In the quiet town of Eldergrove, where the trees whispered secrets and the wind carried echoes of forgotten voices, there was a legend about the Ancient Curses. No one knew exactly where they came from, but everyone had heard stories—of people who vanished without a trace, of dreams that felt too real, and of objects that seemed to move on their own. The oldest of these curses was said to be bound to the old stone circle at the edge of the forest. It was known as the Circle of Echoes, and it had stood for centuries, weathered by time and untouched by human hands. Locals avoided it, claiming that even the birds would not sing near it. But for those who dared to approach, the air grew heavy, and the silence was thick with something unseen. One autumn evening, a young woman named Elira found herself drawn to the Circle. She had recently moved to Eldergrove after inheriting an old cottage from a distant relative. The house was nestled in the woods, surrounded by towering oaks that seemed to watch her every move. She had always felt a strange connection to the land, as if the earth itself recognized her. On the night of the full moon, she wandered into the forest, her lantern flickering against the darkness. The path was overgrown, and the leaves crunched under her boots like bones. When she reached the Circle, she noticed something unusual—there were symbols carved into the stones, worn away by time but still visible. They pulsed faintly in the moonlight, as if alive. Elira knelt before the largest stone, her fingers tracing the carvings. A chill ran through her, but it wasn’t the cold—it was something deeper, something that made her skin tingle. She closed her eyes and whispered a question: "What are you?" For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a soft voice echoed in her mind, not spoken aloud but felt inside her thoughts. "You have awakened us." She gasped and stumbled back, heart pounding. The wind howled around her, though there was no breeze. The stones shimmered, and the air thickened, pressing against her like a living thing. Shadows moved between the trees, not of her making, but of something else entirely. From the ground, a single red flower bloomed, its petals curling open slowly, revealing a tiny face within each one. They blinked at her, then whispered in unison, "You are not the first. You will not be the last." Elira turned to leave, but the path behind her had vanished, replaced by a dense wall of ivy and thorns. She tried to run, but her feet felt rooted to the spot. The whispers grew louder, and the shadows became more defined, forming shapes that hovered just beyond the reach of her lantern. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the voices stopped. The air cleared, and the flowers wilted, their faces disappearing into the dirt. The Circle was silent once more, as if nothing had ever happened. Elira stumbled out of the forest, her breath ragged, her mind reeling. She returned to her cottage, but the moment she stepped inside, she felt a presence lingering in the corners of the room. The walls seemed to breathe, and the floorboards creaked as if someone walked upon them. Days passed, and the changes began. Objects moved when she wasn’t looking. Her reflection in the mirror did things her body didn’t. And the whispers, now constant, filled her dreams with visions of the Circle, of other people, of things that should not exist. One night, she found a journal hidden beneath the floorboards of her attic. It belonged to the previous owner, a man who had lived in the cottage decades ago. His final entry read: "They are watching. They remember. I tried to escape, but they never let go." Elira sat with the journal in her hands, staring at the words. She realized then that the curse was not just a force of nature—it was a memory, a whisper of the past that refused to fade. And as the moon rose higher, casting long shadows across the room, she wondered if she had truly escaped, or if she had only become part of the story.