WHISPERS IN THE WICKED WIND
The night Emberlynn turned twenty, the wind began to whisper her name.
She stood at the edge of the forest, staring at the twisted line where trees turned black under moonlight. It was the kind of place her grandmother warned her about—never go near the woods when the moon bleeds.
Tonight, the moon bled.
She should've been celebrating with the village girls, wrapped in silk and candles, whispering wishes into the night sky. But something had been pulling at her for weeks now. A chill under her skin. A dream she couldn't shake. A voice—low, velvet-smooth, and wrong—calling her deeper into the dark.
Emberlynn...
A branch cracked behind her.
She turned. Nothing.
She clutched her shawl tighter and glanced back toward the lights of her cottage. But instead of going home, she stepped forward—just once—into the shadows.
The moment her foot touched the forest floor, the air shifted.
A figure stepped out of the trees. Cloaked in black, silver threading glinting faintly in the moonlight. Tall. Still. His presence pulled at something primal in her—fear, curiosity, and something deeper… something that made her breath catch.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said, voice like wind over flame. "But you were about to cross a threshold you do not yet understand."
Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
He smiled, barely. "A traveler. Nothing more."
"You've been following me." She didn't ask—it was a truth she had felt for days. "Why?"
The man stepped closer, the moon painting silver across the waves of his dark hair, streaked with strands as pale as starlight. His eyes—red, yet too dark to truly name—met hers without blinking.
"You hum with something ancient," he said. "It sings through your blood. Do you not feel it?"
She flinched. "I don't know what you're talking about."
But she did. Deep down, she did. The mark on her wrist—faint, like a burn that never healed—had begun to glow faintly every night for weeks. She'd kept it hidden, even from her grandmother.
"You're looking for answers," he said. "But not all truths are safe, Emberlynn."
Her name on his tongue made her heart lurch. "How do you know me?"
"I've known you longer than you've known yourself."
She took a step back. Her instincts flared. "You need to leave."
"I will," he said, tilting his head, "if that's truly what you want."
She hesitated.
"I didn't come to harm you," he added softly. "Only to watch. To make sure… nothing takes you before your time."
Her brows furrowed. "Takes me?"
He gave her a look so deep it scraped at her thoughts. "There are things older than this world. Some of them sleep. Some of them hunger. You are tied to a door that was sealed long ago. You are not ready to open it. But others may try."
Before she could speak again, the wind howled. Her shawl whipped from her shoulders. And when she looked back—
He was gone.
Only the whisper remained.
Not yet, Emberlynn. Not yet...
She turned and ran. All the way home. Past the candles, past her grandmother's prayers, past her mirror where the faint mark on her left shoulder now glowed steady and red.
She didn't sleep that night.
And for the first time in her life…
She wished she had never asked for something more.