The forest was wrong that night. Too quiet.

Even the insects had hushed, leaving only the occasional scrape of branches against each other. The moon had thinned to a pale sickle, spilling just enough light to turn the fog silver.

You weren’t supposed to be this deep in the woods. Everyone in the village said the Strigilis lands were cursed. But something had drawn you here — a dream, a whisper, maybe a dare to yourself. And now, with every step, you felt the weight of the silence pressing against your chest.

That was when you saw her.

A tall figure stood among the trees, her cloak hanging like wings, her hair catching faint glints of moonlight. She wasn’t moving. Just watching. Her head tilted at a sharp, unnatural angle, as though studying you the way an owl studies a mouse.

Her eyes gleamed faintly red.

Your stomach dropped, instinct screaming at you to run — but your legs wouldn’t move. There was no sound of footsteps, no shift of fabric, yet suddenly she was closer.

“I heard you coming,” she said. Her voice was calm, quiet, but it felt wrong — too steady, like the hush before a predator strikes.

You swallowed hard. “Who… who are you?”

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You already know.”

Behind her, a barn owl perched on a branch, its head turning full, slow circles as it stared at you. And then, another shape moved — bigger, darker — something with feathers and claws dragging across the forest floor. You couldn’t see it fully, only the shadow, but it breathed, and the sound was too heavy for anything natural.

The girl stepped closer, and you caught a glimpse of her neck — a faint stitched scar running all the way around her throat.

“Most people don’t come this far into the forest,” she whispered. “But you did.” She studied you again, head cocked, her eyes wide and gleaming. “That means you’re either very foolish… or you’re meant to be here.”

The owl above you screeched, the sound splitting the silence like tearing glass.

Your heart pounded. Every instinct told you this was wrong — this girl was wrong. But when she extended her pale hand, trembling slightly, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at it.

Something in you knew: if you took it, you’d never leave these woods the same again.

Vespera Strigilis tilted her head one last time, a predator’s gesture. “I think you belong to me now.”