As Shanane walked back toward her grandmother's cottage, the village felt colder and quieter than it had that morning. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. Her footsteps echoed softly, but it wasn't the sound of her boots that made her uneasy.
The whispers started as soon as she passed the first group of villagers. Two women stood near the well, their backs stiffening when they saw her. One turned away, but the other didn't bother to lower her voice.
__Woman 1: "She came back just in time, didn't she? Like she knew something."
__Woman 2: "They say it runs in the blood."
Shanane kept her gaze forward, pretending not to hear. Her hands clenched the edges of her shawl tightly, the fabric bunched in her fists.
Further down the street, a man paused in his work, wiping his hands on a rag as he watched her approach. He leaned toward his neighbor, speaking in a tone that wasn't meant to be discreet.
__Man 1: "What kind of granddaughter doesn't come home until it's too late?"
__Man 2: "Maybe it's better that way. Less time for trouble."
The words stung, but Shanane forced herself to keep walking. She wouldn't let them see how much it hurt.
A group of children playing near the square stopped their game as she passed. They huddled together, their wide eyes following her every move. One of the braver boys whispered loudly, his voice carrying across the empty space.
__Boy: "My ma says she's cursed, like her gran."
__Girl: "Do you think she has magic too? Like the stories?"
One of the adults, a middle-aged woman with a stern face, stepped out from a nearby doorway and called sharply to the children.
__Woman: "Inside! Now!"
The children scattered, but not before one of them shot a lingering glance at Shanane, curiosity and fear etched on his face.
As she neared the edge of the village, the whispers became harder to ignore. People whispered behind shutters, their faces peering out through cracks in curtains. Others stood openly in their doorways, watching her pass with expressions ranging from suspicion to pity.
__Villager 1: "She looks just like her."
__Villager 2: "Her grandmother brought this on herself, and now the girl will too."
The braided hair woman's jaw tightened, her head held high despite the weight of their words. She wanted to stop, to tell them the truth about her grandmother, but she knew it wouldn't matter. These people had already made up their minds, just as they had all those years ago.
By the time she reached the small path leading to the cottage, her chest was tight, and her fingers trembled. The whispers still seemed to echo in her ears, even though no one followed her here.
The cottage came into view, standing alone at the edge of the forest. It was a relief to see it, but the isolation also felt heavier now. Her grandmother had spent years living here, surrounded by people who feared and mistrusted her, yet she had endured it with quiet strength.
She paused at the gate, her hand resting on the latch. She glanced over her shoulder, back toward the village. A few figures lingered in the distance, their shapes barely visible through the evening mist. She couldn't hear their words anymore, but their stares carried the same weight as their whispers.
__Shanane: "You were stronger than I am, Gran. I don't know how you did it." she murmured to herself.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the gate and stepped onto the overgrown path. The cottage door creaked as she opened it, and the familiar scent of herbs and wood welcomed her like an old friend.
She closed the door firmly behind her, shutting out the whispers and stares. For now, at least, she was safe within these walls. But the weight of the village's judgment lingered, and Shanane knew it wouldn't go away so easily.
She set her shawl on the back of a chair and moved to light a lantern. The room filled with warm, flickering light, and for a moment, the shadows seemed to retreat. She sat at the old wooden table, her mind already turning to the questions that refused to leave her.
Her grandmother's death, the cavern, the strange ritual. All of it weighed heavily on her. But she knew one thing for certain: she wouldn't let the villagers' fear and ignorance keep her from uncovering the truth.
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∆☆ ATHERAMOND ☆∆
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She looked around, her gaze sweeping over the disheveled state of the cottage. Dust coated the wooden furniture, cobwebs stretched across the corners of the ceiling, and stacks of paper and jars cluttered the surfaces. Her grandmother had always kept this place so neat and orderly, even in her busiest days. Seeing it like this felt wrong, as if the cottage itself were mourning its loss. Rolling up her sleeves, she set to work.
She began in the main room, where the hearth sat cold and unused. The thick layer of dust covering the mantel was the first to go. Grabbing a rag from a nearby drawer, she wiped it down, her movements firm and methodical. The surface beneath slowly revealed itself, the polished wood gleaming faintly.
