Chapter Text
“The myths and legends about Faerie are many and diverse, and often contradictory. Only one thing is certain - that nothing is certain. All things are possible in the land of the Faerie.”
-Brian Froud
It’s been drilled into your head ever since you were a child. Those who listen to the fae are mere fools. Those who preach of their strength are meager heretics. The village elders would warn the youth of winged beasts who speak in rhymes and riddles, always eager to trick any young soul into giving their name, and with it, their autonomy.
The people around you would often speak of friends or family members who mysteriously vanished one day, or worse, those who came back never to be the same again. Others would advise parents that their newborns should sleep with sewing needles in their cribs as to ward off winged thieves. You never quite understood that one, but you suppose paranoia can get the better of anyone. Even your own family, the sewing needle underneath the pillow of your childhood bed proves as such.
Sometimes you would think that your entire town was just paranoid, fearing something that wasn't true or at the very least exaggerated. But those thoughts were quickly stopped whenever the news of child vanishing would reach your ears. Some of the vanished would return, but it was rare.
Their mind and body would be drained of all energy as they would stumble back into town, you've only known of one happening in your lifetime. A young man, newlywed and just starting parenthood as well. He quickly fell ill, he did not have the energy to combat the illness. His family was devastated. The disappearances were few, the returns even fewer. Most happened long ago, when your town was first built, they've dwindled through its history but never fully stopped.
You suppose with this in mind it wasn't much of a shock that the village shunned you when your health started to decline.
The village doctor found no explanation for the pain you would get from just doing simple tasks or by simply existing. They found no reason for the fatigue that plagued your mind, for the aches shooting through your bones. Of course they assumed you had been tricked by a faerie despite their efforts to keep the people safe.
You were no longer part of that people.
It had been years since you left your hometown, but you didn’t leave it for good. You now live outside the small border of the old town, surrounded by the forest. You could only take so many people regarding you as a bad omen and a burden on the community before you broke. The doctor couldn’t help you, so you turned to ancient remedies to do it yourself. Unfortunately for you, once someone spotted you brewing a makeshift elixir in your bathtub, you were labeled as something far worse than a victim of the fae. You were a witch.
Turns out your efforts had been in vain anyway, your body remained the same no matter what you tried. But you learned how to live with it.
Your old home isn't proud of what you’ve become, you’re sure of that. But they can’t do much about it since you’ve opened up that small shop of yours at the local market. Sure, the townsfolk might shun the art of witchcraft publicly but when you offer your potions and rituals to make their lives easier, they’re eager to get their coins in your hands. You can’t say you mind. Yes, it stings to help people who would rat you out need be in a heartbeat, but it helps put food on the table. In addition, you get to support the community by buying bottles or gemstones or any other supply you can’t get by yourself. What goes round comes round and all that.
It has forced your little scavenges in the woods to take much longer however, after all you’ve got to make sure your supply of ingredients stays fully stocked, but you can’t say you mind being out in nature just a tad bit longer than you used to.
You’re brought out of your thoughts by a light tap on the window of your shack. The noise causes you to perk up from your place by your small wooden table.
A lone crow is perched on your windowsill. It pecks at your window, a silent plea to be let in. You can’t help but coo at the sight.
One perk you’ve definitely taken advantage of since you’ve started practicing witchcraft, was the newfound communication you have with corvids. They cannot speak like you can but you understand them nevertheless. The cute little things even agreed to be your personal mail carriers, it’s very handy considering no one but you, your dear friend and your little crows know where your old shack resides.
The chair drags along the floorboards as you stand. Your hand moves along the small table for support as you make the short trek to your window. The wallpaper around it is weathered.
“Here little fellow, let me get that for you,” The window is easy to unlock. You push the thing open, your little friend immediately settles on your hand. “Awfully cuddly, aren’t you?” The crow leans towards you as you lift a finger to lightly scratch the top of its head.
Your little friends don’t stick around often, but you always value their time spent with you. It gets a little lonely in your house at times.
You set the crow down on your table, holding back a laugh as it hops into the flower pot resting on it, and pick up your cane that you left by one of your chairs.
When you realized that your potions and spells couldn’t heal you, you settled on making an aid for yourself. It was a simple thing, really, a carving out of wood with a little enchantment to prevent it from rotting. (that came with the added side effect of it sprouting small leaves and flowers! How nice) You’ve been using it ever since, and it doubles as a staff for when a spell is too much for you to perform on your own.
