The Curse of the Blood Moon
The Blood Moon hung low over the night sky, casting Eldergrove in an eerie crimson glow. Shadows stretched long across the ancient stones of the ritual hall, twisting and writhing as if they were alive. At the center of the chamber, Elara stood tall, her hands raised, veins pulsing with raw power. Her heart beat in perfect rhythm with the chants of the coven surrounding her, but something felt… off.
"You've grown reckless, Elara," Seraphine said, her voice honey-sweet, yet sharp enough to slice through the thick, magical air. "Your power… it's far too dangerous to remain unchecked."
Elara's eyes blazed with defiance. "Dangerous? I have served this coven faithfully for decades. You are the danger, not I."
Laughter rippled through the circle of witches. They stepped closer, eyes glinting with ambition and betrayal. One by one, they raised their hands, summoning a pulsing light that reached toward her.
Elara felt the surge of energy pull at her core. Her magic, her very essence was being drained, siphoned by those she once called sisters. Pain lanced through her chest, sharp and unyielding, but she refused to kneel.
"You think this will end me?" she spat, her voice trembling with fury. "No… this is not the end. My blood… will return. And the fallen shall rise!"
Her scream echoed through the hall as the ritual's energy twisted and exploded around her. The witches faltered, stunned by the sheer force of the curse she cast even as death claimed her.
Then, silence.
Centuries passed.
---
In a modern bedroom, far from the cursed stones and ancient forests, Mira bolted upright in her bed, sweat soaking her pajamas. The crimson light from the sunset filtered through her window, painting her walls a bloody hue that made the room feel… alive.
Her heart raced. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
A sudden, searing pain shot through her left wrist. Mira gasped, yanking the sleeve of her shirt up to reveal a jagged, glowing mark that seemed etched into her skin by fire itself.
"What… what is this?" she whispered, trembling. Her fingers hovered over the mark, and a faint warmth spread through her veins, making her dizzy.
Then, she heard it. A whisper, soft and commanding, echoing in her mind:
"Rise… the fallen will rise."
Mira staggered back from the bed, clutching the wrist as panic surged. The room felt colder, darker, as if shadows had crept from the corners to gather around her. Every hair on her body stood on end.
Outside, the town of Eldergrove seemed quiet, normal. But Mira knew better. Something ancient had awakened. Something that had been waiting for centuries.
She stumbled to the window, heart pounding, and her eyes fell on the forest bordering the town. Two glowing amber eyes blinked from the underbrush. They were watching her.
Mira's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, to run, to hide but her legs refused to move. The whisper grew louder, more insistent, thrumming in her veins like a second heartbeat.
And then her hand twitched. Sparks of magic, tiny at first, almost playful, danced along her fingertips. She yelped, trying to shake them off, but the sparks clung to her skin, as though responding to the mark.
"What… what is happening to me?" she choked, fear and awe warring in her chest.
From the shadows of the forest, the eyes blinked again, unflinching. Mira didn't know it yet, but her life had already changed forever.
Somewhere, beyond the trees, destiny waited, and so did the dangers that had killed her before.