The scenery shifted again, flickering as if the memory itself struggled to hold together. Theodore now found himself standing outside Anita's wooden house. From within, he could hear her agonized screams echoing through the walls as she gave birth. Outside, Evan paced back and forth, worry etched across his plain but kind face.
"This was the day Anita's son, Arthur, was born," the voice explained softly.
Theodore watched, unable to look away, as the door swung open, and a midwife stepped out, her hands trembling with exhaustion but a smile lighting her face. "It's a boy," she announced.
Evan rushed inside, and the scene followed. Anita lay on the bed, pale and drenched in sweat, but glowing with happiness. In her arms, she cradled a tiny baby boy with tufts of orange hair and dark, piercing eyes.
"Arthur," she whispered. "His name is Arthur."
The scene softened into a blur of laughter and celebration. The entire village gathered to rejoice, cheering for the boy who bore the strength of his mother and the gentleness of his father.
"For a time, they were happy," the voice said.
"The village adored Evan for his potions, which healed their ailments and made their lives easier. Anita was respected, and their family thrived. But happiness… happiness never lasts forever."
The scene flickered again, and Theodore now saw Evan standing proudly in the village square, holding a vial of shimmering blue liquid.
"This potion will replenish mana," Evan announced, his excitement infectious. "Imagine how many lives it will save. I plan to present it to the king himself. It could make our village prosperous beyond imagination."
The villagers clapped and cheered, but Theodore noticed the jealousy simmering in the eyes of the chief and a few others.
The memory fast-forwarded to that night. Evan sat at the dinner table with Anita and Arthur, his face lit with hope. But as he lifted his fork, his body suddenly convulsed.
Anita screamed as Evan collapsed, foaming at the mouth. The light left his eyes before she could even reach him.
Theodore clenched his fists as the voice explained, "The village chief, jealous of Evan's discovery, poisoned him. They didn't want him to prosper—they wanted his brilliance for themselves."
The scene shifted to Evan's burial. Anita, dressed in black, stood alone in the rain, clutching Arthur tightly to her chest. The villagers mourned, but Theodore could see their crocodile tears. They weren't grieving Evan; they were scheming.
Weeks passed in the memory, and Anita found herself increasingly isolated. The chief visited her often, demanding that she hand over the farm and the book of notes Evan had left behind. Each time, Anita refused.
"She fought them off," the voice said. "Her skills as a warrior kept her alive. But they didn't stop."
Years passed, and Anita struggled to keep the farm running while raising Arthur. But Arthur fell sick, his small body ravaged by scabies. His skin was covered in red, inflamed spots, and his fever burned relentlessly.
Anita scoured her late husband's journals for a cure, desperately trying to create medicine from the plants she could find. She managed to ease his pain, but the illness lingered.
"The villagers turned their backs on her," the voice continued. "The chief ordered them to pretend she didn't exist. She couldn't buy supplies, couldn't seek help. She was alone, caring for her sick child, clinging to the hope that she could save him."
The scene shifted again, now darker and colder. A man in a tattered black cloak stood in the chief's home, his hands glowing with dark magic.
"If you want wealth and prosperity," the man said, his voice like a hiss, "you must give me the body of a child. The soil needs a sacrifice."
Theodore's stomach churned as he watched the chief and the villagers conspire. The dark mage's conditions were clear: the child had to be innocent, untainted by the world. Anita's son, Arthur, became their target.
The memory fast-forwarded to the day of the betrayal. Anita had gone to the market, leaving Arthur at home to rest. The villagers stormed her house, taking the sickly boy.
Theodore watched in horror as they force-fed Arthur poisoned food. The boy, too hungry and weak to resist, ate it and collapsed. His small body went limp, lifeless.
When Anita returned, she found the villagers gathered in the square. Her heart broke as she saw her son's lifeless body in the chief's hands.
"No… NO!" she screamed, dropping to her knees. She charged at them, her sword drawn, but the men overpowered her. They held her down, forcing her to watch as the dark mage used Arthur's body for the ritual.
The soil turned black as Arthur's body was buried beneath it. The mage chanted, and the land began to thrive. Crops grew unnaturally fast, the fields becoming lush and fertile. The villagers cheered, their greed blinding them to the horror they had just committed.
Anita's screams echoed through the village as she was dragged away.
The memory shifted again. Anita stood in the middle of the forest, her face streaked with tears. Her hands trembled as she held a knife to her throat.
"I curse this village," she whispered. "I curse it for what you did to my son. I will haunt you for generations. You will never know peace."
With a final scream of anguish, she slit her throat, collapsing to the ground. Blood pooled beneath her as her life faded away.
But it didn't end there.
The dark mage and the chief found her body, performing a ritual to bind her spirit. They twisted her grief and rage into a weapon, transforming her into the monstrous ghost she had become.
She awoke, her mind clouded with malice, her humanity stripped away. Her first act was to claim the children of the village, fusing their bodies into the cursed tree that now stood in her home.
"The village prospered," the voice said, trembling with emotion. "But it came at the cost of countless lives. And Anita… Anita became the monster they feared, all while serving the very people who destroyed her."
The memory faded, leaving Theodore standing in a pitch-black void. A figure emerged beside him—a woman with long dark hair and tear-filled eyes.
"So, you're Anita," Theodore said softly.
She turned to him, her face pained but resolute. "You've seen everything," she said.
"You know the truth. Please… free my soul. Free the children I've killed. Burn the tree."
Theodore hesitated, the weight of her story pressing down on him. "If I burn the tree," he said slowly, "what will happen to you?"
Anita smiled sadly. "I will finally be at peace."