Prologue

The shadows danced from corner to corner in the crumbling castle, laughing as they went. The high walls were gray and crumbling, splattered by bits of light. Thick, green, winding vines crawled up the cracks of the cold stone and leaves rustled in the wailing wind, making a haunting melody. Despite the sun still shining, the thick canopy of the forest kept the Hallowed castle hidden away, and its inhabitants were much too wary of the outside world to light their home.

In the shadows of the castle, eyes glowed, and feet scuttled across the old stone floor, while whispers followed close behind the wind. The castle may have been long abandoned, but the walls were still full of life, and the ghosts never had a quiet day.

The people feared the creatures that hid in those walls. They feared the shadows that danced in broad daylight and the trees that whispered their curses. None would dare step near the crumbling castle. They wanted to burn it down, yet no one was brave enough to do so. For hundreds of years, the castle loomed in the dark woods beyond the village, its towers peaking over the trees, ever watching, ever haunting. For hundreds of years, the castle had been home to the ghosts and shadows that danced in its halls. Home to the coven that sang with the trees.

Every day the ghosts called her to their halls. Every day their lonely wails were carried in the wind, searching, seeking. The village always told her to stay away. The villagers always said it was forbidden to enter the forest. They said that, if one were to enter the Hallowed Woods, one would not return the same, if at all. She’d always listened. Always stayed home. Always tried to ignore the ghosts and their calls. The shadows danced in her sleep, the ghosts and spirits haunted her in the mornings and evenings, and the wails followed her through the day, never-ending.

But now, only the wind winding through the walls of the castle wailed, the ghosts were silent, and the shadows watched her with curious eyes.

Before her, atop a dais, stood a figure dressed in black. She was tall, her hair silver and long, and though the figure’s back was turned to her, she knew that the woman could see every part of her being.

“Welcome, child of the dead,” the figure’s voice was deep and wise, and as she turned, her dress moved to join with the shadows.

The woman’s face was old, her eyes dark as her dress, and her smile kind as the moon. Faces appeared behind the walls and broken windows as the woman stepped down and reached out her hand.

“Take my hand and join your sisters, child. The ghosts are waiting,” the woman’s hands were soft when she reached out, and the ghosts cheered.