The Door in the Trees
They say the forest breathes when the moon hides her face.
They say if you listen too long, you'll hear your name whispered back — not by wind, not by echo, but by something waiting in the dark.
Once, a door appeared between the roots of an ancient oak. It had no handle. No hinges. Only light bleeding through the cracks.
Those who saw it dreamed of worlds that didn't belong to them. Worlds that pulled them in.
None ever came back whole.
And now, the forest watches again.
Waiting.
For her.