I’m imprisoned in this sacred ash grove. He warned I'd never leave him. He’s right. For centuries, I've prayed to escape. But the road leading past this wood is forgotten.
Adept in the black arts, he buried victims beneath twisted trunks. Their corpses feed the trees.
He stabbed himself after saying he loved me. I couldn't stop him. A weeping red rose tree grew over his corpse. Roses always bloom, buds malicious eyes watching me.
I want that dagger. I'd stab those eyes to see if they bleed.
But I'm afraid of what he’ll do from beyond the grave.
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