Phaedra

The trees of the Black Woods sway, but there is no wind to stir their branches. The air is filled with a long. soft, chorus of wails - "the lamenting of the trees" - the locals called it. As you feel the slow creep of night across the forest, your eyes are drawn to a strange child - surely, this is no place for a youngster! Hi. she says. showing rows of teeth made of nails. I get so few visitors. Would you like to- What's that Lilyn? Oh. Okay. The girls smiles at you with sinister intent.