Turning around the corner, you enter your kitchenette. Your shack was a little… cramped, you’ll admit, but that’s what made it cozy! You didn’t tend to have many visitors anyway, so it never bothered you.
You pick up the basket set on one of the countertops. Inside there was already everything you needed. Empty bottles and containers, a fresh loaf of bread you had baked prior for lunch as well as a bottle of water, and a couple of potions and candles. Just in case, you can never be too sure about what lurks in the woods. Other than you.
Beside the basket is a small note, a list of things you need to gather. It’s split into two parts, one for your general use, and another for a commission by your most loyal customer. And your best friend, Vanessa.
She’s a hunter, and a regular at your little store, turns out your elixirs come in handy during her hunts. She’s been buying from you for years now.
A smile tugs at your lip as you slip the note into your shorts’ pocket. You’ll have to invite her for tea later.
Turning back around from the counter, your cloak makes a swooshing noise behind you. The green fabric reminding you of leaves on a windy day. It sits comfortably over your shoulders, the hood hangs off of your back. You rarely use it, the space on your head typically taken up by a much more fitting item.
You walk past the small hallway leading to your bedroom and work station, and to the cart resting on the opposite side of the room to your table.
The two shelves are filled with books ranging from nostalgic cookbooks to novella length stories. Your pointed hat sits on top of it. A classic for any witch. It even matches your cloak, along with a black ribbon wrapping around it. A golden star clip keeps it in place. Even that matched the similarly shaped golden pins keeping your cloak from falling off of your body.
You’ve caught your little crow friends trying to steal the two shiny objects one too many times.
The weight of your hat sits comfortably on your head. The beaded adornments on each side clink together like windchimes. Not very useful for sneaking around but you like the sound too much to get rid of them.
With a quick shake of your head to make sure your hat will stay on, you open the door leading to your patio.
A black blur zips past you along with the sound of flapping wings. Guess your crow friend had other things to do.
You clutch the basket in one hand, and your cane in the other, as you make your way down the steps of your house. Willing yourself to ignore the slight wobble in your legs. No matter.
Tall trees surround your home. Stone slabs starting from the last step of your patio lead into the forest. Soil surrounds the base of your house. The seeds within have long since sprouted. The metal watering can by your step calls to you. You trade it with your basket.
The handle sits heavy in your palm once you fill the can with water. You watch the water pour from the end of the can and onto your plants. Some of the water clumps together in small dewdrops that eventually fall off of the plant’s leaves, getting absorbed by the soil. You’ve been growing more at home instead of having to deal with buying from others. Growing your own food is hard work but you thankfully have a little trick.
Leaning down, you set your cane off to the side and the watering can off to the other. Your fingers drag across the soil, drawing a small symbol into the dirt, finished with a circle surrounding it.
You clear your mind.
Lips part ever so slightly as you mutter the incantation, like a secret you whisper to the flora of the garden. A soft pulse of power flows through your veins, the sigil you drew into the soil emits a subtle glow of emerald green.
The last word leaves your body as you encourage the plants to grow. A simple spell, you could do it in your sleep. The change won’t be noticeable unless you know the growth patterns of each and every plant in your garden. You’ll know, and that’s enough.
You do not wish to force your plants to grow in an instant, that takes the fun out of it. You’re a patient witch.
You chuckle at the image of being a small seed, recently sowed, only to grow into a fully formed tomato in the blink of an eye. You suppose it would be akin to that of an infant taking a single step and suddenly they’re over twice their size and going through a midlife crisis.
Nothing bad would happen to your garden if you did perform a stronger spell, you simply don’t want to.
Standing back up after smoothing out the soil, you once again switch your trusty watering can back to your woven basket. The watering can goes back to its rightful place, next to the short staircase. You turn back around to face the stone slabs leading to the end of the forest clearing, and into the dirt path branching out between the trees. Subconsciously, you skip from one to the next, your boots helping to absorb most of the small impact, sparing your knees.
The transition from your little hideout to the darker woodland is mostly gradual, but certainly noticeable. The trees grow taller, the air gets humid, the sound of a flowing river fills your ears. The base of your cane and your boots dig ever so slightly into the ground. You’ve walked this route so many times before, it becomes easier each time to get lost in your thoughts. For example, you haven’t planned dinner yet. You’ve already got your lunch packed in your basket but you still haven’t figured out what to have for dinner yet. Oh the joys of living on your own.
