I sat by the rock like it would give me the strength to face this terrible situation. After a while, I took slow steps through the path that led to my residence.
I sought my grandmother, the matriarch and heir of our vast estate, following the tragic demise of my parents during a fox-hunting expedition in the same woods, where they fell victim to a savage animal attack and died tragically.
As I walked through the path that wound towards my ancestral home, the forest enveloped me in a cloak of ancient mystery and spectacular beauty.
Towering trees, their branches reaching towards the sky like gnarled fingers, cast dappled shadows on the forest floor, creating a play of light and darkness that encircled me.
The air was thick with the earthy scent of damp moss and fallen leaves, mingling with the sweet perfume from wildflowers that peeked out from the undergrowth. Birds flitted across the branches, their melodic songs weaving a tapestry of sound that echoed through the tranquil woods.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, painting golden patterns on the moss-covered ground, illuminating patches of vibrant green ferns and delicate mushrooms that grew lusciously on the forest grounds.
The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze whispered secrets of an ancient past, while the occasional rustle of small creatures scurrying about added a sense of life to the serene landscape.
As I walked, the forest seemed to hold its breath, as if mourning the loss of my parents and bearing witness to the tragedies that had befallen my family.
Each painful step I took was a journey through memories and shadows, a reminder of the fragile life and the mysterious spirit of the woods that stood witness to joy, sorrow and primal fear.
I remembered the words uttered at the funeral like it was yesterday. “It is a tragic consequence – almost like a curse had befallen them.” they had whispered.
They described the gory state of my father and mother’s bodies as unrecognizable as they were nearly torn to pieces. “No one dies this way,” an aunt had whispered at the funeral, torment in her eyes.
My grandmother said after, that anyone who cared to look at the bodies was tormented for days at an end. It was too gory a scene to forget or put asunder, as even with eyes closed you could envision the bloodied state of the bodies.
As I neared adolescence, something drew me to the forest like it did father. It pulled at my heartstrings.
I woke up to lyrical sounds in the wee hours of the morning. My sleep gone, I sat by my window to look out at the vast forest till sunrise.
The sounds were a symphony of nature's melodies, where the rustling of leaves, wind whispering through the trees, and the gentle patter of pinecones falling created a serene yet lively atmosphere.
Birds filled the air with cheerful calls, while the buzzing of insects and the distant yapping of coyotes added rhythm to the forest's soundtrack. Squirrel’s staccato and bark added playful notes to the composition, as the rustle of leaves signalled the footsteps of deer and other woodland creatures.
There was something else out there I couldn’t quite fathom or put a name to.
The forest, a mystery, consumed my curiosity.
I had seen a wolf with glowing eyes one day. It disappeared somewhere into the woods in a fleeting moment.
I sensed that it followed me sometimes as I sensed the presence of an animal hiding between the bushes while I took my walks. The thought of being watched made me uneasy.
However, there were days when nothing disturbed, and I languished in the beauty and stillness of the forest. I would sit by a creek and be nourished by the perfect scents of nature that permeated the whole environment.
I thought most about the enchanted garden, confined within the seclusion of the forest, where the white rose grew to prominence.
Everyone in the outside world talked about the white rose.
Its magnetic attraction was such that I couldn’t overlook or dismiss its existence. It evoked mysticism and I wanted to see the rose in full bloom.
Nothing in the forest radiated a beauty as astounding as that white rose.
My grandmother told me the rose was an enchanted rose.
That one day, the rose bush sprouted overnight and all around the bush, trees rose from the fertile soil of the forest. The garden was created overnight and hypnotised and awed.
A hunter once warned that the rose carried the soul of a sorceress. She was an evil witch who devoured the beauty of the white rose, so she stayed young and beautiful. She was a jealous sorceress who could not bear the thought of another beautiful maiden entering the forest to awe the creatures there as she did.
The sorceress had once been a princess who ruled the kingdoms of the underworld where Hades lived.
She was obsessed with her beauty and form and sought maidens of great beauty to lure them to the darkest parts of the underworld, so they grew old and haggard. The spells she used were potent.
She imprisoned hundreds of young maidens in this manner, eliminating them one by one in moments of rage, until she faced banishment from the underworld by Hades for slaying a maiden he favoured. Hades retaliated by casting the very spell she did on the maidens, transforming her into an aged and decrepit sorceress with a malevolent demeanour.
Then as the evil sorceress roamed the forest, she caught the scent of the white rose and possessed it.
I had listened to my grandmother dumbfounded as she relayed her tale.
My mother could have died at the hands of the same sorceress.
People talked about my resemblance to my mother’s beauty and swore that my mother’s spirit lived in me.
They said she possessed me the day she died.
And, ever so often, they would warn my grandmother about letting me wander off to the forest alone, that my beauty was just as appealing to the dark world as it was to the light.