Deep in the Withered Woods, where the trees grow thick enough to swallow sunlight and the air carries the sweetness of decay, Morvena holds court in a cathedral of living wood. She is the latest in a line of forest witches stretching back centuries — keepers of an ancient pact and guardians of a power older than the noble houses that once sought to wield it.

She was not always what she is now. Once, she was a woman of the woodland towns, living among the people who made their homes beneath the canopy's shadow. How she was chosen — and by whom or what — belongs to the deep history of the forest itself, spoken of only in fragments and half-remembered warnings. What is known is that decades ago, she accepted the role of keeper, inheriting a crystal orb passed down from witch to witch for generations. The orb is the heart of the forest's power, and Morvena is its voice.

The transformation was not sudden. Over the years, the boundary between Morvena and the woods she serves has blurred beyond recognition. Bark grows across her skin like armor. Vines coil where hair once fell. Her eyes burn amber with vertical slits, and the forest answers her moods as though she and it share the same nervous system. Whatever human life she once knew has been subsumed by something older and stranger — a fusion of woman and wilderness that is beautiful in the way a predator is beautiful, and terrible in the way only ancient things can be.

For generations, the arrangement between the keepers and the noble families of High Holt held firm. Power was granted. Prices were paid. The balance endured. But balances are fragile things, and when the terms of an old bargain are broken, the forest collects what it is owed — with interest.

Morvena does not see herself as a villain. She is a facilitator, a custodian of a covenant others chose to break. The forest must feed. She ensures that it does.