The Secret of the Forbidden Forest

Clara pulled her hood over her head and faced the forest – the familiar hunting grounds of the villagers. With steady resolve and chin raised, she tightened her grip on the reins.

“Clara,” her father’s voice broke the silence unexpectedly.

Startled, she paused mid-movement, eyes searching his face. He peeled out from beneath his worn cloak.

“Dad, hide,” she whispered urgently, glancing around nervously.

He stayed still, reaching out a hand, silently urging her closer. Clara pressed her lips tight and, with a reluctant breath, let go of the reins and stepped toward him.

“What is it?”

Her father extended his nearly new shoes, offering them to her.

“Dad, you shouldn’t. You need them yourself. The nights are cold,” Clara objected, brows knitting in worry.

But without replying, he shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around Evelina’s thin shoulders instead.

“What are you doing?!” Clara hissed, glancing nervously at the shadows around them. “Someone might see us.”

“Take them. No arguments.” he said, his voice firm but kind.

With a reluctant sigh, Clara crouched, quickly pulling on the light brown shoes. Charles watched her, a quiet pride softening his lined face, his eyes lingering on her.

“Cover yourself well,” he murmured.

Clara wrapped the cloak around her parents, tucking every edge carefully, determined not to let even a stray wind expose what – or who – she was hiding.

Her brown eyes settled on the new shoes, their clean leather a stark contrast to the rough, muddy ground. A wry smile played at her lips – brand new. She knew how dearly her father had paid for them, not just in coins but in sweat and long hours at the forge. The soles bounced lightly with each step, a reminder that they were made for feet more calloused than her own. They were a little too big, her toes sliding forward with each movement, but what did that matter now?

“Oh, Dad…” she whispered, her voice catching on the edge of a sigh.

Clara approached the horse and paused, her hand gliding through its thick, tangled mane, savoring the comfort of the familiar touch. The animal snorted softly, its breath warm against her palm, and she let a small smile bloom across her lips. She swung one leg over the saddle, adjusting her beige dress so it wouldn’t catch. With a gentle tug on the reins, she straightened her posture and took a deep breath, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

***

The forest had become a world of shadows and whispers, the night deepening with each mile they covered. Moonlight spilled in silvery patches, barely enough to light the rough trail that snaked through the trees. For more than an hour, the cart creaked and swayed along the path, its wheels occasionally snagging on roots and rocks. In the back, her parents slept soundly, pressed close together beneath the tattered cloak. Their soft, even breathing was a quiet comfort to Clara, but she dared not relax. She gripped the reins more firmly, blinking hard to fight the pull of sleep. Every rustle of leaves, every sigh of the wind seemed to echo in the heavy silence around her. The darkness felt endless, but she refused to let herself slip under. Leaning forward slightly, she scanned the path ahead – a barely-there thread of lighter earth winding deeper into the forest’s heart. Her jaw tightened as she urged the old horse on, each step drawing them closer to freedom.

Clara glanced back at her parents, relieved to see them deep in a peaceful sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” she whispered, careful not to wake them, then turned her eyes forward again.

The horse, also wearied from the long journey, snorted in irritation, showing its desire to stop and rest. Clara glanced at her companion with concern.

“You’re tired too, aren’t you, my dear?” she asked softly, stroking his neck affectionately. The horse snorted again, as is to confirm her guess.

“I think we could use a little rest,” Clara suggested, a touch of uncertainty in her voice. She found a spot near a large, spreading tree and carefully dismounted. The brunette knew that in the nighttime forest, one had to stay alert; darkness concealed not only them, but any potential dangers as well.

Deciding to keep watch, Clara settled by the tree’s roots, her eyes cautiously scanning the shadows. She was determined to stay awake all night, guarding her family until her father could take over at dawn. The weary horse rested its muzzle on the soft grass, eyes closed as it savored the quiet at last, while Clara stayed alert, watching the darkness with care.

Yet even the strongest resolve can falter. At last, Clara, who had fought sleep with every fiber of her being, surrendered. She leaned her cheek against the rough bark of the ancient tree, its coarse texture grounding her as her eyelids grew heavy. Her deep brown eyes fluttered shut, the world softening around her until drowsiness cradled her gently, pulling her into a quiet, undisturbed slumber – a brief refuge from the turmoil that awaited.

