In the quiet town of Eldergrove, nestled between two ancient forests, there was a legend whispered only in hushed tones. It spoke of an old stone circle hidden deep within the woods, where the air grew thick and the trees seemed to lean in as if listening. Locals called it the "Whispering Circle," though no one dared to visit it after dusk. The stories said that those who entered alone never returned, or at least not as they were. The first time young Elara heard the tale, she was seven years old, sitting by the fire while her grandmother recounted the story with a trembling voice. She didn’t believe it then, but as the years passed, she found herself drawn to the forest more and more. She would walk past the edge of the woods, peering through the tall pines, imagining what lay beyond. The trees seemed to hum with something unseen, and the wind carried a strange melody that wasn’t quite natural. One autumn evening, Elara decided to find the circle for herself. She packed a small satchel with a lantern, a notebook, and a few provisions. The sun had just dipped below the horizon when she stepped into the woods, the last light fading behind her. The air grew cooler, and the silence was broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath her boots. She followed a narrow path that twisted and turned, leading her deeper into the unknown. The trees grew taller, their branches entwining to form a canopy so dense that the stars barely peeked through. A faint mist curled around her ankles, and the temperature dropped suddenly. She paused, feeling the weight of the forest pressing in on her. Then, she saw it—a clearing bathed in an eerie silver light. In the center stood the stone circle, its stones weathered and covered in moss. The air was still, as if holding its breath. Elara stepped forward, her heart pounding. As she approached, she noticed symbols carved into the stones, unlike anything she had ever seen. They shimmered slightly, as though alive. She reached out to touch one, and the moment her fingers met the cold stone, a chill ran through her. The air around her shifted, and the whispering began. At first, it was soft, like the rustling of leaves, but soon it became clearer—voices, overlapping, speaking in a language she didn’t understand. They weren’t angry, nor did they sound threatening. They were… curious. Elara’s hand trembled as she pulled away. She backed up slowly, but the circle seemed to grow larger, the trees leaning closer, watching. She turned to leave, but the path she had taken was gone, replaced by a different trail winding deeper into the woods. Panic crept in, but she forced herself to stay calm. She remembered her grandmother’s words: “The forest doesn’t want you to leave. It wants to know you.” She wandered for what felt like hours, the whispers growing louder, the shadows stretching longer. Then, just as she thought she would never escape, she stumbled upon a small stream. The water sparkled under the moonlight, and as she knelt to drink, she saw her reflection—but it wasn’t quite right. Her eyes were too wide, her mouth stretched into a smile she didn’t remember making. She gasped and stood up, knocking over her lantern. The flame flickered and died, plunging her into darkness. When she finally reached the edge of the forest, she collapsed onto the grass, breathing heavily. The town lights were far away, but she could see them now, like a beacon in the distance. That night, she wrote everything down in her notebook, detailing every step, every sound, every strange sensation. But when she tried to recall the symbols, they had vanished from her memory, as if they had never been there. Weeks passed, and the whispers stayed with her. Sometimes, in the quiet moments, she would hear them again, faint and distant. She never went back to the forest, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed inside her. She was different now, as if the circle had left a mark—not on her body, but on her soul. And sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she wondered if the reflection had always been smiling.