I once knew a woman of the woods who would sing and dance to the rhythm of her own fire.
Witch, they called her.
Mad woman, said the rest.
And while they hurled their insults, the woman created a life of beauty for herself. Away from those who chose to live their lives screaming at the forest's edge, without ever daring to wander inside. They would never know the magic of that which they did not understand.
Then along came the rot.
Carrion presented himself to her with a crooked smile and a charming laugh. He cared nothing for the woman, but only the roots that he could pull out from her. Within a brief time, he had slithered into her home and wrapped his noose around her ankle with a tightness that burned.
In a shorter time than it took for her to grow her beauty, he ripped it away. Only then, once the trees of her woods had been stripped bare, and the earth had dried, did he vanish with a proud grin.
The man disappeared into a blaze that killed all which stood far and near, leaving behind a trail of decay.
Heed my words and listen well.
When you renounce those who are strong of heart and mind, you open a door for something far more sinister to snake inside.
For once I was a villager who stood at the forests edge with fear in my chest. I saw the agony that a mad woman endured and turned the other way.
We all burned for it.
