*what burns is not always lost, sometimes it remembers...*
Prologue:
The fire had long died, leaving only blackened ruins and the faint scent of smoke and charred wood. Night had crept in, yet she sat still on the cold earth, staring at the ashes swirling at her feet. This was too much—way too much. They had burned her sister, the sister she had cherished above all else. She was just seven, yet accused of witchcraft and condemned to the pyre.
That day, she had gone early to the farm which their father had left them, assuring her older sister that all would be well and that was her last. She had thought she had gone to visit her usual friend—someone she claimed always sent "his" regards—but she herself did not know him, and neither did anyone else.
The fire, the screams, the ashes—they all burned in her mind, she should have known much sooner, have acted much earlier, the had fear gripped her heart so tightly that she could not cry. She sat on the cold earth, replaying her sister's image over and over, as if holding onto it could make it real. The memory consumed her so completely that she barely noticed the silvery eyes glinting among the trees at the forest's edge, hidden in the shadows, watching…and waiting...