Most of the crops in your garden aren’t quite ready to be harvested yet, a rough winter and birds deciding to steal from you are to thank for that. No doubt that some of your crows had a hand in it, you can’t really blame them too much though. You’re just glad the little creatures don’t have to go hungry. You do have that piece of salt preserved venison you got from Vanessa a while back. Yeah, that could do nicely. Better to eat it before it spoils.
The snap of a branch pulls you out of your thoughts.
You quickly turn in the direction of the noise, the beads on your hat clank against each other. Other than that, it’s silent.
You wait for a beat, then another, and then another…. nothing. Probably just some deer or other animal. Nothing to be too worried about. You don’t tend to see any other creatures than birds in these parts of the woods but it’s not unheard of. Maybe a youngin strayed a bit too far from its pack.
Releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you continue forward.
“Thank you, little birdie,” you say as a white flower drops into your outstretched palm. A gift from one of your crows, and an ingredient in the potion Vanessa had commissioned from you.
Lily of the valley, a beautiful flower. They grow in high altitudes, such as mountain tops. Something you cannot reach by yourself, your legs would give out if you tried. Thankfully, your crows are very good helpers. For a price.
“Yes, yes, just give me one minute,” You sighed as your friend began to caw at you. Your free hand digs through your basket, fishing out the bread you prepared earlier. Prying off a few tiny pieces, you put the food back and hold out your hand for the bird. It eagerly settles on your fingers and starts to peck at the crumbs. At least they were easily satisfied.
“There you go, eat up buddy.”
Snatching the last piece of bread in its beak, the crow flies away.
You put away the flowers in the quickly filling basket.
“Right, so that’s done…” You already gathered the four leaf clovers, (and maybe forced a couple to sprout when you couldn't find enough. You’re a patient witch but not that patient. Plus this was for someone else!) you already had lemons at home so there was no need to bother searching for those… oh!
“Tiger’s eye! I’ll have to get some when I head back into town…” An unpleasant shiver forces its way down your spine at the mention.
You really don’t like going back there, but it can’t really be avoided. Especially since your stand is there anyway. The townsfolk also didn’t like when you came back either but hey! You need stuff too!
Pushing those thoughts out of your head, you turn your attention back to your list. You managed to gather some of the things on your “general checklist” while searching for the things you needed for Vanessa, you’ll have to remember to write her a letter once one of your birds comes back (hopefully with a quill. That is not from their own body this time.), the only things left were oyster mushrooms and plain old water.
(The mushrooms were very hastily added. It was just so you’d have something to go along with dinner.)
Should be easy enough, you just have to find some old tree in the shade and you should be set. The water wouldn’t be much harder, just listen for the sound of it and you’re set!
You put the list back in your pocket.
Finding a tree won’t be hard, finding one in the right condition is slightly harder but not by much. Afterall, you’re surrounded by them. And finding an old one won’t be hard when most of the trees here are older than you by several times over.
Quickly picking a direction, you scurry off to search for your oyster mushrooms. The dirt road was narrower here, barely even there. You knew your way around most of the forest so it was no cause of alarm. Those dozens of crows of yours also come in handy if you do ever get lost.
You hum a simple tune as you search. You know your small friends are with you when they try to echo the tune back to you. Running your hand over some of the trees you pass, you feel the indents of the bark, the wood is dry. Some of the bark falls off when you touch them, whenever it does you look the tree over in search for the mushrooms you need. It doesn’t take long before you find them.
The mushrooms grow low on the tree, near the base. Beside them is a large boulder that's being overrun by moss. Half the thing is colored the same green as your clothes. The mushroom’s wide white hats stack on top of each other like shelves. There’s plenty of them too, more than enough for your future meal.
Crouching down, your cloak falls around you. The color blends into the ground below. The mushrooms are easy to harvest, no tools needed if you know what you're doing. Your hand moves on it’s on, muscle memory setting in. Your fingers wrap around the bottom of the shroom, gently twist, and pull it off the tree before placing it in your basket.
Grab, twist, pull. Grab, twist, pull. Grab, twist, pull.
You keep going until one clump is fully harvested, about a dozen or so mushrooms. You don’t take more than what you need.
Your hand brushes along the bread you brought with you, a rumble echoes from your stomach at the reminder. Right, you should probably eat that before you forget.
Standing back up, you brush off the invisible dirt from your brown pants with one hand as the other leans on the tree. A dull ache runs through your legs as they protest the movement.
