PlayerOliver

When you were a kid, you lived with your grandmother in the small town of Silvertree, on the edge of a magical forest. Grandma is a witch, and she taught you how to use your magic to affect the natural world, too. “Magic is a part of you,” she always told you. “Learning how to use it means figuring out who you are.”

Now you’re 19 and on your own. After years of living in the forest while you perfected your witchcraft, you’ve returned to take care of your grandmother’s house and crow-familiar while she’s gone. Figuring out who you are feels more important than ever - not to mention, figuring out what Silvertree is. A lot is just as you remembered: the friendly generous next-door neighbors with a kid just your age, the proud town council, the quaint little shops with quirky punny names, the gentle shadowy forest full of magic.

Stone in the shoe

Regardless of what's right or wrong, the temptation to find out what's inside is just too strong. It's only been rotting away up here anyway, so it can't have been that precious. Besides, what your grandma doesn't know won't hurt her.


Curiosity growing stronger by the second, you squint down at the first lines of writing.


Before you can do anything more, however, a loud wooden clatter makes you jump.


You whip your head around and find Robin covering his mouth, staring down at a framed black-and-white photo that he seems to have dropped. The wooden frame has split apart at one of the corners.


"It's okay," you tell Robin, "I'm sure it's fixable."


Robin doesn't move. His eyes don't even twitch. You think for a moment it must be the shock of breaking the frame—but as you follow his gaze, you realize he's not even looking at the frame. Instead, his eyes are locked on the photograph itself.


You didn't notice it properly before—but confused by Robin's reaction, you try to get a better look. In it are three people: a man, a woman, and a little boy. Their old-fashioned clothes tell you that this is a very old picture, but otherwise there's no indication as to who they are. Still—you have to admit, there's something familiar about them—


You look suddenly at Robin, who has finally lowered his hands from his mouth. His shining eyes turn on you—and you feel something begin to stir in the back of your mind.


Lost for words, Robin points to the woman in the photograph. You take in her dark hair, her serious expression—and the small brooch in the shape of a tree pinned to her chest.


"The man is Skippy—the one the coffee shop is named after. His real name is Leo Siatkowski. They must have had a child together. Him—and Selene Corvina."


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