A little dark fantasy story I wrote.

I just wanted to share the first chapter in case someone might enjoy it. I used Chaty to help me write it in correct English, as it's not my native language. If this isn't allowed here, remove it please. 🐈‍⬛

It was a beautiful evening. Autumn had settled over the northern lands, turning the trees along the old stone road to gold and deep red. The last light of the sun rested softly over the fields, and a cool wind carried leaves across the road in slow, wandering circles. A little girl ran through them with a laugh, trying to catch the ones that fell close enough. She was perhaps six years old, small beneath a brown woolen coat that was a little too large for her, with a black scarf around her neck and ebony brown hair tied into a loose braid. Her mother watched her from the roadside, one hand resting on the shoulder of her husband, while her father stood beside her with the quiet, tired posture of a man who had spent the day working the land. It was an ordinary evening, the kind that would have passed without being remembered.

Then a single leaf came drifting down from the branches above the girl. It was the most beautiful of them all, perfectly golden and untouched by the decay that had already begun to stain the others. The girl stopped, raised both hands and watched it descend. She waited until the leaf was almost within her grasp, then jumped. But another hand caught it first. A young woman stood before her. She looked no older than eighteen, with a delicate, almost innocent face, pale skin, clear blue eyes and long, perfectly straight black hair that fell freely down her back. She wore a simple black dress made of old cloth, slightly torn and worn at the edges. Her shoes were plain and dark, and there was nothing about her appearance that should have been frightening. She looked like a young traveler who had wandered onto the road at dusk. She studied the golden leaf in her hand, then looked at the child and smiled. "Here." She held it out. The girl hesitated, but curiosity overcame her fear, and she slowly reached for it. The instant her fingers touched the leaf, the young woman closed her hand around it. There was a faint, dry crackling sound. When she opened her fingers, the leaf had become dust. Grey powder slipped between them and scattered onto the stones. The girl stared at it, unable to understand what she had seen. Her eyes moved from the dust to the woman's face. "Where did it go?" she whispered. The young woman crouched down so they were almost eye to eye. Her smile remained. "It died." The girl stared at her for another heartbeat, then suddenly turned and ran back to her mother, grabbing her skirt with both hands. "Mother!"

Her mother bent down at once. "What happened?" The child pointed toward the road without daring to look back. "The woman. She made the leaf die." Her father looked over. The young woman was still standing in the road, watching them with calm amusement. "It was only a leaf," he said. The girl shook her head. "She killed it." Her mother looked at the stranger for a moment longer, then took her daughter's hand. "Come. We're going home." "But I want to stay." "It's getting late." "It isn't dark." "Not yet." The girl frowned. "Why do we have to go?" Her mother hesitated, and when she answered, she lowered her voice. "Because good children go home before Mavra comes looking for them." The girl's expression changed at once. "Mavra?" Her mother nodded. The child looked back toward the road. The young woman was still there. Still smiling. "I don't want Mavra to find me," the girl whispered. "Then come home."

The young woman listened to them, and there was a quiet pleasure in her expression as she watched the child cling to her mother. She knew that name well. Mavra. The Fourth Outer Voice. For generations, mothers had whispered it to their children, while darker men had spoken it in secret and offered blood for her favor. Most people had never seen her and did not know what she looked like. Mavra had always preferred it that way. Let them imagine their own monster.

Then the girl's father spoke. "She won't be taken by Mavra." His wife looked at him sharply. "Don't say that." He shrugged. "Why not?" "Because you shouldn't speak of her like that." "She's a story." The mother frowned. "She isn't." The man gave a quiet laugh. "Then she's an old witch somewhere in the forest. Either way, she isn't going to take our daughter." The little girl looked up at him. "Who is worse? Mavra or Lord Edran?" Her father answered without hesitation. "Edran." The young woman's smile disappeared. Her mother stared at him. "Don't frighten her." "Why? She asked." He glanced toward the road. "Mavra is a story. Edran is real." The girl frowned. "What does he do?" Her father was quiet for a moment. "He makes people suffer." Her mother gave him an angry look. "That's enough." He shrugged. "Ask anyone in the North. They'd rather hear Mavra's name than Edran's."

The road grew quiet. Mavra stood perfectly still. She had heard men curse her before. She had watched priests pray against her and sorcerers beg her favor. None of it had ever mattered. But this did. Someone had just said that there was a man whom people feared more than her. A mortal man. Mavra looked toward the house where the family was disappearing, her expression slowly losing its amusement.

Mavra watched the last traces of the dust vanish into the wind. Then she looked toward the family as they began walking home, the child still holding tightly to her mother's hand. The father glanced once over his shoulder, but gave the stranger no further thought. He had no idea whom he had just insulted. Mavra watched them disappear among the houses and remained still for a while. "Lord Edran," she whispered. She had never heard the name before. That alone was unusual. Her curiosity stirred, followed closely by something she had not felt in a very long time. Offense. She could have followed the family and made the father beg her forgiveness. She could have taken his memories, his life, or simply frightened him until he wished he had never spoken. But there would have been no satisfaction in that. She wanted to know about Edran first. She wanted to know what kind of mortal could make people speak of him in such a way.

A faint smile returned to her face.

"Perhaps I should meet him."

Beyond the village, the road stretched north toward the mountains, and somewhere beyond them stood the black castle of Lord Edran.

Mavra began to walk.