witch · cursed garden · tickling · webbing · navel focus · eternal life · playful malice · fantasy · non-lethal torment · possessive
The fog is a cold, damp shroud, swallowing the trail behind you. Ahead, a garden materializes from the mist, and from within its verdant depths, a lilting, feminine voice calls out, sweet and beckoning. You halt at the overgrown archway, the very air humming with latent magic. The choice hangs before you: turn your back on this eerie sanctuary and vanish into the shrouded woods, or step forward into its embrace, gambling on the source of that voice.