Her grandmother's collection of small figurines sat along the mantel's edge, little ceramic animals Shanane had once played with as a child. She carefully cleaned each one, her fingers lingering on a tiny bird with a chipped wing.
She turned her attention to the floor. She swept with brisk, purposeful movements, the rhythmic sound of the broom against the wooden boards giving her a sense of focus. By the time she finished, the living room looked brighter, cleaner almost as if some of the life had returned to it.
Next, She moved to the small room adjoining the living area, the "litter room" as her grandmother had called it. It was where her grandmother had prepared her herbs and remedies, the heart of her craft.
The sight of the room made Shanane pause. The long wooden table was buried beneath a chaotic mix of dried leaves, small vials, and open books. Mortars and pestles were scattered among the mess, along with scraps of parchment filled with scribbled notes. Her grandmother would never have left it like this.
"You must have been so busy." the young black woman murmured, stepping inside.
She started by gathering the herbs, sorting them into piles based on her memory of how her grandmother organized them. Chamomile, lavender, mint, and countless others, some familiar, others foreign, passed through her hands. She placed them in jars, labeling each one as best she could.
Once the herbs were sorted, she turned her attention to the tools. The mortars and pestles were cleaned and neatly stacked, and the small knives used for trimming plants were wiped down and placed in a drawer.
As she wiped the table clean, her hand brushed against a small cloth pouch. She picked it up, untying the string, and found a handful of seeds inside.
__Shanane: "You were planning something. I wonder what." she said softly, holding the seeds in her palm.
She placed the pouch gently on the now-clear table and turned to the shelves along the wall. These held more jars, along with scrolls and notebooks filled with recipes and instructions. Shanane organized them carefully, wiping down each shelf as she worked.
By the time she finished, the room looked almost as it had in her childhood: clean, orderly, and full of purpose.
Finally, she made her way to her grandmother's bedroom. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open, and she hesitated on the threshold. The room felt different from the rest of the cottage, still and heavy, as if the air itself carried the weight of her grandmother's absence.
The bed was neatly made, just as her grandmother had always kept it, but the rest of the room was cluttered with personal items. Shawls were draped over the back of a chair, an old wooden comb sat on the small vanity, and books and papers were stacked haphazardly on the bedside table.
She stepped inside, her heart aching with every glance at the objects that had once been so familiar. She began by folding the shawls, smoothing out the fabric and placing them in the trunk at the foot of the bed. Each one carried a faint scent of herbs, a reminder of the woman who had worn them.
At the vanity, she organized the small collection of items her grandmother had kept there: hairpins, a small mirror, and the worn comb. She wiped down the surface, her movements slow and careful.
The bedside table was next. She stacked the books neatly, placing a sprig of dried lavender on top. Beneath the stack, she found a small box. It was simple, made of dark wood, and bound with a ribbon. Shanane paused, her fingers resting on the ribbon, but she didn't open it. Not yet.
Turning to the wardrobe, Shanane began packing her grandmother's clothes. Each item was carefully folded and placed in the trunk, her hands lingering on the fabrics. When she reached the back of the wardrobe, she found her grandmother's favorite shawl, a deep green wool with embroidered edges.
She held it to her chest, the soft fabric soaking up the tears that spilled down her cheeks.
__Shanane: "I miss you so much, Gran." she whispered, her voice trembling.
She took her time packing the rest of the clothes, folding each one as neatly as her shaking hands would allow. When the trunk was finally full, she closed it with a heavy sigh.
The bedroom was clean now. But it felt emptier than before, as if something vital had been taken away. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the embroidered edge of the green shawl.
The cottage was clean, but her heart felt heavier than ever.
"I've done all I can here." she said softly. "Now I just need to figure out what happened to you."
She stood and walked back to the main room, the shawl still clutched tightly in her hands. The answers she sought wouldn't come from cleaning, but the act of restoring the cottage had given her a sense of purpose. And she knew her grandmother would have appreciated it.
