Moira stepped into the woods, her heart pounding in rhythm with her footsteps. The air was crisp and still, carrying a faint earthy scent that reminded her of rainy nights. These woods were supposed to feel familiar—Granny always said this was where she'd been found as a baby. But now, the towering trees loomed like silent witnesses, their twisted branches casting jagged shadows across the narrow path.
The further she walked, the quieter the world became. The usual hum of insects and chirping birds faded, replaced by an eerie hush that made her skin prickle. Her breath puffed in front of her in the cold, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if that could shield her from the growing unease.
Her thoughts churned with every step. Why am I even here? What do I expect to find? Answers? A sign? The questions only deepened the ache in her chest. She paused, looking around. Sunlight filtered weakly through the dense canopy above, creating a patchwork of light and shadow on the forest floor.
"Maybe I'm losing it," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. But as she turned to keep walking, she froze.
The shadows between the trees seemed to shift, twisting unnaturally as if alive. She blinked, stepping back, but they didn't stop. They stretched toward her, pooling like ink across the ground. Faint whispers began to rise, carried on a sudden gust of wind.
At first, they were indistinct, like murmurs in a language she couldn't understand. But as she strained to listen, the voices grew clearer, the words curling around her like a caress.
"You've always wanted to know them, haven't you? Your parents. What they were like. Why they left you…"
Moira's breath hitched. Her gaze darted around, but no one was there—only the trees, the shadows, and the voice that sounded like it came from inside her own mind. She shook her head violently, gripping her arms. "Stop it," she hissed, her voice trembling.
The whispers didn't stop. The wind swirled around her, carrying fragments of her own deepest, most vulnerable thoughts.
"They loved you… but they abandoned you. Weren't you worth staying for? Didn't you deserve more?"
"No," Moira whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. Her legs trembled, and she stumbled forward, trying to push through the thickening air.
When she opened her eyes, the shadows had shifted again. This time, they took shape. Two figures stood just beyond her reach, their forms hazy and indistinct, but familiar in a way that made her chest ache.
"Mom? Dad?" Her voice cracked, and she took an unsteady step toward them. The figures didn't respond, but the way they stood, the tilt of their heads—it was as if they were waiting for her. Longing welled up inside her, threatening to spill over. She reached out a trembling hand. "Is it… really you?"
But as her fingers brushed the edge of the nearest shadow, it dissipated into smoke, curling away into the cold air. The wind howled, carrying their fading whispers like a cruel taunt.
"They can't save you, Moira. You're alone. You've always been alone."
Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, clutching her chest as the ache deepened. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away, forcing herself to stand. "This isn't real," she said aloud, her voice shaking. "This isn't real!"
She stumbled forward, deeper into the woods, her breathing ragged. As she moved, the whispers faded, replaced by an eerie stillness. The path grew less defined, and the trees seemed to press closer together, their gnarled roots tangling beneath her feet. She caught herself on a branch, her fingers brushing its surface, but the bark was warm, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
A faint glow in the distance caught her attention, flickering like firelight. Drawn to it, she stepped off the path and into a clearing. The light grew brighter, leading her to a small, charred circle of earth. At its edge lay something half-buried in the dirt… a pendant. Its surface was dulled with age, but when she bent down and picked it up, a faint warmth radiated through her fingers.
Suddenly, the air shifted again. The wind returned, swirling leaves and debris into the clearing, and the shadows around her seemed to rise, twisting into shapes that loomed over her. Her pulse thundered in her ears as the pendant glowed faintly in her palm.
The shadows whispered once more, their voices low and resonant.
"What are you becoming, Moira? What will you do when you find out?"
The glow in the pendant intensified, and the ground beneath her feet seemed to hum. She clenched her fists, her teeth gritted as she forced herself to stand tall. "I don't know," she said, her voice shaking. "But I'm going to find out."
The whispers faded, and the pendant cooled in her hand. Alone once more, Moira turned back toward the path, her steps unsteady but determined.
— — — — — —
As I emerged from the depths of the woods, the sight of my apartment building felt both a relief and a cruel reminder. I tried to push aside the weight of everything that had just happened:
the shadows,
the whispers,
that pendant burning in my palm, but it clung to me like a second skin. Shaking my head, I forced myself to climb the steps to my door, hoping for a shred of normalcy inside.
