In the kingdom of Eldoria, there was a forest people refused to enter.
The villagers called it The Cursed Wood.
Children were warned never to go near it. Hunters avoided it. Even soldiers of the king would turn their horses around before reaching its shadow.
They said a witch lived there.
Some claimed she could speak to wolves. Others believed she could control storms or turn men into stone. The stories changed with every telling, but one thing was always the same.
The witch was dangerous.
At the edge of that very forest stood a small cottage hidden beneath tall silver trees. Smoke curled gently from its chimney as the morning sun touched the leaves.
Inside the cottage, the so-called witch was grinding herbs calmly.
Her name was Lyra.
She was not old or terrifying like the villagers imagined. In truth, Lyra was young, with long dark hair that fell over her shoulders and eyes that glowed faintly like moonlight. Her clothes were simple—just a dark cloak and a worn dress—but around her neck hung a small crystal that shimmered with quiet magic.
Lyra crushed the herbs in a stone bowl and muttered softly.
"Moonroot, silverleaf… and just a little frost thyme."
The herbs glowed faintly as she mixed them together.
Outside, a wounded deer limped toward the cottage. Lyra noticed it immediately. She always noticed when something in the forest was hurt.
She stepped outside slowly so the animal wouldn't panic.
"It's alright," she whispered gently.
The deer trembled, an arrow still stuck in its side. Lyra frowned.
"Hunters again."
She placed her hand over the wound and closed her eyes. Soft blue light spread from her palm, surrounding the animal like warm mist.
Within moments, the wound began to close.
The deer blinked in confusion before standing stronger on its legs.
"There," Lyra said with a small smile. "You're free now."
The deer ran back into the trees.
Lyra watched it disappear before her smile faded.
The forest was peaceful, but beyond it was a kingdom that hated people like her.
Years ago, witches had lived openly in Eldoria. They healed the sick, controlled storms during droughts, and protected villages from dark creatures.
But fear had a way of twisting kindness.
When magic became stronger and harder to control, the king blamed witches for every disaster—every flood, every sickness, every failed harvest.
Soon the hunts began.
Homes were burned.
Witches were captured.
Many disappeared forever.
Lyra was only a child when her mother sent her into the forest to hide.
"Never trust the kingdom," her mother had told her.
Those were the last words Lyra ever heard from her.
Since then, the forest had become her home.
But sometimes, when the wind carried distant sounds of laughter from villages far away, Lyra wondered what life might have been like if witches were not feared.
If people had not chosen fear over understanding.
She turned to return to her cottage when something strange caught her attention.
The forest had suddenly gone quiet.
Too quiet.
Even the birds had stopped singing.
Lyra's eyes narrowed.
"That's not normal…"
Then she heard it.
A distant shout.
A horse screaming.
And the sharp sound of metal clashing.
Somewhere deeper in the forest, something—or someone—was in trouble.
Lyra hesitated.
Humans rarely entered this part of the forest unless they were hunting.
And hunters rarely deserved her help.
But the sound came again.
This time weaker.
Someone was fighting for their life.
Lyra sighed softly and pulled her dark cloak around her shoulders.
"Just this once," she murmured.
With quick steps, she moved silently through the trees, following the sounds deeper into the cursed forest.
She didn't know it yet.
But the man she was about to save would change her life forever.
And the kingdom that feared witches would soon face a choice of its own.
Because that night…
the witch would meet the prince