You don’t listen, you’ll be fine. Your body is just being a little dramatic.
There’s a log nearby, you’ll sit back down soon enough.
You gently press your forehead against the tree and whisper a small “thank you for the food” before making your way over to the log resting a few feet away from it. A pained sigh follows you as you sit down. The ache in your knees subside, but just slightly. You didn’t even notice they were aching until you stood up. Some food in your stomach could help.
The log isn’t the most comfortable thing to sit on but it beats sitting on the ground.
Barely.
You fish the breadloaf out of your basket and break it in half. You’re saving the other half for once you’re out of the woods, as a snack. A little treat.
The soothing sound of your fingers digging into the crusty surface when you break the bread apart fills your ears.
The taste is buttery yet salty as it hits your tastebuds. The bread has already gone cold, but it’s still savory. You’ve been out for a while, it’s to be expected.
Your hand automatically covers your mouth as you chew. A habit you’ve retained ever since your peers would scold you for chewing with your mouth open when you were younger. You’ve long since stopped but the habit still remains.
You swallow four to five bites before you bring out your water to help satiate your dry throat.
The rest goes down easy.
With your belly full, and with a slightly embarrassing amount of effort, you stand back up. Your list still isn’t finished. You’re not stopping. Not yet.
With the oyster mushrooms in your basket, you’ve only got water left. Can’t exactly make potions without it.
Lifting your cane, you once again start to walk.
You haven’t been to this part of the forest yet, you must have wandered further out than thought. Guess your dinner plans warranted a deeper search.
The leaves of the trees around you grow sparse and thick. Their color, a bright and vibrant green. You’re surrounded by a sea of the color with pops of a beautiful light pink blooming from the trees.
The wind rustles your clothes, carrying petals that get caught on your hat. The wind chimes in your ears, you almost swear you can hear bells.
There’s a faint warmth to the air, but you can feel the cold from the subsiding winter in it. The dual sensation causes you to shiver.
Your ears catch a sound through the breeze. Running water.
You can’t help the faint smile as you scurry off to find its source. The mix of the gentle breeze with the faint sound of the water sounds a bit like a song, just for you. It almost makes you want to sing along to a tune you do not know the words to.
Doesn’t stop you from trying though.
You can’t form the correct words to sing along with nature’s song, but you can vocalize with it.
A series of hums and vowels leaves your throat as the melodic bass of water grows closer. It doesn’t take long before you find the small stream aiding you in your little solo.
You continue walking along the side of it until it forms into a lake. The ground you step on is wet, your feet and the end of your cane sink into it as you step forward. It’s not the most stable thing but you’ll be quick.
Settling down on your knees, you pull out the empty glass containers you stored at the bottom of your now very full basket.
The beads of your hat make a tinkling sound at the movement,
Resting your weight on one of your hands, you lean over to fill your bottles. From this angle you can see the depth slightly better. The dark water doesn’t let you get the best view, neither do the floating leaves and branches in it, but rather be safe than sorry.
You carefully put the cork back into each of the containers once you’ve filled all three. They too also sink slightly into the ground when you place them atop the mossy surface.
Using the curved handle of your cane, you trace a circle big enough to fit the bottles inside it. Once finished, you place it to the side and draw a sigil in between you and the bottles.
This spell requires more setup than your growth one. Thankfully, you remembered candles this time.
With one candle on each side of the circle, another behind and the final one in front of the sigil, you wave your hand over them and watch as each of them light. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of the tingly feeling in your palm when you do that. It’s a little ticklish.
Your hands cup the air around the containers. Your eyes close as a few notes strum your vocal cords, before your tongue automatically starts forming the words for the ritual.
A gentle flow starting from your heart makes its way to your hands. It feels like cold water running through your veins. You fail to suppress a shiver.
You become acutely aware of your own pulse. Feeling as though a thick liquid flows down your veins, pooling in your fingertips before turning into an invisible mist beforre leaving your body.
The feeling eventually subsides. Your eyes open. Everything looks the same, everything feels the same, except for the barely noticeable glow of the water contained inside your bottles.
Enchanted water, ready to be made into any potion you desire.
A loud caw behind you makes you jump.
One bottle tips over, nearly falling back into the lake before you can catch it.
You whip your head around to glare at the crow that you swear would be smiling if it could.
“Geez! What was that for?” You stare at the bird accusingly, brow furrowed. You place your hands on your hips to sell the over theatrical scolding.
