The morning sun unfurled its golden tendrils over the thatched roofs of Hood Hollow, casting a warm, honeyed glow that danced across the cobblestones and painted the village in a serene, almost otherworldly light. It was as if the world held its breath, caught between the fading night and the promise of a new day. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, mingling with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread wafting from Colette’s bakery down the lane.

Blanchette Aubert stood at the wooden gate of her family’s cottage, her dark hair cascading over the scarlet cloak that draped her shoulders like a waterfall of blood against the muted greens and browns of the world around her. The cloak was a gift from her grandmother, its fabric worn but rich, a symbol of her connection to the land and its secrets. A woven basket hung from her arm, filled with the morning’s chores and the promise of a day spent in the embrace of Darkwood Forest.

“Blanchette!” Her mother’s voice cut through the morning air, sharp with concern. Mrs. Aubert stepped out of the cottage, her hands dusted with flour, her brow furrowed with the weight of a mother’s worry. “You’re not going to Darkwood again, are you? It’s not safe for a young woman to wander alone, especially with the rumors of wolves and… other things.”

Blanchette turned, her dark eyes softening as they met her mother’s gaze. “Mama, I’ve walked this path a hundred times. Grandmère and Grandpère need their herbs and supplies before the first frost. Besides, the wolves won’t bother me—I know the forest better than anyone in the village.”

Mrs. Aubert sighed, her hands wringing the edge of her apron. “I know you’re capable, ma chérie, but you’re not a child anymore. You’re a woman of twenty-three, and yet you spend your days running errands for your grandparents instead of thinking of your future. What about Monsieur Laurent’s son? He’s asked after you twice now.”

Blanchette’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though her chest tightened at the familiar topic. “Mama, I’m not interested in Monsieur Laurent’s son, or anyone else for that matter. My future is just fine as it is. Now, I must go before the sun climbs too high.”

Without waiting for another protest, Blanchette turned and strode down the dirt path that led to the forest’s edge. Her boots crunched against the fallen leaves, and the basket swayed gently at her side. She knew her mother meant well, but the thought of marriage felt like a cage to Blanchette—a life of quiet submission, far removed from the independence she cherished. She had seen the way her friends in the village had changed after their weddings, their spirits dulled by the weight of expectations. Blanchette would not let that be her fate.

As she entered the forest, the world shifted. The sunlight dimmed, filtered through the thick branches overhead, and the air grew cooler, carrying the faint scent of moss and wildflowers. The forest was a living tapestry, its colors muted yet vibrant, its sounds a symphony of rustling leaves and distant bird calls. Blanchette moved with practiced ease, her steps light and sure as she followed the narrow trail that wound deeper into Darkwood. She knew every twist and turn, every hidden glade and bubbling brook.

Her thoughts drifted to her siblings as she walked. Jules and Pierre, her younger brothers, were off training to become knights, their letters filled with tales of valor and adventure. Matteo, the scholar, was engrossed in his studies, his mind always lost in books and theories. Colette, with her flour-dusted hands and warm smile, had found her calling in the bakery, while little Charlotte still dreamed of fairy tales and knights in shining armor. Blanchette loved them all dearly, but she often felt like an outsider in her own family—the one who stayed behind, the one who carried the weight of responsibility without complaint.

The sound of rustling leaves snapped Blanchette from her thoughts. She paused, her hand instinctively reaching for the small dagger she kept tucked in her belt. The forest was never truly silent, but this was different—a deliberate movement, not the casual stirring of wildlife. Her eyes scanned the shadows, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Who’s there?” she called, her voice steady despite the unease creeping into her bones.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a figure emerged from the trees—a man, tall and broad-shouldered, his face obscured by the hood of his cloak. Blanchette’s grip tightened on her dagger as she took a cautious step back.

“You’re a long way from the village,” the man said, his voice low and gravelly. “Aren’t you afraid of the wolves, little Red?”

Blanchette’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not afraid of wolves,” she replied, her tone sharp. “And I’m not little. Who are you, and what do you want?”

The man chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. “Just a traveler passing through. But you, Blanchette Aubert, are far more interesting than I expected.”

Her breath caught. “How do you know my name?”

Before he could answer, a howl echoed through the trees, distant but unmistakable. The man’s head snapped toward the sound, and for a moment, Blanchette thought she saw a flicker of fear in his shadowed face. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving her alone on the path.

Blanchette stood frozen, her mind racing. Who was he? How did he know her name? And why had he vanished so quickly at the sound of a wolf’s howl? The questions swirled in her head, but there was no time to dwell on them. The sun was climbing higher, and her grandparents were waiting.

With a deep breath, Blanchette adjusted her basket and continued down the path, her senses on high alert. The encounter had left her unsettled, but she refused to let fear dictate her actions. Darkwood Forest was her sanctuary, her second home, and she would not be driven away by a stranger’s cryptic words or the howl of a wolf.

Yet, as she walked, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed—that the forest she knew so well was no longer the same. The air seemed thicker, the shadows deeper, and the familiar path felt unfamiliar, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Blanchette shook her head, trying to dispel the unease that had settled in her chest. She had always felt a connection to Darkwood, a sense of belonging that she couldn’t quite explain. But now, for the first time, she felt a twinge of doubt. Was the forest trying to tell her something? Or was it simply her imagination playing tricks on her?

As she pressed on, she couldn’t help but feel that the encounter with the mysterious man was just the beginning—that the forest held secrets she had yet to uncover. And perhaps, in the depths of Darkwood, she would find the answers she was looking for.

The path stretched before her, winding through the trees like a ribbon of light and shadow. Blanchette took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead.