Black Briar Forest
Venture beneath ancient pines and tangled ivy into Black Briar Forest, where every path has a story and every shadow holds a secret. A place where witches gather herbs, ravens keep watch, and the forest remembers every name.
-
Every night, one door appears among the trees. It is old. Crooked. Covered in ivy. Behind it is every conversation that should have happened. Every apology. Every explanation. Every goodbye. I have stood before that door a thousand times. It has never opened. So tonight, I am building a path that walks around it.
-
I asked the crows why people disappear. They only tilted their heads. I asked the river why promises drown. It carried my question to the sea. I asked the forest why love sometimes leaves without footprints. The trees whispered, “Not every traveler is brave enough to say goodbye.” So I buried my questions beneath the…
-
There is a chapel deep within Black Briar Forest where the candles are lit every evening by ghosts who still believe someone is coming. The pews wait patiently. The door never locks. The wind has memorized the promise: “Later.” No one has seen the visitor in many moons. Still, the candles burn. Not because hope…
-
Tonight, I did not ask the cards to tell me the future. I asked them to tell me where I had forgotten to listen. The first card arrived draped in moonlight. The High Priestess. She did not speak loudly. She simply rested between two pillars and reminded me that truth has never needed to raise…
-
The ivy had swallowedevery wallexcept the front door. As though the forest itselfhad decided “Leave one wayfor the spirits.” I lit my candleat twilight. The flame was small,but the darknesstreated it with respect. No wind. No birds. Only the slow creakof old timberstretching like tired bones. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the…
-
The localswon’t walk this roadafter sunset. They whisperabout a womanwho never left. Some say she wandersthe upstairs halls. Others sayshe became the ivy,wrapping herselfaround every brickuntil the housecould never lose her again. I brought her a candle. A packed bowl. And enough silenceto hear the forest listening. Halfway through my smoke,I felt another exhalebeside me.…
-
I packed a bowlbefore the sun surrendered,tucked matches into my pocketlike tiny promises of fire,and wandered toward the housethe town refuses to name. Its walls wore ivylike an old witch wears grief—not hiding it,only letting it bloom. The windows were dark enoughto keep secrets,the doorway bowedas though every ghosthad been welcomed home. I lit one…
Between Bruises and Blooms 