The crow just stares back at you, quickly stepping from one foot to another, making a little tippy tappy sound as each foot hits the ground. In its beak is a quill. Beside it, a blank (and now slightly damp) piece of paper.
Oh right, the letter to Vanessa.
With a sigh, you pick up the paper and take the quill from the crow’s beak. They almost always seem to know when you need something (whether or not they bring you that something is up to them, much to your chagrin)
You stand back up, careful not to slip on the moss, and collect your things. Slowly, slowly, you make your way over to more solid ground. Your bird friend follows.
You plop yourself down beside a thin tree, using the trunk to stop you from falling over. You pull up your knees, leaving some space between them and your chest.
From this position you can write your letter much easier.
A light nuzzle against your hand brings your attention back to your friend.
“Yes, yes, thank you for helping me,” you chuckle. The crow flies up to stand on one of your knees. “But did you have to scare me first, you rascal?”
Your answer is a wing to the face.
You laugh.
The crow flies further up to rest on your hat. The fabric sinks a little under its weight. Guess you’re a bird’s nest today.
You spin the quill around your fingers once before putting it on the paper. The words form without the need for ink.
The letter is short, you’ve done this countless times, you already know exactly what to write.
Dear Vanessa,
A luck potion will be ready for you the next time I set up shop.
Please do not drink this one again, we both know this is not made for consumption. I cannot bear to see you at the doctor’s once more. (I warned you beforehand!)
Best regards,
Bird whisperer
You smile at the nickname she gave you. She thought you were crazy for the longest time after catching you speaking to them.
You lift the paper to the top of your head, “Deliver this to Ness for me, please.” A claw grips onto the edge and the letter leaves your hand. Your friend doesn’t move from its spot.
“Staying a little longer?” You can’t hide the smile in your voice. The gentle rustle of fabric is your response as it nestles further into your hat.
The quill goes into your very full basket.
As you stand up, a small shine catches your eye. You look to one end of the lake, where the river stops, and gasp. Sea glass.
Sea glass!
In your rush to get to shiny items, your friend has to fly beside you to not get thrown off of your head. You mutter a quick apology.
You bend down to pick up a couple of pieces. The colors shine beautifully in the sun. Your crow tries to steal some in its claws but you shoo it away with a playful smile on your face.
You can only put away three pieces before your basket is threatening to spill over.
You’ll have to come back to get the rest another time. You make a mental note to remember this spot, and to remember to be careful on the sunken ground.
Right. That should be everything you need. Now you just need to get back home and put everything where it needs to be.
…which way did you come from again?
Again, you hadn’t been to this part of the forest much. You were unfamiliar with the layout. But you can still make it out, you always do.
Looking from one tree to the next, none of them look familiar. You feel a small peck on your head.
“Not yet, I want to try to make it out myself first.”
You’d spent years in these woods, you at least want to try to make it out when you find yourself lost.
Picking a direction, you set off.
There is no real path, you worm your way through the sparse trees. The ground rises and falls, roots peek out from beneath.
Okay this might have been the wrong direction, you don’t remember this.
You turn on your heel and try walking back. At first you think you’ve set yourself back on track, the forest starts to look familiar again, before you’re cast back into uncertainty. Once again, the woods don’t look like what you remember them to be.
What makes it worse is you already feel your knees start to hurt once more, protesting your constant back and forth.
Gosh, did you really think you could make it out on your own? Sure you’re good at finding your way when you’ve been somewhere once or twice before but you can’t expect yourself to do the same with somewhere you’ve never been before.
You sigh, or groan, you’re not sure, (mix of the two?) and tap the sleeping bird on your head. Had you really been out that long?
The crow springs back to life with a small trill.
“A lil’ help?” You ask a little sheepishly. You don’t really like asking for help but when push comes to shove…
The crow caws and flies up. Scouting out the area to find your best way home. It leaves your sight.
You absentmindedly massage your knees in a useless attempt to soothe the aching pain coursing through them. The hand gripping your cane has grown sweaty.
You still don’t want to give up though.
You’ll stay in the area but you’ll try to see if you find anything that might help set you back on the right path.
In front of you are a plethora of rocks and boulders, to your left, a series of roots with both trees of leaves and needles looming above you, and you came from the right.
You’ll take your chances with the roots, much to the despair of your knees.
The ache is bearable, your legs are going on autopilot despite the fact that it feels like the earth itself is stabbing into your heels with each step.
You try not to dwell on it.
