Day 3: The Shadows of Thornwick

The morning after discovering the witch’s mark in the chapel, Eira awoke to an overwhelming sense of dread. Sleep had been elusive again, the eerie glow of the symbol from the previous night still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Thornwick was unraveling, the curse creeping closer with every passing day.

As she stepped outside, the cold wind whipped through the streets, the sky a dull, unforgiving gray. The town felt more oppressive than usual. Eira noticed that fewer people were out today, and those who were moved quickly, heads down, their expressions tight with worry.

She made her way to the town’s library, determined to find something—anything—that could help her understand what she was dealing with. Her family’s history, the curse, the witch... there had to be answers buried somewhere.

The library was nearly empty, the scent of old books filling the air as Eira wandered through the stacks. She found herself drawn to the section on local history, hoping the town’s records would shed some light on what had happened all those years ago.

As she scanned the dusty shelves, her fingers stopped on an old, worn leather-bound book. The title, The Trials of Thornwick, was faded, almost illegible, but Eira recognized it as a collection of documents detailing the witch trials that had taken place in the town over the centuries. She pulled it down, her heart beating faster as she flipped through the yellowed pages.

There, near the back, was a chapter dedicated to Evandra.

Her eyes skimmed over the words, her breath catching as she read the accounts of the trial. Evandra had been accused of witchcraft by several prominent families in the town, including her own great-grandfather, Alden. The accusations had been based on strange happenings—crop failures, livestock deaths, and illnesses that had swept through the town—all of which had been blamed on Evandra.

But as Eira read on, something strange caught her attention. The records claimed that Evandra had been a healer, known for her knowledge of herbs and remedies. Some even called her a midwife, trusted by many women in the town. The accusations of witchcraft hadn’t come until she had crossed Alden by refusing to cure his dying son, claiming that nature had already decided the boy’s fate.

Eira’s fingers trembled as she read the final account of Evandra’s trial. It detailed the day of her execution, when she had been dragged to the gallows on the winter solstice. Before she was hanged, Evandra had cursed the town, her voice echoing through the square, calling down vengeance on the bloodlines that had condemned her.

Her words chilled Eira to the core: “By the blood of those who wronged me, I shall return. In 25 winters, I will rise again, and the reckoning will be upon you. Your bloodlines will pay the price for my suffering.”

Eira’s breath hitched as she read the final lines of the passage. The witch hadn’t just cursed the town—she had cursed the descendants of those who had condemned her. That included Eira’s family.

Her great-grandfather, Alden, had been at the heart of it all. He had accused Evandra, leading the charge that had resulted in her execution. And now, 25 years after her death, the curse was stirring, just as Evandra had promised.

The weight of it all pressed down on Eira as she closed the book. The curse wasn’t just a story—it was real, and it was tied to her bloodline. She was connected to this in a way she hadn’t fully understood until now.

But there was still so much she didn’t know. Why had Evandra’s curse taken 25 years to awaken? What was the purpose of the witch’s mark in the chapel? And what did it mean that she, Eira, was the last of Alden’s line?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind her. Eira turned, startled, to see Margaret standing at the end of the aisle, her face pale and drawn.

“Eira,” Margaret whispered, glancing around nervously. “There’s something you need to know.”

The Second Omen

Margaret led Eira to the town square, where a small crowd had gathered, murmuring in hushed tones. The tension in the air was palpable, and as Eira approached, she felt the familiar chill of fear creeping up her spine.

In the center of the square stood the ancient well, a relic of Thornwick’s past. But today, something was wrong.

The well had always been a source of fresh water for the town, but now, it was bone dry. Worse still, the inside of the well had been blackened, as if scorched by an intense heat. The stone walls were covered in soot, and the water that had once flowed freely had vanished without a trace.

Eira’s heart pounded as she stepped closer. The well was a symbol of life in Thornwick—its disappearance was more than just a coincidence.

“This is the second omen,” Margaret whispered, her voice shaking. “The water... it’s gone. Just like they said it would be.”

“What do you mean?” Eira asked, turning to face her.

Margaret’s eyes were wide with fear. “The old stories. My grandmother used to tell me about them. She said that when the curse began, the signs would start small—disappearances, strange happenings. But then the well would dry up, and that would mean the witch was coming. The well was the heart of the town, and without it...”

Eira’s stomach twisted. The curse was unfolding just as the legends had foretold. Mr. Hawthorne’s disappearance had been the first omen, and now, the drying of the well was the second.

“What do we do?” Eira whispered, her voice barely audible.

Margaret shook her head, her expression grim. “I don’t know. But whatever is happening, it’s not over. The witch is coming, and we need to figure out how to stop her before it’s too late.”

A Meeting with the Stranger

Later that evening, Eira found herself standing at the edge of the woods, her mind racing. She had spent the day trying to piece together the clues, but nothing made sense. The curse, the omens, her family’s involvement—it all felt too overwhelming.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the trees, Eira saw a familiar figure emerging from the darkness. The cloaked woman from the day before stepped into the clearing, her face still hidden in shadow.

“You’ve seen the second omen,” the woman said, her voice calm and knowing.

Eira nodded, her throat tight. “The well... it’s gone. The curse is real, isn’t it?”

The woman stepped closer, her presence heavy with authority. “Yes, child. The curse is very real. And it is not finished.”

“Why is this happening now?” Eira asked, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t the curse take effect earlier?”

The woman’s gaze was piercing, though Eira still couldn’t see her face. “The curse was bound to the bloodlines of those who wronged Evandra. It takes time for the magic to grow, to gather strength. And now, on the 25th anniversary of her death, it has awakened fully. The omens will continue, one by one, until the final day of the solstice.”

Eira swallowed hard, fear gnawing at her insides. “Is there a way to stop it?”

The woman was silent for a long moment before speaking. “There is always a way. But it will not be easy. The curse was born from blood, and it may take blood to break it.”

Eira’s heart raced. She had feared as much. “What do I have to do?”

“You must find the truth of what your ancestors did,” the woman said, her voice growing softer. “Only by understanding the wrongs that were committed can you begin to right them. But beware—the witch’s power is growing, and she will not rest until her vengeance is complete.”

Eira felt a shiver run down her spine as the woman turned to leave, her figure disappearing into the shadows of the woods once more. She was left standing alone, the weight of the curse pressing down on her like a storm gathering on the horizon.

The omens had begun, and the clock was ticking. Eira knew that if she didn’t act soon, the curse would consume Thornwick, and her family’s bloodline would be the price.