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∆☆ ATHERAMOND ☆∆
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As the evening shadows began to creep, the young woman stepped into her small bedroom, the events of the day weighing heavily on her shoulders. She lit a small lamp on the desk near the window, its warm glow pushing back the growing darkness of the cottage. Sitting down, she opened her laptop, determined to distract herself from the grief and the unsettling whispers of the villagers.
She logged into her email, scrolling through unread messages: mostly mundane updates and spam. Yet, the normalcy of it felt oddly comforting. Her fingers tapped softly on the keys as she replied to a few notes, her mind momentarily free from the heaviness of the day.
But then, a chill ran down her spine. The lamp flickered, its warm light dimming for a split second before returning. She froze, her hand hovering over the mouse. The room felt colder, and a strange sensation crept over her, as if she were being watched.
Before she could react, everything went black.
The desk, the lamp, the room, all of it vanished. Shanane found herself standing in a place she didn't recognize, a place steeped in darkness. Towering trees surrounded her, their twisted branches clawing at the starless sky. The air was thick and oppressive, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and decay.
What… where am I?' she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her words seemed to vanish into the void, swallowed by the silence of the forest. She took a cautious step forward, her boots crunching on the dry, brittle leaves beneath her. The sound felt too loud in the eerie stillness.
Then she heard it: a low, guttural growl.
It came from behind her, deep and inhuman, reverberating through the trees like a warning. Her breath caught in her throat as the growl was followed by the unmistakable sound of heavy footfalls, something large and animalistic moving toward her.
"Oh my God..." she whispered, panic rising in her chest.
The footsteps grew louder, closer, and Shanane's heart raced. She didn't dare look back. Her instincts screamed at her to run, and she obeyed.
She sprinted into the darkness, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The forest seemed alive around her, the once-quiet stillness now filled with noise. Animals screeched and cried out, their voices blending into a cacophony of fear. Leaves rustled violently, branches snapped, and the pounding footsteps behind her quickened, matching her every move.
She could feel it gaining on her, the ground trembling beneath its weight. Her mind raced with terror as she darted through the trees, her hands clawing at the air to keep herself steady.
Above her, the sound of wings flapping filled the air. She glanced up and saw black shapes moving against the darkness: crows. Dozens of them, their harsh caws slicing through the night. They circled above her, following her every step, their beady eyes glowing faintly red in the dim light.
"What is this?!" she cried, tears streaming down her face as she stumbled forward.
The ground beneath her shifted suddenly, and she felt her foot catch on a root. She fell hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Pain shot through her knees and palms as she scrambled to get up, but her body wouldn't move fast enough.
Then she felt it: new sound: soft, slithering.
She froze, her eyes wide with terror as the sound grew louder. Her gaze darted to her left, where something black and glistening emerged from the shadows.
It was a snake.
But not an ordinary one.
Its body was massive, unnaturally large, the thickness of a tree trunk. Its scales shimmered with an oily sheen, and its eyes glowed a menacing, blood-red. The snake's body twisted and coiled as it slithered toward her, its movements smooth and deliberate, as though it had all the time in the world.
Shanane's breath quickened, her body paralyzed with fear. She tried to crawl backward, but her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.
The snake stopped just inches from her face, its forked tongue flickering out to taste the air. Its eyes bore into hers, unblinking and filled with something ancient and malevolent.
"Please…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The snake didn't react to her plea. Instead, it began to coil around her, its massive body cold and unyielding. The young woman whimpered as she felt the weight of it pressing down on her, trapping her against the ground.
Its scales scraped against her skin as it climbed higher, wrapping around her legs, her waist, her chest. She could feel its immense power, every muscle in its body poised to strike. The red eyes hovered inches from her own, and she couldn't look away, no matter how desperately she wanted to.
The noise of the forest grew deafening. The crows above screeched wildly, the sound blending with the distant howls of unseen creatures. The snake's breathing was a low, guttural hiss, and it seemed to fill Shanane's ears, drowning out all else.
Her heart pounded so loudly she thought it might burst. Her vision blurred as tears streamed down her face, and her chest heaved with shallow, panicked breaths.
The snake's head lowered toward her neck, its tongue flicking out to brush against her skin. She closed her eyes tightly, bracing herself for the inevitable.