But the sound of something snapping beneath you immediately forces you to think of the worst case scenario.. You were just walking without thinking, did you misplace your foot? Did you break something? It didn’t feel like it but then again you have lost all feeling in your legs before…
You’re still standing though.
You’re… fine. You’re fine. It’s all fine, nothings wrong.
With your hand above your heart, you take a deep breath and try to steady your pulse. It’s probably nothing, no, nothing at all.
You will yourself to look down.
Ah.
Just a twig.
You’re just getting worked up over nothing.
You lift your foot and kick away one half of the broken stick. You make a note to yourself that you can feel the pressure of it when it hits the bottom of your boot. Good, you can still feel your legs.
Your heart regains its steady rhythm, evening out as you will yourself not to think about the possibility of snapping your ankle.
But it immediately drops when you look up. You’ve made your way into a small clearing, like the one your home resides in but much smaller.
Inside is a bordering ring of mushrooms who’s name sends fear right into your very soul.
The fairy ring mushroom. A fairy ring.
It’s forming a fairy ring.
A ring which you stepped into.
A ring which you stepped into.
Dread fills your very being as your cane visibly shakes from your hand’s tight grip on it. The nails of your other hand dig harshly into your palm.
The elders’ teaching from your hometown comes to the forefront of your mind.
Those who step inside a fairy ring bring the fae of that ring to them. By stepping into one you’ve gotten their attention, and you wont get it off of you until they get what they want.
Oh.
Oh you’ve messed up.
You desperately inhale a much needed breath, you didn’t know you were holding it. Your mouth goes dry.
Your body moves on its own as you take a step back. The sound of your foot hitting the ground is much too loud.
Your mind wanders to the stories of children vanishing out of thin air. Of people coming back after disappearing, completely broken beyond repair. Of the man from your village that came back a shell of his former self, only to have to be buried not even a week after. Of the friends and families that went looking for missing.
Of how none would do the same for you.
Other than Vanessa.
You can’t rope her into this mess. You got yourself here, you’re going to deal with whatever cruel consequences the universe has in store for you. if it kills you, then that will be it. You cannot send it after your friend too.
The air around you grows ever colder. No, warmer? It’s like before, it’s both, but so much worse. You can’t decide if you’re burning up or if you feel like you’re about to get frostbite.
But you do know that it’s making you nauseous, and delirious. The same chime of bells fills your ears. But it seems much closer. You can almost pinpoint where it’s coming from, but it feels like it’s all around you at the same time. You don’t know how both can be true.
Or maybe you do, but you don’t want to face it. Whatever faerie resides here has already found you, and you’re being played with. A mere toy.
The nausea brings you to the ground as your knees finally give in and buckle underneath you. Violent tremors take hold of your body.
The contrasting temperature stops.
A sliver of mercy.
Despite your panicked state, your brain yells at you to apologize for your trespassing. Anything to save your skin. Your hand reaches into your basket and pulls out a fistful of your collected trinkets.
Your hands shake as you hold the other half of your bread along with two flowers. A peony and a white tulip. They’ll have to do. You just have to hope whoever is watching will accept it.
You know they’re watching.
You can feel eyes on you. Watching. Staring.
Waiting.
It forces a shudder out of you.
“To whomever I’ve intruded upon,” you start. Your throat feels raw. You quickly swallow.
You lay the bread down in the center of the ring, quietly mourning your appetite before correcting yourself. You have much more urgent matters.
“Please accept these tokens as an apology for stepping where I should not have treaded,” curving the stems of the flowers, you place one above the loaf and one below. Trying your best to form a circle with them.
It’s messy. Sloppy. Far from your best work. You curse your hands for shaking. You just hope that the faerie accepts your poor excuse of presentation.
“I offer my sincerest apologies onto thee, and I beg for your forgiveness.”
The bells stop.
Everything is quiet.
It’s so quiet. You can’t hear the forest. You can’t hear the wind.
You can only hear the flap of wings.
A stinging wetness falls down your cheek. You rise to your feet in a rush of fear. Until you realize. That sound is far too heavy for fae wings.
Turning around, you spot the familiar black shape of one of your crows. The one that was looking for a path home for you. The letter is no longer in its grasp.
You don’t think you’ve ever been so relieved in your life.
The relief doesn’t last long, you’re still in the den of the beast. You need to move, get out, anything. Just get out of here before the fae changes their mind and decides you’re a fun plaything for it to use for its sad*stic purposes.
