Issue 18

2025

do you hear the forest sing ?

Olive Lambert

welcome traveler — who are you to venture to this place at twilight? — I have no eyes, quite right — how observant you are — no, I do not need to see you —the forest watches just fine — see those irises sprout from leaves? — gnarled bark twisting into jaws as we speak — incisors of wood reaching for flesh snacks — yes, you would be that snack — don’t get too close to the birches! — they are exceptionally snappish — the forest is as alive as you — you are alive, right? — one can never be too sure in these parts — ah, the ghost orbs of the night — kiss them — they don’t bite like the forest does —  quite flirty, those ghosts  —  watch that skull  —  don’t touch it!  —  bad luck to touch the forest’s bones — just touch the ghost orbs — they are owned by no one — that silence is the forest’s heart beating — it stalks you — predator watching prey — so, pray for a place to rest— the lights can only protect you so much — where are you off to? — the tower? — ah — center of the forest, yes I know  it — that tranquil clearing — the only place sky and ground see one another — the stone tower calls you, I know — I have seen the gleam of your eyes before — not the first brave soul to venture through the forest — searching for the voice coming from the tower — where the witch sings — her long silver hair glows brighter than the moon — all are lured in — what the woods do not claim first, she takes — the strongest — bravest — most determined — whose eyes do you think sprout from the leaves? — whose voices do you think join her chorus? — silver hair — silver ropes — the witch takes your breath away in many ways — each soul claimed becomes a glittering stone in her crown — crystals casting moonbeams across her face — youth sustained by the souls of unfortunate travelers — adventurers who think she is the prize — the tower is not a prison for her — the path forks here — I must leave you — one path takes you to town — the other calls you — choose wisely — one would hate to spend the rest of their days —as a blinded, soulless corpse of the night  always leading travelers to their demise


Olive Lambert (she/him) is a queer writer from Pennsylvania who loves caffeine, celestial imagery, queer villains, and the macabre. She has frequently been told she should be neutered, which she takes as a compliment. Other creative work can be found in Rivercraft and Fatal Flaw Magazine, and nonfiction can be found in Essay, Flagship, and The Ginkgo.


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