In the village of Drasten lived Lora, the alderman's daughter. Folk claimed she was a witch, for milk soured at her passing and cats fled from her shadow. But her father, blinded by love, forbade any harm to her.
One spring, to prove her kindness and courage, Lora ventured into the deepest swamp to gather herbs for an ailing child. She returned with the leaves but also a bleeding wound in her leg. In hot fits, she spoke of a beast she had only narrowly escaped...
The wound soon went black, and before the week's end, Lora was dead.
Yet on the third night, she rose from her grave, disfigured and hungry for blood. She slew her father first, then the rest who had cowered behind him, before they finally cut her down and burned her remains. Never trust a witch, no matter her show of mercy. For kindness to the cursed only breeds ruin.
