When Anna saw the stranger collapsed at her doorstep, she did not hesitate. Though her own life was filled with hardship, her heart had never grown cold. She lifted the woman with trembling arms, struggling under her weight, and carried her inside.
The woman was broken in body—her skin marked with bruises, her lips cracked, her breath shallow. She could not speak, not even a whisper escaped her throat. Whoever she was, whatever had brought her to Anna's gate, she had been beaten down to the edge of death.
Anna tended to her as best she could. She wrapped her in blankets, fed her what little food she had, and washed her wounds with careful hands. Many nights she sat by the woman's side, praying she would live.
Days turned into weeks, and though Anna herself had little, she gave freely. She sold the last of her fine linens to buy medicine. She went without food to make sure her guest had enough to eat. Her friends, seeing her sacrifice, gave what they could—a loaf of bread here, a handful of coins there. And slowly, strength began to return to the stranger's frail body.
Yet she remained silent.
She watched Anna with quiet eyes, noticing how often the young woman sat by the window at night, staring into the dark streets with tears on her cheeks. She saw how Anna carried her burdens alone, with no family to comfort her, no child to call her mother, and no husband to ease her loneliness.
One night, as the lamps burned low and the clock crept past the tenth hour, Anna sat again in her usual place. She had given the woman her meal, as she did every evening, and now she leaned against the window, her tears falling freely.
It was then the silence broke.
A voice, weak yet steady, drifted across the room.
"Anna," the woman said softly, "stop crying."
The sound froze Anna in place. For a heartbeat, she thought she had imagined it. But when she turned, the woman was watching her—her lips parted, her eyes sharp despite their weariness.
Anna's heart leapt. She rushed to her side, kneeling down, her face breaking into a smile of joy and relief. "You spoke! You can speak!" she cried, her hands trembling as she reached for her.
The woman looked at her for a long moment before her lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "My name," she whispered, "is Lilith."
Anna blinked, her joy mingled now with curiosity. "Lilith… where are you from?"
For a time, the woman was silent. Her gaze drifted downward, her hands tightening in the blanket as if weighing the weight of her words. At last, she answered, her voice low and slow.
"I am from the land of Ral-Zarek."
Anna frowned, confusion shadowing her features. "Ral-Zarek? I have never heard of such a place. Where is it?"
Lilith lifted her head then, her eyes dark with secrets, her expression unreadable. When she finally spoke, her words carried the weight of dread.
"The Forbidden Land."
The room seemed to fall colder, the lamplight dimmer. Anna's breath caught in her throat. She had heard of the Forbidden Forest all her life, had grown up with stories of witches and spirits, but never had she met someone who claimed to have come from beyond it.
For the first time in many years, Anna felt not only fear ,felt not the hand of destiny, but a surge of disbelief.
The stories of the Forbidden Land were told to frighten children, whispered in warnings by the elders, spoken of only in hushed voices. To her, it had always been legend, a tale to keep people from straying too near the dark boundaries of the forest.
Yet here, before her eyes, sat a woman flesh and blood—claiming to have come from that very place.