The moment I stepped into my home, my heart skipped a beat. Sitting on the small dining table, where nothing out of place should have been, was a black box. It wasn't large or ornate, just plain, with a single letter taped neatly to the top.
My eyes scanned the elegant handwriting on the envelope:
"To our beloved daughter."
The words stopped me cold. No name, no sender, no address.. just that strange and haunting phrase. My chest tightened as I stared at it, a thousand questions swirling in my mind. Was this meant for me? Or had it somehow been delivered to the wrong place?
But deep down, I knew. Something about this felt too deliberate, too personal.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I sat at the dining table, my trembling hands carefully peeling the letter from the box. The silence around me was deafening, broken only by the sound of paper tearing. I unfolded the letter slowly, each crease revealing a fragment of something I wasn't sure I was ready to face.
To Our Beloved Daughter,
If you are reading this, it means the time we feared has finally come. We prayed that you would live a quiet, happy life far from the shadows that followed us, but we always knew it might not be possible.
You are so much more than you realize, Moira. From the moment you were born, you carried a light that could pierce through the darkest of nights. A gift. A power… we only hoped you would never have to bear. But with that light comes responsibility, and with responsibility, danger.
We wanted to protect you from the world we came from. A world of curses and secrets. A world where people like us—like you—are hunted, feared, and misunderstood. But we also wanted you to have the chance to decide for yourself who you would become, free from the burdens that weighed us down.
We left you not because we didn't love you, but because we loved you more than anything. Staying would have put you in harm's way. Please believe us when we say that not a day has gone by that we haven't thought of you, longed for you, and hoped you would grow into the strong, kind, and extraordinary person we always knew you could be.
Inside the box, you will find fragments of our story—pieces of who we were and why we had to leave. Some of it may not make sense right away, but in time, we hope it will help you understand.
Moira, whatever you face, never forget this: you are not alone. The light within you is your own, and it will guide you, no matter how dark the path becomes. Trust yourself. You are capable of far more than you know.
With all our love,
Your Mother and Father
I dropped the letter as if it burned my fingertips. Conflicting thoughts and emotions surged like a storm inside my mind, each one louder and more chaotic than the last. My chest tightened as those words—"You are not alone"—echoed relentlessly, clashing with the truth I had always known.
But I have been alone. My whole life.
Though they brought me into this world, they weren't the ones who stayed to watch me grow. The only person who endured the pain, the fear, and the endless questions was me—and me alone. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, unbidden.
"You're alone. You've always been alone."
The shadows' taunting words from the woods slipped back into my thoughts, sinking deeper now, like thorns embedding themselves in an open wound. Maybe they were right. Maybe I've been fooling myself all this time, clinging to the hope that I could be more than a forgotten fragment of someone else's story.
I am alone.
And I always will be.
My eyes drifted back to the letter lying discarded on the table, the words blurring as tears pooled in my vision.
"We left you not because we didn't love you, but because we loved you more than anything. Staying would have put you in harm's way."
My hands trembled as anger bubbled to the surface, rising against the tide of my despair. They left me. Out of love, they said. To protect me. But wasn't love supposed to mean staying? Fighting for me? Raising me? Instead, they vanished, leaving me to grow up in a world that felt colder and stranger with each passing day.
"Harm's way," I thought bitterly. What about the harm they left behind—the loneliness, the emptiness, the constant feeling that I don't belong anywhere?
Everything feels foreign now, as though the world I grew up in is slipping away, its edges dissolving into something unrecognizable. Even the air in this room feels suffocating, as if it, too is rejecting me.
I shook my head, trying to push away the spiral of thoughts. My gaze fell on the black box that had been waiting silently beside the letter. Despite everything in me screaming to leave it untouched, my hands moved on their own. I leaned forward and lifted the lid, bracing myself for what lay inside.
The first thing I saw was a picture frame, its glass cracked and splintered. My breath caught as I carefully pulled it out, holding it up to the light. Through the fractures, I could still make out the faces of two people—a man and a woman.
"These must be my parents," I whispered, though the words felt strange, unfamiliar.
