Whispers of the Forgotten

In the quiet village of Elmsworth, people often spoke of the Forest of Whispers, but never too loudly. It stood just beyond the fields, its trees tall and close together, their tops leaning in like they were hiding something. No one dared enter, not even the woodcutters. The forest wasn’t forbidden—it was simply forgotten by choice.

But Lena, a curious sixteen-year-old girl, had always felt a strange pull toward it.

She lived with her grandmother, Mae, who used to be the village healer. Mae warned Lena to stay away from the forest.
“There are old things in there,” she’d say. “Things better left sleeping.”

One day, Lena was walking near the edge of the forest when she heard it. A whisper, soft as wind through dry leaves.

> “Lena...”



She stopped, heart racing. No one was around.

> “Come...”



It wasn’t frightening. The voice was gentle, sad even. It felt like someone had been waiting a long time to be heard.


That night, Lena sat by the fire with Mae and asked again about the forest.

Mae sighed. “Long ago, before the village was built, there was a temple deep in those woods. A place where people listened to the land. But something happened. A betrayal. The forest closed around the temple, and it was said the voices of those who died there still whisper through the trees.”

“Do you believe that?” Lena asked.

“I was taken there once,” Mae said softly. “When I was your age. I saw the statue... and I heard the whispers. I never went back.”


The next morning, drawn by something she couldn’t explain, Lena followed the whispers into the forest.

It was quiet, too quiet. Her footsteps barely made a sound on the soft moss. The trees pressed close, blocking most of the light. But the whisper guided her.

> “Almost there...”



After hours, she came to a clearing. In the center stood a stone statue—a woman with her eyes closed, vines wrapping her like a shroud. Cracks ran down her face, and from those cracks, a faint, white mist drifted like breath.

Lena stepped closer. The whispers were louder now, but they weren’t just calling her name—they were telling a story.


Long ago, there was a young healer named Elyra. She loved her people and could speak to the forest spirits. But others feared her power. They spread lies. Said she was cursed. One night, a fire was set to her home. She fled into the forest, wounded and alone.

There, the spirits took pity on her and offered her a choice: die and be forgotten—or stay and protect the forest forever. She chose to stay.

Elyra became part of the land, her voice carried in the wind, waiting for someone brave enough to hear her truth.

Lena felt tears in her eyes. The statue was Elyra.

“I hear you,” Lena whispered. “I believe you.”

The mist swirled, wrapping around her hand. It was warm, like sunlight on skin. A gentle voice filled her mind.

> “Thank you.”



Then everything changed.

The vines loosened. The statue cracked. And from inside the stone, a spirit stepped out—a woman with long, silver hair and eyes like moonlight.

Elyra.

“You freed me,” she said. “The curse is broken.”

“But how?” Lena asked.

“You listened,” Elyra said simply. “No one has listened in a hundred years.”


The forest around them seemed to breathe. The heavy silence lifted. Birds chirped. A breeze stirred the leaves.

Elyra stepped back into the light, her form fading.

“Go back to your people,” she said. “Tell them I meant no harm. Tell them the forest is no longer angry.”

“Will I see you again?”

Elyra smiled. “You carry my voice now. My story. That’s all I ever wanted.”

And with that, she vanished.

Lena returned to Elmsworth. At first, no one believed her. But the forest changed. The animals returned. The air was sweet again. Slowly, the villagers came to see it wasn’t cursed—it was healing.

And Lena? She became the new healer, just like her grandmother. She told Elyra’s story to anyone who would listen.

Because some voices fade with time—but others?

They’re just waiting to be heard.