In the embrace of her dreams, Clara’s smile softened into a look of pure contentment. A warm, glowing sun bathed the landscape in light, painting her family’s new home in gentle hues of gold. Tall, white curtains fluttered at the windows, catching the morning breeze like dancers at dawn. Her mother stood on the porch, a bouquet of daisies in her hand. The laughter in her eyes erased the memory of worry. A few steps away, beneath the boughs of a wide apple tree heavy with bright crimson fruit, Clara’s father leaned over an old horse, his calloused hands brushing the animals’ mane with quiet affection. His smile radiated a simple pride and peace that had once seemed impossible. Overhead, the sky spread out like an endless canvas of blue, free of any shadows. Clara felt the warmth of that light on her skin, the embrace of a world where no one judged them, where freedom finally belonged to them. Her heart swelled with the hope that his dream might one day be their reality.

Suddenly, the world around Clara dissolved into shadows. She frowned and tossed her head, trying to push away the vision. Her parents appeared before her, their faces contorted in terror, only to be swallowed by a raging fire. A scream – her mother’s – rang out, chilling her to the bone. Panic seized her, but she couldn’t wake. The nightmare’s grip held tight, forcing Clara to watch as her parents vanished in the flames. She cried out, powerless to save them, her voice lost in the darkness.

A chorus of unfamiliar voices sliced through the silence, pulling Clara from her sleep with a start. Groggy and disoriented, she blinked against the blur of her surroundings. But soon her gaze sharpened, and she spotted Travis, his hand wrapped around the horse’s reins, yanking it close. The poor animal strained away, only to be met with a swift, stinging strike from a thin, whiplike rod.

“What are you doing?” Clara’s voice came out rough, still thick with sleep. She scrambled to her feet, eyes darting wildly until they settled on the empty cart – and her heart tightened seeing her parents held by Travis’s guards.

“And what do you think it looks like?” Travis sneered, shoving the tired horse toward the guards. “Take this one to the slaughterhouse, and drag those two off.”

The guard immediately headed for the village, and panic slammed into Clara.

“Wait!” she shouted, lunging forward, but Travis yanked her wrist hard, his grip bruising and cruel. Pain shot through her arm as she struggled.

“Quit struggling!” he barked, fingers digging into her skin. “You’re only making it worse.”

Tears welled up in Clara’s brown eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling, biting her lip to hold back the sobs.

“What do you want? Just leave us alone!” she said, voice shaking but defiant.

“Leave you?” the young man sneered, pulling her closer with a cruel grip. “They tried to run. Now they’re gonna pay for it. Rules are rules – no one gets a pass. They deserve every damn bit of it!”

“I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” Clara’s voice cracked, tears welling up. “I’m just trying to help my parents. I can’t watch them suffer like this and do nothing.”

But Travis didn’t falter. He kept walking steadily toward the village, holding Clara close to make sure she couldn’t slip away. Panic rose in her chest like a heavy, suffocating fog, snuffing out every hopeful thought. She looked at her parents – helpless, humiliated – and felt her heart crack. They didn’t deserve this.

She shot Travis a desperate look, hoping for even a flicker of mercy. But his eyes were cold and his smirk made her skin crawl.

Then Travis halted in the middle of the square, while his guards bound her parents to the posts.

“These people have broken the law!” he declared, his voice carrying through the air as a small crowd began to gather.

Clara’s heart dropped as she heard the hushed voices, the cruel things they were saying about her parents. Her eyes met the librarian’s – his face was full of regret, and it made her heart ache. She couldn’t stand the shame, the judgment. Summoning every ounce of strength, she swung her fist at Travis’s face. Then she ran, placing herself between her parents and the guards, shielding them with her trembling body.

“Please, don’t hurt them! We just want to leave, please! My parents haven’t done anything wrong,” Clara pleaded, her voice thin and shaky as tears pricked her eyes.

But before she could say another word, pain shot through her wrist – Travis’s hand clamped down hard, bruising her skin.

“How dare you put a hand on me!” he growled, his face dark with rage. His breath came in harsh, uneven gasps, and the cords in his neck bulged, throbbing with anger.

