They say the Dark Forest is alive. That it watches. That it waits. That anyone who dares step past its shadowed edge will never return. Everyone in Hibistrious knows the story. Everyone but me.
From the moment I could walk, I wanted to touch the darkness, to feel the forbidden thrill of the forest under my fingers. Every time I snuck close, my heart raced like a drum, and every time I was caught—by my mother, my father, or one of the neighbors—I laughed at their fear. They called me reckless. I called it curiosity.
Hibistrious is a village that tastes of shadows. The streets are narrow, the stones slick with mist, and the sun barely reaches the ground. Old wooden houses lean on each other like they're whispering secrets. Everyone knows Hibistrious' history: the monster Hibistrious came once, long ago, devouring those who defied him. Ever since, every child has grown up with the same story, whispered like a prayer or a curse, depending on who tells it.
Girls in this village are born into a destiny more binding than chains. The moment a girl cries her first breath, her parents take her to the registration office. The official there pierces her tiny finger, letting her blood fall onto the parchment. That blood is her signature. A contract written in life itself: by the time she reaches eighteen, she must be married. If not… Hibistrious claims her. The monster drags her to the Dark Forest, devours her, and curses her family for generations.
When I turned four, they did the next part of the ritual. My blood was dropped into enchanted water, rippling like liquid silver. The water shimmered, twisting, and then a single name appeared, floating like a ghost. That man—whoever he was—would be mine when I turned eighteen. Every girl in Hibistrious learned to fear this ritual, this invisible chain that bound her to a future she didn't choose.
I suppose I should have feared it too. Maybe I did, sometimes, in quiet moments when the wind carried the forest's whisper to my window. But fear has never held me back. Curiosity has always been louder.
I remember the first time I tried to cross the forest's edge. I was seven, barefoot, the mud squishing cold between my toes. The villagers had warned me—"Step into the Dark Forest, and Hibistrious will know you." But the trees called to me, their branches scraping the sky like skeletal fingers. I stepped forward. A chill kissed my neck. Shadows twisted in the corners of my vision. I was almost inside when my father's hand yanked me back, sharp as the crack of a whip.
"You'll bring the curse on us all!" he shouted. My mother's grip followed. They didn't understand. They never had. And neither did the villagers who watched from their windows, shaking their heads, whispering prayers, shaking at the thought of Hibistrious.
Even now, I can feel the forest calling. Something whispers between the trees, soft as silk but edged with teeth. I can't tell if it's the wind—or the monster himself. The other children avoid the Dark Forest. They stay in their safe, sunless homes, dreaming of boys, of weddings, of the cursed fate that will one day come for them. I dream of stepping inside and finding the truth.
There is a freedom there that Hibistrious cannot touch. And perhaps, I think with a shiver I pretend is excitement, there might be more than fear waiting among the shadows.
But Hibistrious is not just a story, not just a warning. Every girl who reaches eighteen unmarried becomes his prey. And I am twelve now. Almost thirteen. Soon, the ticking clock will grow louder. Soon, the name in the enchanted water will become more than letters on a page—it will become a chain around my wrist.
I glance over at the forest edge, the trees dark and still, like black teeth against the gray sky. A part of me trembles, just a little. But another part—the part that refuses to obey rules or fear—pulls me forward. The forest waits. And I want to answer its call.
Hibistrious waits too. And I am not sure whether it is the monster who will claim me—or something else entirely.