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Whisperroot: A Hushwood Tale
Every silence has its echo
We didn't ask for this to happen. What else were we to do? It was for the protection of our sons, our souls, our traditions, our survival. The girls-- well, they were wayward. Ainela, she knew better than to wear the Devil's color, better than to sneak out after dark. And there were whispers of witchcraft, of rebellion. We didn't want them hurt, but something had to be done.
You say you did not ask for this. But we heard the votes whispered behind closed doors. There was no witchcraft, there was no rebellion. They were children—Ainela cried for her sister when she was broken. We felt the shovels strike when you buried your secrets. You tied ribbons and called it remembrance. It was silence.
Don't judge us. They were our daughters. We told ourselves they'd gone to safer places—cousins in Krakow, a convent, anywhere but here. We wanted to believe that. Zosia stopped speaking because it was dangerous. In Myreska, silence kept us alive.
In Myreska, silence kept you comfortable. We carry their names in our soil. We ache with daughters you surrendered. Our roots pulse with their songs, our bark itches with their tears, our branches hold their ribbons. Zosia remembers.
You can silence a girl, but you cannot silence her roots.
We didn't ask for this to happen. What else were we to do? It was for the protection of our sons, our souls, our traditions, our survival. The girls-- well, they were wayward. Ainela, she knew better than to wear the Devil's color, better than to sneak out after dark. And there were whispers of witchcraft, of rebellion. We didn't want them hurt, but something had to be done.
You say you did not ask for this. But we heard the votes whispered behind closed doors. There was no witchcraft, there was no rebellion. They were children—Ainela cried for her sister when she was broken. We felt the shovels strike when you buried your secrets. You tied ribbons and called it remembrance. It was silence.
Don't judge us. They were our daughters. We told ourselves they'd gone to safer places—cousins in Krakow, a convent, anywhere but here. We wanted to believe that. Zosia stopped speaking because it was dangerous. In Myreska, silence kept us alive.
In Myreska, silence kept you comfortable. We carry their names in our soil. We ache with daughters you surrendered. Our roots pulse with their songs, our bark itches with their tears, our branches hold their ribbons. Zosia remembers.
You can silence a girl, but you cannot silence her roots.
540 pages, Kindle Edition
Published October 1, 2025
1 person want to read
About the author
Tiffini Johnson
21 books36 followersWhen she's not acting as a canvas for her two young girls to paint upon, searching for creepy crawly bugs or playing any number of imaginative games, Tiffini can be found writing. Writing has been a part of Tiffini's world for as long as she can remember; she was reading her own books aloud to classmates by the third grade. The majority of her books focus on childhood trauma, the effects of said trauma, and the children who must overcome it.
She is also an avid reader who enjoys cooking, Georgia, teaching, music and public speaking. She soaks up country music like sunshine and currently resides in Nashville, Tennessee.
She is also an avid reader who enjoys cooking, Georgia, teaching, music and public speaking. She soaks up country music like sunshine and currently resides in Nashville, Tennessee.
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