You hold out your hand, the crow lands on your forearm.
After a quick glance around the area, searching for any sign of the beast you’ve angered, you mutter a small “we need to leave.” Your voice sounds pathetic even to your own ears.
“Lead the way.”
The crow flies just above your head, making sure you can still see it as it begins to fly from whence it came. You follow without hesitation. Your steps are heavy as your heart keeps hammering in your chest. Like that of a hummingbird.
Your crow flies through thick trees with ease, you try your absolute best to keep up. Your vision is getting spotty. You quickly blink the tears away.
Focus. You can’t die here. You won’t let yourself.
A flap of wings makes your stomach turn with dread. Your blood turns cold. That wasn’t from your crow.
No.
No, that was much lighter.
You can’t stop yourself from turning around.
Briefly, very briefly, do you see a small hint of yellow disappearing into the trees.
Followed by the sound of those cursed bells.
Your breath hitches.
The faerie followed you.
You immediately turn on your heel, rushing past your crow as it calls out after you.
Your entire being aches. You cannot let that thing catch you. You can’t. You change the grip on your cane mid step, switching from holding the handle to holding the middle of it. If need be, you will use it as a weapon. You can’t use it while you run anyway, at least this makes use of it. The bird quickly catches up to you. Cawing once more as it zips past you to continue guiding you back home.
It should comfort you. It really should.
But if the bird can catch up to you, so can the faerie.
A sob escapes your throat despite your best efforts. You can’t quiet the yelp that follows when that wretched bell rings once more. Your eyes dart to the right, catching a wing of deep blue and black before it becomes one with the trees’ shadow.
You muffle a scream into your palm.
You feel like you’re going crazy.
Eyes snapping back to the crow currently saving your life, you just barely save yourself from tripping over a rock. Your legs scream in protest, begging for you to stop. You can’t. You just can’t. Your vision feels distorted, your head is spinning.
But you can’t stop running.
You just have to get home. Get home and you’ll be fine. The world sways around you, you can’t tell if it’s because of the faerie’s trickery or your own decaying mental state.
Your hand dives into your basket, the sea glass you previously collected falls onto the ground. You manage to fish out the emergency potions you had made for just this scenario. You get them out just as your surroundings finally start to look familiar again.
You’re almost there! You’re almost home! Just a little further-
A hand brushes along your waist.
You shriek.
You throw one of the potions behind you. You briefly catch a glimpse of a much too close face, you can’t make out much of it before you’re hurling your cane around to hit them in the stomach and force them backwards.
But what you can make out is a sickening grin.
A huff follows them as they stumble just as the elixir you threw hits the ground. The glass shatters as the liquid within it starts to rapidly decay everything it reaches.
You quietly mourn the damage you did to the forest, and the loss of a bottle, as you quickly down the other potion. Energy courses through your bones, forcing your legs to keep moving as your body moves faster than it should be physically able to.
You can’t outrun them. You know that, but at least now you have a chance to get away from the creature.
The bells grow further and further away, but no less frantic. The sound taunts you.
The trees around you grow sparse, the roots are firmly planted beneath the ground instead of peeking out through the surface, varied flora surrounds you. You’ve almost made it.
A layered voice calls from behind you, echoing your previous song when you were peacefully walking through the dense landscape. The sound makes your heart sink. This thing has listened to you. It had followed you long before you stepped into its domain.
The image of a cat stalking its prey enters your mind.
You feel no different. Your chest tightens, another sob runs through you as you once again fail to silence it.
The grass covered ground beneath you slowly starts transitioning into a dirt path. You know this road. The crow that’s been guiding you turns around to fly in the opposite direction. It lets out a forceful sound as it flies by, followed by several more. A quick glance behind you lets you know that your friend has gathered a small flock and is quickly returning to where you were running from.
Forever your fierce protectors. Your heart swells as you finally let the tears fall.
You can no longer quiet your cries, your heart begs to be heard. You pray that the faerie has fallen behind, and it can no longer track you through the terrified noises spilling from you.
Your entire body freezes as you boot catches on the first stone slab leading to your home.
Your legs finally give out underneath you and you very ungraciously fall to the ground. The next slab painfully digs into your back.
The hand holding your cane juts out to use it as a shield between you and the faerie that’s… not there.
You wildly glance around the narrow entrance to the forest. You don’t find anything. No hint of wings peeking out between the bushes. No antennae stalking you from above.
