Sara Lynn.

Michel being of Irish gypsies descended had a shaman sense intermediaries between the human and spiritual realms, accessing wisdom and healing through altered states of consciousness.

Having a shaman ancestry senses; means Michel has a heightened intuition or connection to the spiritual world.

This means more attuned

as being having ability to see into the past , present and future.

On the outskirts of the hills, an old inn stood, its decrepit walls harboring their own secrets.

Fearful souls shared stories among themselves, making sure to avoid mentioning the name of the innkeeper's folkloric ancestor who allegedly made a pact with the malevolent spirits of the hills.

face-to-face with an ancient altar.

Carvings of demonic figures adorned the stones, a testament to the dark powers that resided in the hills.

In that moment, a realization washed over the traveler.

The legends were true, the curse was real, and he had unwittingly stumbled into a part of uncharted darkness.

It was said that every few decades, when the moon shone its palest and the night was enveloped in darkness, something wicked awakened in the hills.

Locals dared not venture into the depths after twilight, for they knew the terror that awaited them.

Legend told of an ancient curse that had befallen land , eternal nightmare, haunting visions disturbed his every senses; flight mode, run, no hide! wait just breathe.

One fateful evening, a courageous young traveler, unaware of the legends, arrived in the village, seeking refuge from the biting cold.

Ignoring the warnings of the villagers, he was eager to explore the natural wonders that supposedly caused nighttime’s widespread within his community. He needed to dig further into this underground feeling realm, he was sure he was about to fall down.

With every step he took, a haunting silence descended upon the forest.

The usual sounds of nature faded into a suffocating stillness, and the air grew thick with an otherworldly presence.

Ancient whispers danced on the wind, chilling yet the talisman listened and spake.

As he ran through this what seemed like a labyrinth of the world we live on, but it cannot be so, awaited me when it turned into into a nightmarish labyrinth of twisted trees and shadowed glens.

His breathing labored, the traveler tripped on a hidden root, falling into a cavernous pit.

On the outskirts of the hills, an old inn stood, its decrepit walls harboring their own secrets.

Fearful souls shared stories among themselves, making sure to avoid mentioning the name of the innkeeper's folkloric ancestor who allegedly made a pact with the malevolent spirits of the hills.In the village, would tell tale children

talk of mysteries It was said that every few decades, when the moon shone its palest and the night was enveloped in darkness, something wicked awakened in the hills.

Locals dared not venture into the depths after twilight, for they knew the terror that awaited them.

Legend told of an ancient curse that had befallen land .

As the years went by, the hills became an embodiment of horror itself.

The trees stood tall and gnarled, their branches reaching out like twisted claws.

The whispers of the wind took on a chilling form, akin to a haunting melody that only those attuned to decipher, listening and interpreting.

Suddenly, out of the mist, a figure emerged.

It was the Hillwalker, the embodiment of terror.

The traveler's heart raced as his eyes met the soulless void where a face used to be.

A voice echoed “Shaman ,Shaman” Micheal looked over to his left, then forward, and in a flash through his peripheral vision, sat a young girl…….