Wicked or Wary?

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Deep within the Enchanted Forest, where ancient trees weaved a perpetual twilight, there lived a creature the villagers called the Shade. To them, it was a wicked spirit, a phantom that preyed on the lost and unwary. Travelers whispered of shadowy figures lurking at the edges of vision and accused the Shade of blighting crops, poisoning wells, and snatching children.

But the Shade was no spirit. She was a girl.

Myra had been abandoned in the forest as a child. Her family, sorcerers of great renown, feared her affinity for shadow magic. Even as a baby, darkness answered her cries, curling protectively around her crib. They feared what they didn’t understand and cast her away, leaving her to survive in the forest’s embrace.

And survive she did.

Over the years, Myra learned the language of the woods. The rustle of leaves, the chittering of squirrels, and the steady hum of life became her lullaby. The shadows, her only constant companions, grew stronger with her, forming tendrils that danced at her command. She wanted nothing more than to live in peace.

But the stories of her “wickedness” spread far beyond the forest, turning her into a monster in the minds of the villagers.

One crisp autumn evening, Myra sat on a gnarled tree root, weaving shapes from shadows as stars began to prick the sky. She crafted a bird, a deer, and a tiny fox, the figures darting playfully around her. Their movements stilled when a distant clamor disturbed the tranquil night.

Myra’s sharp hearing picked up the rhythmic clinking of armor and the snorting of horses. Frowning, she dissolved the shadow creatures and scaled the nearest tree with practiced ease, perching among its branches. Soon, a figure on horseback entered the clearing below.

The rider was a young man, his golden hair glinting in the moonlight. His silver armor bore the crest of the nearby kingdom, and a sword hung at his side. Myra tilted her head as she watched him dismount, the man muttering under his breath as he unsheathed his blade.

“Shade of the forest!” he called out, his voice echoing through the trees. “Come forth and face judgment for your crimes!”

Myra raised an eyebrow. Judgment? she thought. She’d never seen this man before. What did he think she had done?

Curious, she dropped lightly from the branch, her bare feet making no sound as they touched the forest floor. The prince turned, startled by her sudden appearance. His eyes widened as he took her in: a pale girl with long black hair, wearing a tattered dress that seemed to shift and shimmer with the movement of shadows.

“You’re the Shade?” he asked, his voice wavering between disbelief and suspicion.

She crossed her arms. “What do you think I am?”

“A demon,” he said, leveling his sword. “A monster. The villagers say you curse their crops, poison their wells, and lure children to their deaths.”

Myra’s lips twitched in a bitter smile. “And have you seen proof of these crimes, or are you here because of stories told around a fire?”

The prince hesitated, his sword faltering. “They... they fear you.”

“Fear,” she said softly, her voice laced with sadness, “turns truth into shadows and shadows into truth.”

Before the prince could respond, a shrill scream tore through the forest. Both of them froze.

“A child,” Myra whispered, her head snapping toward the sound. Without another word, she took off into the trees, her shadows swirling around her like a living cloak. The prince hesitated for a heartbeat before following, his sword drawn.

The scream led them to a clearing where a young girl was trapped in the clutches of a cursed tree. Its roots writhed like serpents, glowing with a sickly green light. The girl’s small body dangled helplessly as a root coiled around her waist, lifting her toward the jagged maw of the tree.

“Help me!” she sobbed, tears streaking her dirt-smudged face.

Myra stepped forward, her hands outstretched. Shadows erupted from her fingertips, slithering toward the cursed tree. The prince gawked as the darkness fought the roots, wrestling them away from the child.

“Don’t just stand there!” Myra snapped, her voice strained. “Cut the roots while I hold them!”

The prince sprang into action, hacking at the roots with his enchanted blade. The tree shrieked—a sound that was neither human nor natural—and its grip loosened. With a final surge of power, Myra’s shadows tore the girl free, gently lowering her to the ground.

The prince knelt beside the child, checking her for injuries. “She’s fine,” he said, relief flooding his voice.

Myra nodded, exhaustion etched on her face. The shadows receded, coiling protectively around her feet. She knelt before the girl, brushing a strand of hair from her tear-streaked cheek.

“Go home,” Myra said gently. “Tell them the Shade saved you.”

The girl sniffled, nodding, and ran into the trees, her small figure vanishing into the darkness.

The prince turned to Myra, his expression unreadable. “You saved her.”

“Of course I did,” Myra replied, brushing dirt from her dress. “Do you think I enjoy the suffering these stories cause? That I want them to fear me?”

He sheathed his sword, shame coloring his features. “I believed them. I believed the lies.”

She met his gaze, her dark eyes tired but resolute. “You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.”

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the forest around them settling into its usual rhythm.

Finally, the prince spoke. “You could come with me. To the village. If they saw you for who you are—”

Myra shook her head. “The villagers will always see what they want to see. It’s easier to blame a monster than admit their misfortunes have no face.”

“But it’s not fair,” he protested. “You don’t deserve this.”

“No,” she said with a faint smile. “But fairness isn’t something the world offers freely. You’ve seen the truth. If you wish to help, use your voice to change their stories.”

The prince nodded slowly. “I will. My name is Alric, by the way. Prince Alric.”

“Myra,” she replied.

He extended a hand. For a moment, she hesitated, then clasped it. His grip was firm but warm.

“Until we meet again,” he said, mounting his horse.

Myra watched as he disappeared into the trees, his armor gleaming like a fallen star. The forest grew quiet once more, but something had shifted. For the first time in years, Myra felt a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps Alric would keep his word. Perhaps the stories could change.

And if they didn’t?

Well, the Shade had always been resourceful.