Whisper in the Woods

They say she walks where the light forgets to tread.

Hair like the trailing threads of regret.

Beneath the blood-dripping moon, her mask weeps for what was lost.

Once chosen. Once beautiful.

Now... a whisper wrapped in roots and rot.

Never look her in the eye.

Never call her name.

For those who remember her story too clearly

are the first to forget their own.

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