Water and Wind

Water and Wind

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WpMetadataReadMatureComplete Sat, Jul 31, 20212h 32m
Every year, in the old log cabin in the heart of the woods, a face appears at the window. A haunted face, illuminated by the light of the moon with the backdrop of the dark forest. It is the same story each year, the same cabin, woman, circumstances. But not the same story. This story is her story, because behind the haunting and the shadows and the fury, there was a woman. Three years. Three years, and seven people are gone. Seven, plus her. Years before these hauntings, in the very same woods, the village held a trial. All of those with magic, lined up in chains at the stake. One wrong move and they will be sucked underfoot. They know this well. But maybe being trampled by hundreds of feet of all sizes is a better fate than what awaits them. After all, the body, no matter how deep its wounds, heals faster than the heart. When Rose was a teenager, she entered a dare into the woods. Everyone said La Esperanta was folklore, nothing but a story. But now, she's eighty years old and she is the last
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She cried where no one dared to hear, A whisper drowned in blood and fear. One final breath, a silenced scream, Now she haunts the edge of every dream. They took her voice, they broke her name, Left her bones, but not her flame. The earth refused to hold her soul, For justice never made her whole. She walks beneath the moonlight of her new cursed world, A question carved in every sigh. Not revenge, but truth she seeks In shattered nights and haunted weeks. She cannot sleep, she will not fade, not ever. No grave will keep what's left behind A woman wronged, unrested mind. With frost in breath and eyes of flame, She hunted those who fed the blame. Each heartbeat marked, each shadow known Their guilt engraved in flesh and bone. She found them hiding in their lies, Tore truth from lips and sight from eyes. No mercy lived within her shade, No sin too small to make them pay. Even those with hands kept clean Felt the chill of things unseen. For silence, too, can bear the knife, And feed the spirit that steals a life. A reign of terror, cold and wide, The veil between the worlds untied. She ruled the dusk, the dark, the dread A queen of pain, a crown of red. But storms, no matter how they roar, Will break upon a stronger shore. One day a light will pierce her gloom, A soul not swayed by wrath or tomb. He'll walk where others failed and dared not tread, To calm the spirit, to raise the dead.

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