Elara walked into the wood before noon. The trees stretched in every direction, dark and endless. She had no map and no path. The old tales said the witch lived deep, but deep meant nothing among miles of the same gray trunks. By afternoon her legs ached, and the light thinned. Darkness was coming, and she was lost. She stopped to catch her breath. A branch snapped behind her. She turned and saw a black cat on a fallen log. Its eyes held tiny points of light, like stars trapped in glass. The cat stared at her, then leapt down and trotted away. Elara almost let it go. Then the cat paused and looked back, waiting. She followed. It led her over roots and through brush, always a few steps ahead. When she slowed, it stopped. When she caught up, it moved. The cat brought her to a grove of tall trees. Clusters of purple flowers hung from their branches like curtains. The air smelled sweet and wrong. Elara reached toward a bloom, and the cat hissed. She pulled her hand back. Poison. The cat had warned her. Beyond the grove stood a crooked shape. At first Elara thought it was a stump. Then it rose. A woman, bent and tall, wrapped in ragged green cloth stitched with thorns and moss. Glowing marks crawled along her arms. Her yellow eyes fixed on Elara, and her mouth split into a grin full of teeth. "You smell of the moon," the witch said. Her voice cracked like dry wood. "Cursed thing. You've come a long way to find me, girl." Elara's heart pounded. She forced her voice steady. "I need you to break my curse. It turns me into a monster each new moon." The witch circled her slowly. The black cat sat between them, tail curled. "I can break it," the witch said. "But I don't work for nothing." "I know," Elara said. "A message told me the price. You want a raven." The witch stopped. Her grin widened. "A raven, yes. Not any raven." She raised one long finger. "The one that speaks. It nests in the old chapel past the fog. Bring me the speaking raven, and I will lift your curse." Elara's stomach dropped. She had hoped to catch any bird. Now the task had sharpened into something harder. "A speaking raven," she repeated. "It does not wish to be caught," the witch said. "Many have tried. Their bones feed my grove." She turned back toward the trees. "Come with the raven, or do not come at all." The witch melted into the dark. The cat rose and pressed against Elara's leg, then trotted the way they had come. Elara followed it out of the wood. She had found the witch. She had the bargain she came for. But now she needed a bird that spoke and could not be caught, hidden in an abandoned chapel she had never seen.

Elara slept badly that night. The witch's words circled in her head. A speaking raven, nesting in an old chapel past the fog. She had no idea where the chapel stood. She only knew one path led there, and it ran back through the poison grove. She could not cross that place alone. The last time, the flowers had nearly touched her skin. At dawn she stepped outside and found the black cat waiting on her doorstep. Its eyes held tiny points of light, like stars caught in glass. It stared at her, then turned toward the treeline. It had guided her once. She hoped it would again. "The chapel," she said, kneeling. "Can you take me there?" The cat blinked. Then it trotted into the wood. Elara followed. The trees closed around her. By midday the air turned sweet and heavy. She knew the smell now. Ahead rose the tall trees, their branches hung with clusters of purple flowers. The blooms dangled low over the path like curtains. One brush against her lips would end her. The cat stopped. It looked back, waiting. Elara understood. She had to trust it exactly. The cat picked its way through the grove, slow and careful. It stepped left where the flowers thinned. It froze when a bloom swayed close, then waited for the branch to still. Elara matched every step. She held her breath as a purple cluster swung past her cheek. Its petals grazed her hair, and she did not move until the cat moved. Sweat ran down her back. One flower brushed her sleeve and left a wet purple smear. She pulled the sleeve away from her arm and kept walking. The grove thinned. The sweet smell faded. Elara stumbled out onto clear ground and gulped clean air. She had crossed it. She was alive. Then the fog began. It rose from the earth in gray sheets and swallowed the trees. The cat led her through it without pause. Its dark shape stayed just ahead, a steady point in the white. The fog broke. A building stood before her. Cracked stone walls climbed to a steep roof. A bell hung crooked in a small tower. The windows were narrow arches, their glass long gone. Vines crawled through the gaps. Rubble lay at the foot of the door. This was the chapel. She had found it. Elara stepped toward the door. From inside came a dry, rasping sound. A voice, low and strange, formed a single word. "Leave." She stopped. No person spoke. The voice came from the dark inside, and it knew her language. The raven was here, and it had heard her coming. The cat sat down at her feet. It would not go inside. Elara stared at the black doorway. She had crossed the poison to reach this place. Now the thing she came for was warning her away, and she had to go in alone.