Maya stands at the edge of the clearing, in a place between evening and night, forest and ink blue skies. The handful of bright yellow stars aren't warm enough to take the chill out. They seem to move around the sky, tip-toeing around the big round, placid disk of a moon, whispering secrets and spinning reams of mist. Mist, as white and gossamer as the spirits in the forest. As Maya looks up at the moon, pale and silver like a large mother-of-pearl pendant, she catches him smiling down at her. The kind of smile that has a story behind it. "Maybe there's a secret in this forest. Maybe the story everyone whispers to each other about this forest is true," wonders Maya, suddenly feeling cold.
Art and Story by Chandana Banerjee
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