enjoy my hyperfixations

It wasn't time to get up yet.

You grumbled at Sukuna, trying to bury yourself in the bedding, swatting at him when his great shadow came near. He wouldn't leave you alone, imposing on your sleep with marked persistence.

Eventually, he gave in to your protests, and threw a warm, heavy, fur over you.

You woke to an aching head and blistered fingers. Sitting up with some effort, you began to look around as your eyes adjusted to the dim light.

The place you were in was unfamiliar. You were tucked into a cozy bed, laid out on a straw stuffed mattress beneath a soft, worn quilt. Sunlight streamed through the small gaps in the shuttered windows, and a fire burned low in a stone fireplace, providing just enough light for you to make out your surroundings. On the far side of the room, there was a single door made of sturdy wooden planks. It seemed to be a standard, one-room cabin, the sort that might house anyone from an individual who was more well off, to a small family with just enough to go around. From the looks of things, this place was the home of one or two people.

The cabin was somewhat cluttered, but you found it comfortable overall. The furniture was well-made, though you could tell from the style that it was older. A large portion of the room was taken up by an area that seemed to be reserved for preparing food. There was a sturdy counter that occupied the corner, and a stone oven that looked like it was used often. Against the wall, there was a table with three chairs, one of which was slightly pulled out. There was a significant amount of storage, including some cabinetry along the walls, an old hutch with glass panes, and a chest of drawers at the end of the bed.

There was one more chair in the room, a lovely rocking chair that was situated near the bed you were laying in. Someone's mending had been set to the side, draped over the arm of the rocking chair.

It was warm and quiet, a welcoming place that felt like a home.

The sound of squeaking hinges caught your attention, and you looked up to see the door swinging open, flooding the room with light. A slight shadow stood in the doorway, a person who looked to be carrying firewood.

“Ah—you’re finally awake.”

The woman came into the room, closing the door behind her with her foot. She fed the fire, then lit a lamp that had been waiting on the table. 

She spoke to you as she flitted around the cabin.

“Of course you would finally rouse when I step out for a moment.” She laughed, a merry sound that reminded you of bells. “I suppose that is for the best, I might have gotten excited if you started to wake before my eyes. It might have been too exhausting.”

She fed the fire before approaching you.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, sitting in the rocking chair beside you. “You had me worried—I thought that storm would surely be the end of you.”

Under better light, you were able make out her face. She was pretty, a woman with short, light brown hair and round, kind eyes that sported thick lashes.

A woman who you knew to be long dead. 

“Is it possible for the nameless to recover their names?”

Your grandmother looked down at you, smiling sadly. There had been an unusual incident in the village that morning; a nameless man had wandered into the square and began causing trouble. It wasn't often that the unnamed left the Forest of the Forgotten. Most of them were instinctively drawn toward that place and rarely left once settled.

“If the new owner of the name chooses, they can return it with great effort.” Your grandmother explained. “Though there are other, more unpleasant methods of recovering a name.”

You watched as the unnamed man snarled, pulling relentlessly at his bindings as the people of the village watched. He had been left tied to a post in the square, and was now awaiting formal execution. The leader of the village had called for a nearby group of knights to handle the issue, though it was unlikely that they would actually make an appearance at an appropriate time.

“You do not understand!” The man raved. “He is here! That fae beast walks among you fools! He will surely take all of your names if you do not let me find him!”

It was far past sunset before the knights arrived. You clung to your grandmother's skirts, watching with wide eyes as one of the king's men gutted the unnamed man.

You suddenly felt a new appreciation for your inability to become nameless.

Her name was Ozawa Yuko.

Before being unnamed and ending up a resident of the Forest of the Forgotten, she had been the only child of an influential merchant. 

The details were tragic. Yuko had been caught in a feud between her father’s company and a rival guild of exporters. It was a kidnapping that had gone sideways when a stranger entered the fray. They had appeared suddenly, offering to pay off the guild only for their money to turn into weevily acorns just before the deal could be finalized.

