Seraphine of Hollow Pines

Seraphine had always belonged to the forest, though no one knew quite how or why. Some said she was born from the mist that clung to the twisted trees, a child conjured by the moonlight itself. Others whispered that Hollow Pines had claimed her, that she had stepped from the shadows one night and never truly returned. Either way, she was as much a part of the haunted woods as the gnarled roots, the silver streams and the whispering winds.

Her hair fell like a curtain of midnight, glimmering faintly under the glow of the moon. Her eyes caught every flicker of movement, every secret hiding in the shadows. She moved with a grace that made the forest seem still, as if the trees themselves paused to watch her pass. Owls blinked slow and solemn from their branches. Foxes paused mid-step to watch her glide across mossy ground. Even the wind seemed to hush when she walked, waiting for her next whisper, her next laugh.

Tonight, the fog rolled low, curling around the twisted trunks and spilling across the forest floor like ghostly smoke. Seraphine wandered down the path she alone could find, past mushrooms glowing a soft blue light, past the brook that hummed tunes older than memory. Somewhere ahead, the crows were gathering, their black feathers brushing the mist as if they were part of it.

“You’re late,” she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. A fox in a tattered waistcoat padded forward, bowing its head. From beneath its tail, it produced a small lantern, its flame flickering with strange green fire. Seraphine reached out a pale hand, and the lantern floated into the air, spinning slowly and casting twisting shadows along the roots and trunks.

She took a deep breath. “Tonight, we celebrate.”

From the shadows, creatures emerged. The raccoon with tiny spectacles peeked from a hollow stump, blinking at her in fascination. Bats swooped low through the fog, wings slicing through the silver mist. Owls hooted in rhythm, their eyes reflecting the lantern’s eerie glow. Even the trees seemed to lean closer, bending their twisted limbs as if to join the dance.

Seraphine twirled, her bare feet skimming over the moss. The fox leapt through the shadows, the raccoon spun in dizzying circles and the bats performed arcs above her head. Her laughter rang through the forest, sweet and haunting all at once, a melody that made the leaves shiver and the fog curl like silk around her form.

Hours passed like minutes, though in Hollow Pines, time had a habit of bending. When a stranger might have lost their way and stumbled in panic, Seraphine knew the paths as though they were etched into her soul. She could hear the forest’s secrets—the hidden hollows, the burrows of ancient foxes and the songs of creatures too shy or too clever to be seen.

But tonight, the forest brought her more than its usual companions. A faint human whisper drifted on the wind, timid and curious. She paused, tilting her head, eyes narrowing. A stranger had entered her woods. Normally, they never did. Normally, Hollow Pines was a place only the brave or foolish dared approach.

Seraphine let the lantern hover beside her and stepped silently toward the sound. The stranger, a young man shivering with cold and awe, stood beneath an arch of vines, staring wide-eyed at the glowing mushrooms and the dancing fog.

“Who…who are you?” he stammered.

“I am Seraphine,” she replied softly, her voice weaving through the mist like silk. “And you are in my woods. Why are you here?”

“I… I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, swallowing. “I was just lost.”

She tilted her head, studying him. Fear clung to him, but there was also wonder, a spark of curiosity that matched the forest’s own mischief. She smiled faintly. “Very well. Follow, but do not touch. Do not speak unless I allow it. And do not fear, for Hollow Pines is as playful as it is dangerous.”

For the rest of the night, she led him through the forest, past the glimmering brook, under arches of twisted vines and into the deepest hollow where the trees whispered secrets too old to be remembered. He saw foxes in waistcoats, raccoons reading tiny scrolls and bats that shimmered like black diamonds. He felt the fog curl around him, alive and watching, and for the first time, he understood what it meant to be both afraid and enchanted at once.

By the time dawn stretched its first pale fingers through the branches, Seraphine was gone. The lantern floated gently to the ground, extinguishing itself, and the stranger found himself alone in a clearing bathed in morning light. Hollow Pines had claimed its magic back, leaving him only with memory and wonder.

Seraphine, as always, had vanished into the mist. But the forest remembered her, as did he. And when twilight falls again and the fog curls through the twisted trees, she will return, Seraphine of Hollow Pines, wild as shadows, mysterious as the moon and just as impossible to forget.