The Lantern Stewhouse

Tucked deep in the misty marshlands, this wooden home leans precariously on stilts above the muck. A massive iron pot of vegetables boils endlessly outside, its steam mingling with the low fog. String lights hang from crooked posts, casting a strange, warm glow that cuts through the gloom like a beacon. No one’s sure who lives there, some say it’s a wandering herbalist, others claim it’s a hag who trades secrets for soup. Whatever the truth, the scent of broth and the soft clink of lanterns are the only signs of life for miles.