Whispers of the Moonlit Witch

The mist clung to the town like a jealous spirit, weaving through crooked alleys and pressing against shuttered windows. To most, it was only fog. But Selene Duskbane knew better. Every wisp of mist was a memory she had lost — fragments of herself drifting through the night, never to return. Inside her lonely cottage, candlelight flickered over shelves stacked with cracked tomes and bundles of dried herbs. Selene’s fingers brushed the spine of one such book, though she no longer remembered who had given it to her. That was the curse’s cruelty: each time she dared use her magic, the spell devoured a memory. A smile, a voice, a piece of her heart — gone forever. She had long since stopped keeping count. A cry shattered the silence. Selene’s head snapped toward the door, her heart thundering. It was not the cry of an owl or fox — it was human. Male. Pained. She should stay inside. The coven’s rules were clear: do not draw attention, do not reveal yourself, do not meddle in the affairs of mortals. But another cry echoed, raw and desperate, and Selene’s feet were already moving before her mind could stop her. The mist swallowed her as she ran. It whispered warnings in her ears, tried to tug her back, but she pressed forward until she found him. A man lay at the edge of the forest, sprawled in the dirt, his shirt torn and soaked with blood. His chest heaved in shallow breaths, his dark hair plastered to his brow. Even wounded, he radiated something sharp and dangerous — strength honed by violence, shadow tempered by fire. For one dangerous heartbeat, Selene considered leaving him. Hunters still walked this land. If he was one of them, helping him would doom her. But when his eyes fluttered open, gray as a storm breaking over the sea, her choice was stolen. Fear flickered there — not of her, but of death itself. Selene dropped to her knees beside him. “Hold still,” she whispered. Her hands pressed to his wound, heat surging under her skin as the words of healing tumbled from her lips. A faint golden light seeped into him, slowing the bleeding, knitting torn flesh. His groan turned into a ragged breath. Relief. And then the curse struck. Selene gasped as something inside her mind unraveled, dissolving like ash in the wind. She clutched at the vanishing memory, but it was gone — the tune of a lullaby she used to hum when she was afraid. Her heart cracked, but her hands did not falter. When the magic faded, the man blinked, his gaze finding her through the veil of her hood. His voice was rough, but steady. “Who… are you?” Selene jerked back, hiding her face deeper in shadow. “No one,” she whispered, though the lie rang hollow in her chest. Because she had felt it — the curse reacting violently to his presence, stronger than it ever had before. And that terrified her more than hunters, more than the coven, more than the thought of losing herself completely.