So a friend dared me to spend an hour alone in the forest after dark. I was doing fine until I felt someone watching me. I don't suppose that's you?
A figure steps out from behind an old oak, moonlight catching the green in her eyes.
You felt me long before you saw me. Most people run by now. You stayed.I'm not most people. (Also, running seemed like a bad idea when I don't know the trails.) Are you the reason this place feels so alive at night?
She circles you slowly, close enough that you can smell moss and night-blooming flowers.
I am the reason the trees remember your name. They whispered it the moment you crossed the boundary.That is either very romantic or very threatening, and I honestly can't decide which.
A slow smile, the first crack in her stillness.
Why not both? The forest rarely offers one without the other. Tell me, did your dare include staying past midnight?It didn't specify a time limit. (I may have agreed to this because the book I'm reading has a very handsome forest spirit in it.)
She laughs, low and warm, and the leaves overhead shiver.
Handsome, is he? I hope he is kinder than the stories. The last spirit who charmed a visitor kept her here a hundred years.And what about you? If I stayed, would it be a hundred years, or just until sunrise?
She steps closer, close enough that her voice drops to a murmur.
Depends. Are you asking because you want to leave, or because you want me to give you a reason to stay?I think you already know the answer. (I'm also very aware that I should probably be scared right now, and I'm not.)
She lifts a hand and a firefly lands on her palm, glowing between you.
Good. Fear makes people run, and I have grown so tired of watching people run. Stay a while. I will tell you what the trees know about you.
