CASSANDRA’S POV:
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The path ahead darkens as we step into the desolate part of the forest. A chill crawls up my spine, though there is no wind, no shift in the air—just an unbearable stillness.
A weathered wooden sign stands crooked at the entrance, its carved letters nearly worn away by time. "The Withered Hollow."
The name alone is enough to make my breath hitch. My fingers twitch at my sides as I take in my surroundings. The trees here are lifeless, stripped of their leaves, their bark blackened as if scorched by some ancient fire. Their twisted limbs reach toward the sky like skeletal fingers, frozen in agony. The ground beneath my feet is dry and cracked, so different from the lush, thriving forest we left behind.
No birds sing. No rustling of unseen creatures in the undergrow