The villagers, drawn by the noise, gathered in a tight circle around them. Soft whispers spread like poison – blaming Clara for the trouble that had fallen on the Millers. Quiet murmurs floated through the crowd, full of spite: Charles – the reckless fool – and Evelina, whose choice had doomed them both.

Travis’s grip snapped tighter. In one swift motion, he yanked Clara down. The air whooshed out of her lungs as she crashed onto the hard ground. Her palms stung, scraped raw by the rough dirt and jagged stones biting into her skin.

Clara gasped sharply, biting back a cry as she lifted her head, her blurred vision swimming with tears. Before she could react, rough hands seized her elbows, their grip firm and unyielding, biting into her skin. The guards yanked her up harshly and forced her down onto her knees.

Travis’s lips curled into a cold, cruel smile as he slowly unsheathed his sword. The blade shimmered in the moonlight, sharp and threatening. With slow, purposeful steps, he moved closer to Clara’s parents, his menace clear in every motion. The night pressed down with a heavy, suffocating silence, fear clinging to every shadow in Clara’s mind. Her heart thudded dull and hollow, breath ragged and shallow, swallowed by a rising wave of panic. She reached out, desperate to move forward – but the guards held her tight.

“No! Stop!” Her voice cracked, raw and desperate, but Travis didn’t even hesitate.

The villagers stood in stunned silence, their faces pale and eyes wide with disbelief. Some shook their heads slowly, murmuring that Clara’s desperate cries were pointless, while others looked away, unable to bear the sight of impending tragedy. Ignoring the sorrow pressing down on the crowd, Travis dragged Evelina roughly toward the center. The woman’s fragile frame trembled violently, her fingers digging into the dirt as if trying to hold herself together.

“Her death,” he hissed, his voice cold as the sword’s tip traced a chilling line along Evelina’s throat, “will stain your conscience forever.”

Clara’s voice broke like a fragile thread, barely audible through her sobs:

“Please… don’t… let them go…”

Tears slipped steadily down Clara’s cheeks, falling onto the cracked, thirsty ground. She swallowed hard, biting her lip to choke back a sob. The ache in her chest twisted deep, but it was the sight of Travis’s hand that stole her breath.

The blade hesitated, trembling for a heartbeat – then a sharp, bloody line seared across Evelina’s pale skin.

Evelina stifled a quiet scream as her body gave out, collapsing onto the ground. Blood gushed from the deep slash on her neck, dark and relentless, soaking through her worn-out clothes. Crimson beads slid down her pale skin, marking the ragged fabric with sharp stains. A few drops splattered onto the dry earth, spreading over the parched grass and pooling in a small, sticky patch. Clara’s cry tore through the night – filled with anguish.

Charles, still fastened to the post, wept uncontrollably. Guilt weighed heavy on him, blaming his own frailty for their downfall and the broken law. His shoulders trembled violently, his limp frame hanging helplessly against the ropes.

“You’re a heartless beast!” Clara hissed, her voice trembling with anger and pain. Aiming to cut Travis as sharply as he had hurt her.

But he only sneered, stepping closer with eyes full of cruel amusement.

“You think words like scare me? You’re nothing but a weak girl clinging to foolish hope.”

Clara curled her lip in disgust and caught sight of the guards closing to her father. Her brown eyes grew wide with fear as her father’s desperate cries for mercy reached her ears. The guards roughly tossed a cloak over Charles’s head and dragged him toward the waiting carriage.

“He wanted so badly to get into the Forbidden Forest, so he went and broke the rules. Guess I just made sure he got exactly what he wished for,” Travis said, nodding to the men who hoisted Charles and threw him into the carriage.

Clara stood rooted in shock, horror freezing her as the guards climbed abroad. The carriage groaned to life and swallowed her father into the night.

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice trembled and caught in her dry throat.

Her tear-blurred brown eyes locked onto Travis’s cold, unreadable face. Her chest rose and fell in uneven gasps, each breath heavy with despair.

“What are you trying to prove?!” she shouted, voice cracking into a broken sob.

Travis sneered, curling his lip.

“You’re just a pain,” he said, turning away without a second thought.

Clara wasn’t surprised. Her shoulders sagged, and a shaky breath escaped before she finally let the tears fall. A numbness spread through her, dulling even the weight of the harsh stares around her.

“Get rid of it,” Travis said casually, nodding toward Evelina’s dead body.