There’s nothing.
And yet, you swear you feel eyes upon you. You can still hear the jingle of bells echoing in your mind. Is it just you? Or can you actually hear it? You don’t know. You don’t want to know. You don’t think your heart can take it.
You move to sit up, and quickly double over as thicker tears fall onto the stone and dirt underneath you.
You shake. The phantom touch of a much too large hand settles onto your back. You want to scream, but only your ragged breath comes out when you open your mouth.
Followed by a gag.
Your head shoots up. A hand comes up to cover your mouth as nausea overwhelms you. You stand up and turn to rush into your home. The wood of your patio creaks under your rapid movement, you nearly trip up the short set of stairs. The potion you drank is still running through your veins.
You slam the door open, not bothering to close it as you cross the short distance and do the same thing with the door to your bathroom.
You throw the lid of your toilet up and hunch over it. Your eyes are still wet, but new tears still flow down as a sour taste fills your mouth. Your stomach empties.
You cough once or twice. Maybe three times before your stomach finally settles back down. Your pulse has yet to follow.
You slump fully against the floor. You feel gross. Your clothes cling to your skin from the sweat running down your body. Your vision is still spotty. Dread fills the empty space in your stomach.
The faerie knew you were there.
You’re not sure how long they had been watching you. But it was long enough for them to hear your song. It was long enough that they could immediately track you down once you stepped inside the ring.
You’re doomed.
It- they- whatever it is, it’s not going to let you go.
Once you’ve attracted the attention of a faerie, it won’t stop tormenting you. You’ve been taught that since you can first remember.
A shaky groan spills out of you as a sour smell fills the air.
You stand back up on shaky legs that nearly refuse to move. The toilet is flushed and the lid is put down.
You really need a shower. And a meal. And a nap.
Nap should be easiest. You’re already exhausted enough to probably pass out at any moment. The dizziness in your head doesn’t help to disprove that either.
Your dreams might haunt you but that’s a problem for future, rested you.
A quick glance out your window tells you the sky is starting to grow dark. How long did you spend on the floor? How long did you spend in the woods? You can’t seem to keep track of time right now.
You might be too tired to shower right now, but a quick splash of water to your face might help clear your mind. And maybe you can snack on the mushrooms in your basket so your stomach at least has something in it.
You cross over to the sink and… wow you look awful.
Your eyes are puffy, you look way too pale and your hair is a mess. Your hat sits askew on your head.
You turn on the faucet, scoop some of the water in your palm and splash it against your face. Looking back up to the mirror you… still look awful. And wet.
With a sigh you walk out of the bathroom. At least your heart isn’t beating out of your chest anymore.
You close the door to the bathroom, along with the one leading to your porch that you had forgotten about in your haste to not throw up on the ground.
Taking off your hat, you set it atop your miniature bookshelf. Your cloak is draped next to it. Digging through your basket, you pull out just a couple of the mushrooms you gathered and bite into them. Your mouth is too dry from your previous state of terror to taste them. They go down with far too much effort. Thankfully, they do not come back up. Your basket is set onto the kitchen countertop.
You know you should be planning your next move but there’s not much you can do. You can’t avoid the faerie but you’ll be damned if you don’t at least try. Maybe they’ll lose interest eventually, you don’t think you’re worth too much as a plaything.
But you did attack it. It might come back for revenge. Your heart almost begins to race again at the thought before you shake it out of your head.
You have half a thought to tell Vanessa. She’s a hunter afterall, she could take care of the wretched creature.
But you can’t. You can’t burden her with this. You’ll deal with this on your own. She already has enough on her plate. Your thought from when you first stepped into the ring is reiterated.
You can’t tell her.
You pass the short corridor leading to your room. The door opens with ease, the window straight across from you shows the forest you just escaped from with what feels like an inch of your life.
You shudder.
Just rest. Take your mind off of it. Don’t think about it.
Don’t.
Just don’t.
You don’t bother changing out of your clothes, you’ll be up again within an hour at most. The day isn’t over yet. You still need to do so much.
The reminder of needing to prepare yourself in case the fae decides to track you down fills your head.
But the thought is quickly put aside.
Right now what you need is rest.
You’re practically dragging your own body over to the green blankets covering your bed. Your cane is set aside to rest against the wall.
Exhaustion swallows you whole as your body hits the mattress.
Outside your window, eyes of red and white watch as your body falls. A glance is shared between them, before they both return to the dark shadows of the forest.
