Elizabeth was doing her best to ignore the hushed words and awkward stares she would receive from the townsfolk. Rumors labeling her as a cursed woman, a witch, were growing, and the only place she felt any solace from their judgmental gaze was in the woods surrounding her cabin. The trees were welcoming, reassuring. If Elizabeth could, she'd spend all her time under her favorite tree, where a single stroke of her fingertips on the bark was often enough to reassure her. But how will she react when the tree strokes her in return?