Diya 
Evelyn drifted through the ruins of the Sanctum Obscura, the burnt altar fading from her perception. The forest emanated stillness, a lavishly morbid silence, as if it, too, was awaiting her decisive act. Her legs trembled at their tops, her heart churned with new determination. The coiling presence of Selene wrapped in her like smoke, articulating, baiting, pleading to be released.
Evelyn had witnessed the grim truth—the unjust death, the betrayal, the malice. But she had also seen the misery it created. Selene’s fury had gone unanswered for centuries, and now Evelyn carried it. She stood at a fork in the road and thought about channelling Selene’s vengeance into the world or stopping the cycle.
Evelyn returned to town at dawn, clothes tattered, eyes diluted with blood. People glanced at her as she walked by. They had heard screams, seen flames burst from the forest, but nothing was said. Something had shifted. The fear in the air was palpable.
Evelyn’s grandmother collapsed into her arms the moment she entered the house. “You’re alive,” she whispered. “Thank the gods.”
“I’m not sure I came back alone,” Evelyn replied.
That night, she gathered Marley, Jonah, and Iris at her home. They had all survived, but each bore signs of the encounter—burns, nightmares, and a gnawing sense that they were no longer alone.
“She’s still with us,” Jonah said. “I hear her in my dreams.”
“We unleashed her,” Iris murmured. “And she’s not going back willingly.”
“We don’t have to destroy her,” Evelyn said. “We have to release her. Truly. Not trap her, not bind her—but forgive her.”
Marley scoffed. “Forgive her? After what she’s done?”
“She became what they made her,” Evelyn said. “But if we don’t break the chain, it’ll never end. More people will vanish. More blood will be spilled.”
Reluctantly, they agreed. They would return to the forest one last time—on All Hallows’ Eve, the night when spirits walked freely. They would call Selene and offer her peace, not resistance.
At midnight, they entered the heart of the forest, guided by symbols Evelyn had seen in her visions. At the foot of the oldest tree—the Hanging Oak—they built a circle of salt and iron, placed the pendant at the center, and stood hand-in-hand.
Evelyn whispered the invocation she had read in Selene’s journal, words buried beneath ash and blood. The air thickened. The trees moaned.
She appeared again.
Selene stepped from the dark, her form flickering between beauty and horror. Her burnt lips curled into a snarl.
“You summon me again?” she hissed. “What will you take this time—my flesh? My soul?”
“Nothing,” Evelyn said firmly. “We came to an end this.”
Selene’s expression faltered. For the first time, confusion touched her scorched face.
“We know what was done to you. It was wrong. No apology can undo that. But vengeance won’t bring peace. You were a healer once. Let that be your legacy—not this curse.”
“You speak of peace,” Selene said, her voice low and trembling. “After centuries of agony?”
“Yes,” Evelyn replied, stepping forward. “Because if we carry your rage, we only spread your pain.”
She offered Selene the iron pendant. It glowed in her hand, not with fire, but soft, golden light.
Selene stared at it, her eyes reflecting a flicker of humanity. For a long, painful moment, nothing moved.
Then the forest sighed.
Selene took the pendant. Her form shimmered—scars fading, fire extinguishing. Her eyes welled with something unthinkable: tears.
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice no longer cracked by hate.
Light burst from her body, sweeping through the woods like dawn. The trees straightened. The wind calmed. The marks on the teenagers’ bodies faded. And in the stillness, Selene vanished.
Forever.
The curse was broken.
In the days that followed, no more children vanished. The forest no longer loomed with menace but hummed with a quiet, ancient peace. Evelyn became something of a legend—a girl who faced the witch and chose compassion over destruction.
But sometimes, at dusk, Evelyn still felt the breeze shift, still heard faint whispers among the leaves.
Not of vengeance.
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