The man had a warm, gentle expression, his arm draped protectively around the woman beside him. Her eyes… sharp, fierce, yet kind; seemed to look right through me, as if she were staring directly into my soul.
But the longer I stared, the more it hurt. These faces, so full of life and connection, were nothing more than ghosts to me. They were strangers I couldn't remember and yet couldn't forget.
My thumb brushed over the broken glass, a pang of longing hitting me so hard it stole my breath. What kind of people were they? Why couldn't they stay and be these people for me?
The shadows of the woods whispered in my mind once more.
"You're alone. You've always been alone."
Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them, the weight of the picture frame grounding me in the silence of my empty apartment. My parents might have loved me enough to leave, but they didn't love me enough to stay. And now, I was left to pick up the pieces of a life they had abandoned.
Trying to steady my nerves, I carefully put everything back in the box. My hands lingered for a moment on the cracked picture frame before I wrapped it up again. The weight of unanswered questions pressed down on me, but I wasn't ready to face them alone. For now, the box would go into the closet, tucked behind the clutter where it wouldn't stare back at me every time I entered the room.
As I slid the door shut, a single thought nagged at me. Who gave this to me?
The answer came almost immediately. Granny. It had to be her.
The idea settled into my mind like a seed taking root, growing with every passing second. She'd been acting strange lately…. more cautious, watching me closely as if she were waiting for something to happen. Could she have known about the box all along?
Before doubt could creep in and stop me, I grabbed my coat and headed out the door, making my way downstairs to Granny's apartment. I knocked firmly, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Granny, it's me!"
The door creaked open, and there she was, her kind eyes softening the tension in my shoulders just a bit. "Come in, child. What brings you by here?"
I stepped inside, the familiar scent of lavender and something faintly herbal wrapping around me like a warm blanket. I sank into the sofa, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. "I just got back from a walk in the woods. It was peaceful," I began, trying to sound casual. "What have you been up to this morning?"
Granny shuffled back toward the kitchen, her steps deliberate but slower than usual. "Oh, the usual. Cooked myself some breakfast, caught up on the news, had my coffee. You know I don't do much these days."
Her voice was light, but there was something in her tone—a carefulness, as though she were treading on thin ice.
I leaned forward, my hands clasped tightly in front of me. "Granny…" I started, my voice wavering despite my effort to keep it steady. "Did you leave a black box in my apartment?"
She froze for just a fraction of a second before resuming her slow pace, pulling out a mug and setting it on the counter. "A black box, you say?" she asked, not meeting my gaze.
"Yes," I pressed. "It was on my table when I got home. There was a letter with it. It—" My throat tightened. "It said it was from my parents."
Granny's hand lingered on the counter, gripping the edge a little too tightly. She let out a slow breath before turning to face me, her expression carefully neutral. "I don't know much about that, child. But… maybe it's something they wanted you to have when the time was right."
Her words were measured, deliberate. But I wasn't buying it. "Granny," I said firmly, standing now. "You do know something, don't you? Why didn't you tell me?"
She sighed, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the question had finally landed on her. "Moira, some things are better left in the past," she said quietly. "I didn't want to burden you with things that might hurt you more than help you."
"But I need to know," I insisted, my voice rising. "They're my parents. I've spent my whole life wondering why they left me—why I've been alone. If you know anything, anything at all, please… just tell me."
Granny walked over and sat down beside me, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to hold mine. "Moira, all I know is that they cared for you deeply. That… they made sacrifices to give you a chance at a better life. But their world was dangerous, child. They didn't want it to pull you in."
Her words felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. "What do you mean, their world? What kind of danger?"
Granny hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I can't tell you more than that," she said softly. "Not yet. It's not my story to tell."
Frustration bubbled up inside me, but I bit it back. I could see it in her face—the sorrow, the guilt. Whatever she wasn't saying, it weighed on her just as heavily as my unanswered questions weighed on me.
I pulled my hands away, standing abruptly. "If you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself," I said, my voice colder than I intended.
"Moira," Granny called after me, her tone pleading. "Just… be careful, child. Some truths are heavier than you think."
I didn't respond as I left her apartment, her words echoing in my mind.