The Watcher in the Woods
588 Words
The next morning, the world looked too normal.
Birds chirped. Eggs sizzled in the kitchen. Her sisters having their breakfast like they hadn’t slept through the unraveling of Luna’s universe.
She barely touched her toast.
Every sound felt sharper, like her senses were on high alert, the ticking of the clock, the shifting of wood beneath her chair, even the distant rustle of leaves outside.
“Going for a walk,” she muttered before Marcus or Hilda could ask her anything.
She headed toward the woods.
The moment her boots touched the forest floor, the air changed. It was cooler. Still. Like the trees were holding their breath.
Luna walked deeper, hand grazing the bark of an old pine tree. A strange urge tugged at her, not from fear, but instinct. She was drawn to something.
That’s when she saw it.
A faint purple glow, half-buried beneath a pile of leaves and roots.
She knelt.
It was a sigil, etched into a stone slab. The same crescent moon symbol with the scar-line through it. Fresh. Not weathered by time.
Someone had carved it recently.
A chill crawled up her spine.
She stood, heart thumping, and froze.
There, not twenty feet away, half-hidden behind a tree… someone was watching her.
Tall. Hooded. Silent.
Luna’s breath caught. Her fingers twitched, the air sparked faintly.
The figure didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared.
Then, as if fading into the shadows themselves, they turned and disappeared deeper into the woods.
Luna stood frozen, eyes fixed on the space where the figure had been.
Her legs wanted to run. Her mind screamed to chase.
But her instincts, the ones that had started whispering since the pendant sparked to life said: Not yet.
She turned and walked quickly back the way she came.
By the time she reached the house, her heart was hammering so hard she thought it would break her ribs.
Inside, the house was quiet. Her sisters were out, and the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and warm milk, so painfully normal it made her stomach twist.
Hilda was at the counter, folding laundry. She looked up, smiling.
“You okay, Luna? You’re pale.”
Luna dropped her bag on the floor, voice flat.
“Who else knows?”
Hilda paused mid-fold.
“Knows what?”
“About me. The magic. The pendant. The sigils in the woods. The… people.”
Silence.
Marcus appeared from the hallway, eyes narrowing.
“You went into the woods?”
“I didn’t mean to find it,” Luna snapped. “But I did. A symbol. Glowing purple. And someone was watching me.”
Her foster parents exchanged a look too fast to catch fully, but too obvious to miss.
Luna’s voice cracked.
“You said I was safe here.”
Marcus stepped forward, slow, gentle.
“You are. But safe doesn’t mean forgotten. That mark in the woods… someone must know who you are.”
“And the person watching me?”
Hilda hesitated, then said softly,
“There are people who still believe in the bloodline. Some want it dead. Others... awakened.”
Luna swallowed hard.
“And what do you want?”
Maria reached for her hand, eyes shining.
“We just want you to have a choice.”
Luna pulled away, walking to the stairs without another word.
Back in her room, she sat on the edge of her bed, the pendant glowing faintly against her chest.
A choice.
But it didn’t feel like a choice anymore.
It felt like a warning.
- Writer
