child. See the world."

At the time, I thought she was saving me. Now I wonder if she was trying to protect me from something worse.

The memories gnaw at me as I stare out the window, watching the sun sink lower over the forest. The villagers still avoid me. Oh, they're polite enough when they have to be—a nod here, a quick smile there—but they never linger. No one invites me to festivals or asks me to share a drink at the tavern. I've always been on the outside looking in, and I've grown used to it. But now... now I wonder if they know something I don't. If they've always known what I am—what I'm connected to.

I push the thought aside, but it clings stubbornly, like cobwebs in the corners of my mind. The forest knows me. Vardyr knows me. And somehow, I know that none of this—his appearance, my strange connection to the forest—can be a coincidence. Old Maurel had said once, long ago, Nothing in Duskwind happens by chance.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the door creaks open, and the scent of dried herbs drifts in before her. Old Maurel hobbles inside, her wrinkled face creasing into a rare smile when she sees me. "Still breathing, I see. That's good news." She sets her basket down on the table with a grunt. "Though you look like a girl with too many ghosts on her mind."

I offer her a weak smile, but it falters under her sharp gaze. Nothing ever slips past Old Maurel. She's always seen too much.

"I went into the forest," I confess before I can stop myself. The words tumble out like a stone dropped down a well.

Her hands still over the bundle of herbs she's sorting, and for a long moment, she says nothing. Then she sighs, her shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken knowledge. "I told you to stay away from that place, child."

"I know." I rub my arms, suddenly cold. "But I had to know. I felt..." I trail off, struggling to find the right words. "There's something there, Maurel. Something waiting."

Old Maurel looks at me for a long time, her expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, she chuckles—a dry, brittle sound, like leaves crumbling underfoot. "Aye," she says softly. "There's always been something waiting in those woods. The trick is knowing whether it's waiting for you or watching over you."

The words settle over me like a shroud, heavy with meaning I can't yet grasp. I want to ask her more, to demand the answers that have eluded me for so long, but the look in her eyes stops me. She knows more than she's telling—just like she always has—but whatever truth she carries is buried too deep to unearth with questions.

She rises with a groan, gathering her things. "If you're smart, Lyra, you'll stay clear of that forest from now on." She pauses at the door, her hand resting on the frame. "And if not... well, you'd best be ready for whatever finds you."

Her words hang in the air long after she's gone, leaving me alone with the shadows that gather at the edges of the room. I sink into the chair by the fire, staring into the flames as the past coils tighter around me, dragging me back into memories I can't quite piece together. My parents' whispers. The villagers' avoidance. Old Maurel's cryptic warnings.

And now, Vardyr. A wolf that is not just a wolf, with eyes that seem to know every secret I've kept hidden from myself.

The truth feels like it's just out of reach, slipping through my fingers like mist. But one thing is certain: the forest hasn't finished with me yet. And neither has Vardyr.