The Curse of Goldleaf

Long ago, in a peaceful valley nestled between green hills and silver rivers, lay a small village called Eldenwood. The people there lived simply. They grew their own food, told stories by candlelight, and trusted one another like family.

Among them lived a woodcutter named Arman. He had strong hands, a warm heart, and a quiet smile. Arman didn’t have much, but he had what mattered: a loving wife named Elira, three spirited children, and a home filled with laughter.

He rose with the sun each morning and returned with bundles of firewood each evening. His children would run to him, covered in flour or mud, and his wife would greet him with warm bread and tired eyes full of love. Arman believed he was the richest man in the world.

But life, as it often does, took a turn.

One bitter winter, the harvest failed. Snow came early and stayed long. The rivers froze. The villagers grew thin, their firewood vanished, and their cupboards went bare. Arman worked harder than ever, but the forest near the village had already been stripped bare. His children’s cheeks lost their color. Elira coughed at night, but hid it with a smile.

Desperate to feed his family, Arman journeyed deeper into the forest than he had ever dared before. He crossed frozen streams and climbed icy slopes until he found himself standing before a strange grove, untouched by snow.

The trees here were different—tall and glowing. Their trunks shimmered with a golden hue, and their leaves glistened like polished coins.

Goldleaf Hollow.

He had heard whispers of this place in old tales—legends passed down by elders. They said the grove was enchanted, that greedy souls never returned. But Arman wasn’t greedy… was he?

Shivering and desperate, he struck the nearest tree with his axe.

It bled gold.

Coins spilled from the bark like water. Arman gasped, eyes wide. He filled his sack, hands trembling. That night, his children feasted. His wife smiled. He told himself it was a miracle—a gift for the good.

But the next morning, he went back.

And the next.

And the next.

Soon, he no longer carried firewood. Only gold.

His house grew larger. The roof became tiled with silver. Servants came. He dressed in velvet and sipped wine by a roaring fire while others starved. He no longer chopped wood. He no longer laughed. He no longer tucked his children in at night.

But still, he returned to Goldleaf Hollow.

And then, the dreams began.

Every night, he stood in the grove, surrounded by whispering trees. A voice echoed from the shadows:

> “You were given enough. But still, you took. What you take, you must return.”



Arman ignored it.

Then, one morning, he awoke to find golden leaves scattered across his bed. His hands were stiff. Bark had begun to grow over his skin. He washed, scrubbed, even burned—but the wood remained.

Panicked, he ran to the grove.

“I’ll give it back!” he cried. “Please, just let me go!”

But the trees were silent. The voice returned, colder than before:

> “You were warned. You fed your greed and starved your soul.”



Desperate, Arman buried his gold beneath an old oak tree, sobbing as he clawed at the earth. He wandered the forest, barefoot and wild, calling out to anyone—anything—that would listen.

But he was alone.

Days passed. Then weeks.

His wife and children waited, but he never returned.

And in the heart of Goldleaf Hollow, a new tree grew—taller than the rest. Its bark resembled the lines of a face. Its roots twisted like fingers. Its leaves shone gold, but wept silent tears when the wind passed through.

The villagers later found Arman’s manor crumbling, overtaken by weeds. No one could find the gold he once flaunted. His children left Eldenwood, carrying only memories of the father they once adored.

To this day, travelers speak of a strange tree in a distant grove. Some say they hear it breathe. Some claim it watches them. And if they listen closely, they hear it whisper:

> “I had enough… but I wanted more.”




---

Moral of the Story:

Greed is never satisfied. It begins with desire… and ends in destruction.
True wealth is found not in gold, but in love, kindness, and contentment.
For those who forget this, the forest remembers.