The forest was unnervingly silent, a void of sound so profound it sent shivers down Penelope’s spine. Even the wind seemed to have abandoned its restless dance among the trees, leaving the air stiflingly still. She could hear nothing but the rapid pounding of her own heart, a frantic rhythm that echoed in her ears. Each step she took was calculated, careful, as though the ground beneath her might betray her with every footfall. The towering trees loomed over her, their twisted, gnarled branches stretching out like skeletal arms eager to ensnare her, their bark so dark it appeared almost black in the dim light.
The usual chorus of forest life — the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of creatures — was conspicuously absent. It was as if the very forest had frozen, holding its breath, wait