The guards acted quickly, lifting the still figure and slipping into the shadows. The crowd began to scatter. Some threw Clara soft, sorrowful glances, while most looked away, unable to face the grim scene lingering in the air.

Tears traced quiet paths down her face, blending with the dust on her pale cheeks. Her heart throbbed with a sorrow so deep it felt endless. Still, Clara’s gaze lingered on the dark blood seeping into the dry earth beneath her. If not for the elderly librarian – who’d been gently but firmly pulling her back to the present for the past few minutes – Clara might have stayed there, rooted beside the cold, dark stain.

“Come on, dear… stand up…” the old man urged softly, rubbing her shoulders.

The brunette’s eyes shimmered with tears, her lip quivering as a wave of panic threatened to spill over. The old man’s heart softened, and sensing she needed room to break down, he pulled her close in a steady embrace, offering his shoulder as a refuge for her grief.

Clara clung to him, her sobs erupting like those of a frightened child.

“I… I only… wanted to do what was right…” she whispered, voice trembling as she searched for an explanation.

The old man gently brushed her hair back, his touch slow and comforting, silently acknowledging the weight she bore. He said nothing – knowing no words could soften the ache within her. Clara shook with sobs, overwhelmed by the tide of her feelings. Her tender heart, still untouched by harsh realities, struggled beneath the unbearable heaviness – a burden she could no longer escape.

***

Brooding clouds smothered the village, leaving it in perpetual dusk for two long days. The sky, heavy and oppressive, seemed unwilling to yield even a glimmer of light. Rain fell with an unrelenting rhythm, drumming on rooftops and rattling old panes, each drop deepening the village’s gloom. Under this wearying downpour, the villagers muttered and complained, unable to lift themselves from the sodden darkness that clung to every corner.

It felt as though the sky itself had chosen to share Clara’s sorrow, shedding tears for her when she could no longer weep. Beyond the window, rain lashed against the glass in relentless sheets, while inside, a heavy, aching stillness filled. Clara sat hunched at the small wooden table in the narrow kitchen, her brown eyes red and puffy from crying, staring at nothing at all. She seemed suspended in time, disconnected from the world around her. Her thoughts were a hollow echo, mirroring the emptiness in her stomach – a stomach that hadn’t known even a crumb to soothe its ache.

Clara’s thoughts tangled like thorns around the image of that final moment, refusing to fade. It had become a stain on her soul – her mother’s eyes wide with pain, a deep red wound marking the end of everything. Even now, the phantom scent of iron filled her nose, and she found herself reaching for a hand that would never reach back. And her father – taken like a sack of grain, tossed into the carriage with no ceremony, no goodbye. The world had stolen them both, leaving her to pick up the pieces of a life that no longer made sense.

The door creaked open, a faint sliver of light slipping through the crack. In the doorway stood the elderly librarian, his eyes filled with worry. With a trembling hand, he knocked twice on the squeaky wooden door, hoping to rouse Clara from her daze.

“Clara?” he called, his voice hoarse.

At the sound of her name, Clara blinked slowly and let out a heavy sigh.

The old man frowned, his thick gray eyebrows pulling together. He eased into the room, the floorboards creaking quietly under his steps. Sitting down beside Clara, he leaned in, trying to make sense of her tear-streaked face.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked softly, then sat back straight.

He slowly took in the room – a thick silence hung everywhere, mixed with the smell of old dust. It felt like the walls had soaked up too much pain, and even the dim light outside couldn’t push it away.

At his question, Clara lifted her haunted eyes to him.

“I went to Travis. I begged him for my mother’s body…” Her voice cracked, the last words barely a whisper. Her lower lip trembled slightly.

A single tear traced down Clara’s cheek, but she wiped it away quickly with the back of her hand, avoiding his gaze.

“He said… he’ll burn her…” she whispered, barely audible. “He said my mother doesn’t deserve a funeral…” She broke down again, sobs shaking her body.

William rose quietly and stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Clara gasped, trembling as she fought to hold back the flood of tears – but they kept falling, burning her skin. And her heart… her heart shattered, bleeding silently inside.

In this village, only the chief held the power to decide what happened to the dead. If he deemed someone unworthy of memory, their body was simply thrown into the fire. Clara could still remember that night – how she had begged Travis to give her her mother’s body back. But he refused without a word, and right before her eyes, he commanded the body to be burned with rest on the day of the luck hunt.

