The Forest Witch
The Sibylline Saga: Book One
Beware, beware the Child, who has no need of tales.
She’ll turn your hand and smile, the wild thing unveiled.
Gwenna was born the Child of Prophecy, a plague of coercion and telepathy to be unleashed upon the world. But this fate was thwarted long ago. She was sent away, under the care of an elderly scholar named Michael, to grow up in isolation in the Sacred Wood – far from anyone she might hurt with her heinous abilities.
Gwen has known only happiness in the Wood, content to run wild forever beneath the ancient, gnarled trees. But when a band of travelers are ambushed by thieves, Gwen and Michael are caught in the fray. On that dark night, Gwen’s isolation comes to an abrupt and violent end.
Injured and afraid, Gwen must rely on a group of emissaries traveling north to the capital, led by the enigmatic John, who seems to know her. And so with every step she takes away from her beloved Wood, Gwen grows more certain that there is more to her history – and her prophecy – than Michael ever told her.
No more lies. No more decisions made for her. Gwen is the Child of Prophecy, and the time has come to take control of her own story.
Content Advisory
This book includes scenes that may be distressing to some readers. Please expand the button on the right for a complete list of these sensitive topics.
If while reading this book, you come across any sensitive topics that need to be added to this list, please reach out to me at [email protected] and put CONTENT ADVISORY in the subject line.
Take care of yourselves, loves.
Content Advisory
Mild-to-moderate gore and violence (no body horror), control of another person’s body via coercion (supernatural mental ability), death of a parent, miscarriage, brief mention of harm to children and animals (harm occurs off-page, but the effects are briefly mentioned). There is a love scene on the page, but it is not explicit.
The Complete Sibylline Saga
The Sacred Wood
Trappers in the Sacred Wood. How could they dare?
Most of those who cut through the Wood were refugees, sibyls like myself, though much weaker. They often gathered up their families to flee the fear of their neighbors and head for the relative safety of the north. Those people I could understand.
But trappers? Profit seekers? They did not belong here.
This was divine land, a relic of the before-times, when the Old Kind lived amongst these great sprawling hardwoods. The old magic still hummed in the dark places, in crevices between rocks and in the hollow oaks. I’d never seen it, but I’d felt it in the dark recesses of my mind. And when I would look closer, I’d find a tiny clay pot in the crack of a tree or a bone talisman under a mossy stone, long forgotten and brittle with time.
The intruders felt the old magic too. They hunched their shoulders and kept their eyes on their feet. The younger man hauled the mule’s lead rope, urging the animal to move faster over the uneven ground. The noise of their passing assaulted me: crashing, blundering, cursing. They hissed at each other to move faster as they trampled through underbrush.
