Where The Wild Magic Sleeps

“You always fight this angry, Songbird?”

“Call me that again and I’ll show you just how angry.”

Long before they trusted each other with their lives, Roselyn Mercè and Ashtyn Valemere could barely stand being in the same room.

Roselyn was a common-born bard with a temper to match the flames dancing along her rapier.

Ashtyn was a young noble duelist who seemed to wear confidence, and sarcasm, as naturally as breathing.

One thought the other was an arrogant princess.

The other thought she’d been paired with an uncivilised brute.

Their first weeks training to join the Rainths Family Guard were filled with arguments, sarcastic remarks, and increasingly competitive sparring matches.

Then one duel ended with both of them tumbling headfirst into a muddy lake.

Somehow…

That was the beginning of a lifelong friendship.

Sometimes the people who become family are the ones you swore you’d never be able to stand.

I think one of my favourite things to write is relationships that grow.

Not instant friendships. Not people who immediately understand each other.

I love characters who clash. Who misunderstand each other. Who spend months, or years, earning each other’s trust until one day they realise they’d do anything for the person they once couldn’t stand.

Roselyn and Ashtyn became that for each other.

Not a dragon.

Not a lich.

Not an ancient vampire.

A broom.

An animated broom.

The party found it quietly sweeping away in an abandoned manor.

If they’d simply left it alone, nothing would have happened.

Instead…

Someone grabbed it.

So naturally, initiative was rolled.

The little menace refused to die. It just kept hitting.

At one point I jokingly narrated:

“The broom growls, ‘If I’m going down, you’re coming with me.’”

…and then I immediately rolled two natural 20s.

The broom took being grabbed personally.

By the end of the session it had become our first permanent character death.

To make matters worse…

I rolled EIGHT natural 20s tonight.

Including FOUR IN A ROW.

I have photographic evidence because frankly no one would believe me otherwise.

Apparently my dice woke up today and collectively decided:

“Violence.”

I love D&D.

This drawing is from just over a year ago, when I was exploring some of my childhood in therapy. And you know what, it’s allowed to see the light of day alongside my happier works.

It’s called

Everything I Could Give

———————

Is this enough for you yet?

Will it ever be enough?

Some children grow up believing love is something you earn.

You become the helper.

The peacemaker.

The one who never asks for too much.

The one who carries everyone else.

You give away little pieces of yourself—

your childhood,

your time,

your safety,

your voice.

Always hoping that this will finally be enough.

Sometimes, years later, you find yourself trying to explain what happened.

Not because you want someone to take the blame.

Just because you want someone to say,

“I see it now.”

Sometimes that moment never comes.

Learning that someone may never understand your childhood the way you lived it is its own kind of grief.

So now the question isn’t whether I was ever enough for someone else.