“You have to get out of here,” the voice came softly but with steady resolve. “They could come for you any minute. Pull yourself together and go. There’s a town at the far edge of the Western Forest.”

“A town?” she whispered, voice cracked.

“Yes,” the old man said gently, offering a small, warm smile. “There, you can start over. The town has a library, more books than even I have. You’ll be free to study, find work, and live on your own terms.”

Clara sat, shoulders slumped, her thin fingers clenched tightly in her lap, trembling.

“You could really be happy there,” he added quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

“Leave?” Clara’s frown deepened as she pulled away. “Grandpa, do you really think I can just walk away? Be happy after everything that’s happened?”

“Clara…” he began, but she cut him off.

“What if dad’s still alive? What if he’s waiting for me?”

“You don’t have anything left here,” he said firmly.

Her brown eyes, sharp with confusion and defiance, met the librarian’s steady gaze.

“My father is still alive,” Clara said firmly, refusing to look away. “He’s alive – he didn’t die!” she repeated, clenching her fists tight.

“Clara, he’s in the Forbidden Forest. The chances he made it out are zero.”

“Don’t say that,” she snapped, struggling to keep her voice calm. “You weren’t there. You don’t know.”

“But what if you don’t come back?” William’s voice cracked with worry. “What if you die out there, and neither of you return?”

“I won’t know unless I try.”

The old man sighed, shoulders heavy with weariness. He knew there was no changing her mind. Clara would do anything for her family, even if hope was slim. Her father was all she had left.

“Alright,” he said, stepping closer. “Promise me you’ll come back. And take only what you need.”

Clara’s eyes softened, a small smile curving her lips. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I promise, Grandpa…” she whispered. “I’ll come back safe… and I’ll bring Dad with me. But…” She pulled back, her face serious. “I’m only coming back to say goodbye. I can’t stay here.”

The old man held her gaze, then nodded.

“I know,” he said quietly. “And I understand.”

The old librarian turned and walked away, the door creaking shut behind him. Clara stood still, watching as the rain swallowed him from sight.

“Well,” she muttered, glancing around the room. “No point in waiting till night. I’m leaving now.”

Clara didn’t plan on taking much – every extra ounce could slow her down, and the journey ahead was dangerous enough.

She counted her arrows carefully – only twenty left. The bow seemed sturdy, so she slung it over shoulder. A few minutes later, she stood at the table, double-checking her gear.

“Quiver, arrows, bow,” she murmured, her eyes scanning each item. “Rope, apples – one, two, three. All here. Cloak, water jug…” She opened the lid to make sure it was full. “Looks like that’s everything,” she whispered, giving her belongings one last look.

Shouts and curses exploded beyond the door, and Clara rushed to the window, trying to make sense of the chaos. Villagers streamed toward her house, their faces contorted with anger and suspicion.

Her brown eyes darted anxiously from one face to another, panic rising. She snatched her bag and swept everything from the table into it, hands unsteady but quick. There was no time to waste.

“Witch!” a voice thundered from the street, like a death sentence.

Clara slung her quiver and bag over one shoulder, grabbed her cloak, and dashed up the stairs to her room, skipping steps in her hurry. At the window, she threw it open and leaned out, her eyes sweeping the ground below.

The drop didn’t seem too high. Taking a steadying breath, she swung herself onto the still and leapt. She didn’t land gracefully – her knees hit the earth hard, sending a sharp sting through her legs. The hem of her beige dress caught on a rock and ripped.

“Damn it,” she muttered, brushing dirt from her palms and smudging her clothes.

Clara wrapped the long edge of her cloak tightly around her bag, then carefully slipped off her quiver and bow. Pulling the cloak over her head, she let the fabric fall across her face, casting it in shadow. She then slung the quiver and bow back over the cloak.

“Where is the witch?” a harsh voice demanded.

The villagers crowded at the doorstep, their faces tense, eyes searching. Clara crouched low in the shadows, heart pounding, holding her breath – desperate not to be seen.

Travis pulled the door handle silently, surprised at how easily it yielded. He stepped into the small room, frowning as his eyes swept across the sparse space.

“The witch got away?” a voice called from the doorway.