They say the forest doesn't appear on maps, that compasses spin slowly until they go mad beneath its canopy, and that time flows differently there. Those who have disobeyed the advice—the hunter who chased a deer with white antlers, the child who ran after his kite—return, if they return at all, with empty eyes and a sticky silence in their throats. They don't speak of what they saw, but their dreams, from then on, are filled with whispers among ferns and the feeling of being watched by something ancient and motionless.
Some believe the forest holds secrets the world is no longer ready to bear. Others believe it is a living entity, breathing with the wind that stirs its leaves and throbbing to the rhythm of its deep roots. The truth is, there is an invisible yet tangible boundary between our world and its own, a barrier of still air and pressure in our ears.
So, when you walk down the country lane and feel the urge to part a branch, to venture just a little way in to see what lies beyond, remember: some thresholds exist for a reason. Curiosity is a bright flame, but there are darknesses that can extinguish it forever. Protect your light. Take a deep breath and turn back. Don't enter that forest. The price for knowing its mysteries is not gold or glory, but the constant echo of your own name, whispered from the depths, calling you back so you never truly return.
Credits: The image is my own.
I used DeepL Translate.
