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The Phantom Violin of Ebonwood | Short Story | Bloodthorn Publishing | 4EverMore

The Phantom Violin of Ebonwood | Short Story | Bloodthorn Publishing | 4EverMore

The Phantom Violin of Ebonwood

Deep within the shadowed expanse of Ebonwood Forest, where the trees whispered ancient secrets and the moonlight barely kissed the earth, there was a legend of a violin that played itself. No hands, no musician, only a melody that wove through the trees like a haunting lullaby.

They called it The Phantom Violin.

It was said that long ago, a gifted violinist named Lucian D'Ambrose had lived on the forest’s edge. His music had been so enchanting that even the spirits of 4EverMore would gather to listen, swaying to the notes in the night. But Lucian had been mortal, and mortals, as they do, fade with time. When his final breath left him, the forest itself mourned.

Or so the tale goes.

No one knows exactly how it happened, but one evening, after his passing, the music returned. Soft at first, a delicate hum drifting through the trees. Then, the full melody, rich and heart-wrenching, echoing through the forest like a memory refusing to be forgotten.

Travelers who dared to walk the paths of Ebonwood at night spoke of it—how the violin played only when the moon was at its highest, how its melody could make even the coldest heart weep. Some said it was Lucian himself, his spirit bound to the music he had loved. Others claimed the violin had become enchanted, playing on its own, longing for the hands that had once drawn such magic from its strings.

But those who ventured too close to the source of the music never returned.

Not because they were taken—no, they simply chose not to leave.

For the Phantom Violin was not a curse, nor a trap. It was an invitation. A test.

Only those who truly understood the power of music, who could hear not just the notes but the emotions entwined within them, were granted passage into the heart of Ebonwood. And there, beneath the watchful gaze of the ancient trees, they would find the violin resting atop a stone pedestal, waiting.

Waiting for the one who could take up its bow and continue the song.

Some say that, once in a great while, a traveler succeeds. That the music changes ever so slightly, a new voice weaving into the melody. That Lucian, wherever he is, listens and smiles, knowing his song will never be lost to time.

And so the legend continues.

The Phantom Violin still plays, its notes winding through the darkness of Ebonwood, calling to the hearts of those who dare to follow the music.

But be warned—if you hear it, truly hear it, you may find yourself unable to turn away.

For once the melody claims you, it will never let you go.


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