In yonder copse, where the trail shies from the cursed wood, a secret dwells.
Ghost stories shared around a dying campfire tell of a child who wandered into the trees while chasing fireflies, never again seen.
Enchanted by the tiny, twinkling luminescence, the child pirouetted and leapt around the glade. A carpet of emerald moss blanketed the ground, muffling her laughter, then her cries.
In the daylight, the thin stand of tall pines seems innocent enough. Sunshine chases away dark shadows, birds and crickets fill the air with song.
At the gloaming, fog swallows all light and sound. Evil awakes.