Chapter 1: Into the Woods

Silas Hayes had always loved a good ghost story. Growing up in Moonfall, where strange tales were as common as autumn leaves, he’d heard all kinds: whispers of things that rustled in the woods, voices in the fog, and lights that appeared in places no one dared venture. But tonight, with Halloween at its peak, he’d heard a tale that stuck with him, an irresistible invitation woven in shadow.

It was Thomas, his old friend from school, who had first told him about her. “The Witch of the Woods,” Thomas had called her, eyes wide, speaking in a low, urgent voice that carried just the right amount of dread. “They say she has a feast on Halloween night, for those brave enough to make it to her door.” Silas had laughed, brushing off the rumour as another ghost story meant to scare teenagers out of exploring the forest after dark. But Thomas had been insistent, and for the first time, Silas had sensed a grain of truth beneath the tall tale.
“She’s real, Silas. And if you’re invited in, you can’t leave her house until she says so. People have gone and come back… different,” Thomas had said. He wouldn’t say more, and Silas couldn’t shake the intrigue that followed him home, lingering even after he’d locked the door behind him. And so, at the peak of midnight, with the moon casting an eerie glow over Moonfall, Silas found himself in the woods, his curiosity pulling him deeper down the winding, narrow path. The air was thick with mist, and the further he went, the quieter the world seemed to become. No rustling of animals, no hoot of owls—just the dull crunch of his boots against the fallen leaves and his own ragged breathing. The night was black, dense, save for the occasional glimmer of the moon slipping through the trees. He held up a lantern to cut through the dark, its faint light casting long, eerie shadows that twisted and flickered as he moved. Somewhere far behind him, the safety of the town lay in silence, fading with each step.

Finally, he saw it.

A small cottage lay nestled among the twisted trees, draped in vines that crawled over the walls and clung to the gables. The windows glowed a deep, haunting orange, and the scent of something rich, thick, and unearthly drifted toward him. It wasn’t just the smell of food; it was something more—an aroma that pulled at him, made his stomach twist with both hunger and dread.He paused a few yards from the door, heart hammering as he took it all in. What the hell was he doing here? He didn’t even know this woman, didn’t know if she really existed, or if this was all a town myth meant to frighten the foolish and brave alike. But something kept him there, rooted to the spot as the scent swelled, wrapping around him in tendrils of spiced air, urging him to take just one more step forward. Before he could change his mind, the door creaked open, spilling warm light and shadows over him. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, curves wrapped in dark layers, her silhouette unmistakably feminine. She looked down at him, her face shrouded in shadow, though her eyes glinted with something sharp and all-seeing.

“Silas Hayes,” she said, her voice like dark honey. “I’ve been expecting you.” Silas’s heart skipped. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming here, yet this woman, this witch—if that’s what she really was—already knew his name. He opened his mouth, stammering something about being lost, about curiosity getting the better of him. But she silenced him with a soft, inviting smile.
“Won’t you come in, dear?” She stepped aside, gesturing toward the inside of the cottage.
Every rational part of his mind screamed at him to turn around, to run back to the safety of the town and pretend this night had never happened. But the scent drew him forward, leading him inside before he’d fully decided to accept the invitation.

The cottage was warm, lit by the glow of countless candles flickering in sconces and on shelves crammed with strange books, jars filled with herbs, and stones of various shades and shapes. In the centre of it all stood a long, polished wooden table, laden with more food than Silas had seen in one place. Golden roasted meats, pies with dark bubbling fruit, and platters of strange, glistening dishes that shimmered under the candlelight. He could feel his stomach rumbling, his mouth watering. Every detail was perfect, every plate looked prepared with such care it made his hunger nearly unbearable. It was as if she’d cooked each dish specifically for him. The witch closed the door behind them with a soft click, and he felt the weight of her eyes on him as he took in the spread.
“Hungry?” Her voice was rich with amusement, an edge of something darker that sent a shiver down his spine. She moved to the head of the table, her gown swirling around her in silken waves as she gestured for him to sit.

Silas’s legs felt weak as he lowered himself into a chair, still staring at the spread before him. He hadn’t eaten all day, too caught up in his nerves and curiosity, but now the hunger seemed unbearable, gnawing at him with an intensity he couldn’t explain.
“Eat,” she murmured, a trace of command in her tone. Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight, watching him with a strange fascination as he reached for a slice of meat. As he took the first bite, the flavours exploded on his tongue, richer than anything he’d ever tasted, almost otherworldly in its intensity. It felt as though he could feel the magic woven into it, each bite bringing a warmth that spread through his body, filling him with a strange, thrilling energy.
“Do you like it?” she asked, her voice like silk against the darkness. Silas could barely respond, nodding as he took another bite, and then another. Every mouthful seemed to draw him in deeper, the taste more addictive, the taste more complex than he could fathom. He could feel her eyes on him, feel the way they drank him in as he ate, her gaze growing hungrier as he continued. As he reached for a piece of bread, he caught a glimpse of her watching him, her lips parted, eyes gleaming with something that made his stomach twist. There was a hunger in her gaze, but not for the food in front of them. No, she was watching him, her eyes drinking in every bite he took, every small movement, as though he were the feast.
“You’re different than I imagined,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Most are far too frightened to make it here, let alone stay for the meal. But you… Silas, you’re bold.”
Her words sent a chill down his spine, though her smile softened it, and he found himself drawn to the warmth in her gaze, in her voice. “And I suppose you enjoy luring people out here? Just to test their courage?” he asked, his voice faintly teasing, though his pulse was racing.

Her smile widened, a glint of sharpness in it. “Some might say that,” she said, her tone growing low and intimate. “Others might say it’s a gift. An experience they’ll never forget.”
She reached forward, her fingers brushing his wrist as she nudged a small goblet toward him. “Drink,” she said softly. The goblet was filled with something dark, thicker than wine, a strange, deep red that shimmered as he lifted it. He hesitated, caught between his growing suspicion and an overwhelming desire to please her, to follow her lead. With a glance at her, he brought the goblet to his lips, the taste rich and heady, sending a shiver through him that made him feel both lightheaded and alive. It was as if the drink pulsed within him, spreading warmth to the very tips of his fingers. For a moment, he forgot everything: the warnings, the stories, even the strangeness of her gaze. All that existed was the food, the warmth, and the witch’s low, enchanting voice wrapping around him like velvet.

“Tell me, Silas,” she murmured, “what brought you here tonight?”

The question hung in the air, an invitation as thick as the magic that thrummed in the walls around them. He looked at her, feeling an urge to answer, to give himself over to whatever spell she was weaving.

“I—” he faltered, glancing down at the feast, at his empty plate, before looking back up at her. “I was curious. I wanted to know if the stories were real. If… you were real.”

Her smile was slow, mysterious, and he felt the intensity of it wrap around him like a snare. “And what do you think now?”

He swallowed, unable to look away. “I think,” he said slowly, voice nearly a whisper, “that I made a mistake.”

She laughed, low and dark, and the sound rippled through him, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Oh, no, dear Silas. This is no mistake,” she said, reaching out to brush a hand along his cheek, her touch sending a jolt through him. “You’ve come exactly where you’re meant to be.”

Her gaze locked on his, a glint of something powerful, something predatory, lurking in her eyes. For the first time, the cozy warmth of the room felt stifling, the shadows pressing in closer, and he could feel his heartbeat pounding as her words sank in.

“You belong to me now,” she whispered, her voice as soft and final as a curse.