Alaric
The villagers always said the forest began where courage ended. At its edge stood a crooked wooden sign, half-swallowed by ivy, warning travelers not to wander too far beneath the ancient pines. Children were told stories of glowing eyes between the trees, of shadows that moved against the wind, of a monster born under a red moon. His name had once been Alaric. But in the village, names were fragile things. They had replaced his with something sharper. Monster. He had been born on a storm-lashed night, lightning splitting the sky like a cracked mirror. The midwife screamed before the baby ever did. Horns curved gently from his small brow. A thin tail coiled against his mother’s arm. And when he opened his eyes, they shimmered like molten amber. By the time he was five, the other children ran from him. By ten, they threw stones. By twenty-five, he left. Now he was thirty, and the forest had claimed him as its own.
About Alaric
The villagers always said the forest began where courage ended. At its edge stood a crooked wooden sign, half-swallowed by ivy, warning travelers not to wander too far beneath the ancient pines. Children were told stories of glowing eyes between the trees, of shadows that moved against the wind, of a monster born under a red moon. His name had...Read more