A young person and an old woman sit by a crackling fire in a dark cottage, with rain visible through a window.

The rain lashed against the small cottage window, a relentless drumbeat against the stillness of the night. Inside, Elara huddled closer to the flickering hearth, the shadows dancing on her face. Her grandmother, Maeve, sat opposite, her gnarled fingers deftly weaving a complex pattern into a length of dark wool. "Tell me again, Grandma," Elara whispered, her voice barely audible above the storm. "About the Whispering Woods." Maeve's eyes, the color of ancient moss, twinkled. "Ah, the Whispering Woods," she began, her voice a low rumble like the distant thunder. "They say if you listen closely, the trees themselves whisper secrets. Secrets of the past, of futures yet to be." Elara shivered, a mix of fear and excitement swirling within her. She'd lived her seventeen years on the edge of those woods, but Maeve had always forbidden her to enter. "What kind of secrets?" "Oh, the kind that can change a life, child. The kind that can heal, or... break." Maeve paused, her gaze distant. "My own secret, the one that brought me to these quiet lands, lies within those whispers. One day, Elara, one day you'll understand." The next morning, the storm had passed, leaving the world washed clean and glistening. A crisp, earthy scent filled the air. Maeve was gone. A note, pressed beneath a smooth river stone on the hearth, simply read: The Whispering Woods call. Listen closely. A knot of dread tightened in Elara's stomach. Maeve had never left before without a word. With a deep breath, See more