He punished me with a curse, sealed me within this grove of oak and ash. He warned me that I’d never leave him, and I’m afraid he’s right. For centuries, I’ve waited for someone to free me. But the road leading past this wood is forgotten, overgrown and entangled with weeds and undergrowth. Even when storms unleash their wrath, this enchanted copse is spared. No matter how much I pray for its destruction.
He was well-versed in the black arts. He knew these trees were sacred. Told me that if cut, vengeful souls would pursue the offender until his or her death. I later learned that he’d buried his victims beneath the trunks. Said their corpses fed the trees.
What happened to him? He killed himself. Said he loved me while he tore his heart out with a dagger right in front of me. His blood spilled over the ground and his ghost forced me to bury his body under the tree roots. Ever since then, these roses always bloom, malicious eyes watching me. I wish I had that dagger. I’d stab them to see if they bleed.
But I’m afraid of what he might do from beyond the grave.
(Texty Ladies writing challenge – May 12, 2009)