The stranger had been a malicious fae interloper, a deviant playing with the lives of the people involved for their own amusement.

In the end, everything was settled by Yuko selling her own name to the fae.

“How long ago was that?” You asked.

“Some years.” Yuko hummed, poking a needle through her embroidery project. “My father searched for me. He didn't know anything about me, but he was sure he had lost someone that day. Caused more problems than it solved for that conniving guild.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. My father was a rat bastard. He was on his deathbed when I returned, almost all of the riches I sold my name for spent in search of the child he could not be bothered to save properly when he had the chance. He practically spat on me when he realized I was not a son—it is thanks to you that I made it back in time to tell him off properly.” Yuko laughed. 

“I really did not do anything.” You argued. “It was Su—that nameless fae man who helped you.”

“I wandered near that place for years; the master of the woods hardly acknowledged me before I began seeking your company.” Yuko shrugged. “He would have killed me if you had not favored me, and he would not have ever found my name if not to keep me away from you.”

“How did he find it?” You asked.

“I don't know.” Yuko said. “He chased me off deep into the forest that night and threatened me. A few days later, I woke up with my name.”

“You did not see him again?”

“I did not even sense him.”

You mulled Yuko's words over for a moment.

“What did he say to you?” You asked.

“For someone who does not want to discuss Ryomen Sukuna, you certainly have many questions about him.” Yuko smiled knowingly.

You felt your face flush. “Ah—I apologize.”

It was quiet for a while save for the crackling fire and the steady squeak of Yuko's rocking chair.

“He told me he would kill me if I returned to tempt his woman into leaving him again.” Yuko said. “And he asked me what women from my village traditionally received as gifts during courtship.”

“Pardon—?”

“I did not have an answer for him though, so he chased me off.” Yuko sighed. “Now that I think about it, he actually asked twice.”

“I think that might be enough reminiscing.” You said hurriedly. “We really should not be speaking of that person.”

“Mmm, you are probably right.” Yuko hummed. “They say speaking of the nameless is basically the same as inviting them in. I do not think he would be happy to see you with me.”

Yuko reminded you of her deer self at the strangest times. Sometimes when she was eating, you recognized the pretty doe who munched on foliage near Sukuna's clearing. There was something exceedingly graceful about her, a daintiness to her actions that could only be explained by her time as a beautiful, wild creature.

She worked in town at her father's old shop front, selling edible goods and raw materials for everyday living, as well as some of her completed embroidery pieces and items she baked at home. It was work that could be dangerous for a lone woman in that part of the kingdom, but Yuko said she figured she had survived worse threats than bandits and bigoted objectors.

“The people of this town are much more concerned with magic and witches than a single woman making a living right now.” Yuko explained. “I can marry someone while they are not paying attention, and then my problems will be fewer.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?” You asked.

“There was a boy, before I lost my name.” Yuko sighed. “But he left to become a part of the king's guard while I was gone and I decided it best to not seek him out. It would be dreadful to find that he ended up rotten.”

“I have wondered if it is what they do to them in training, or if wickedness is already in them before they start.” You mused.

“There isn't a person alive who does not have a seed of wickedness within them.” Yuko glanced at you. “But the seed of benevolence is always there, too. Presentation depends on which they choose to water.”

“You sound like my grandmother.” You muttered.

You had come to Yuko's shop that day to help her with some of the more challenging manual labor. Yuko was leaner than she had appeared when you last saw her, apparently having struggled with being fully human again, but you were much stronger than you had ever been. Lifting a few bags of grain was perhaps the least you could do to repay her for saving your life.

There hadn't been much discussion about what you would do or where you would go. Yuko seemed content to let you recover at your own pace, and though she had not said it so directly, you were sure she would not mind if you chose to stay indefinitely.

Leaning against the shop counter, you allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to make a life in this place. It would be simple, which you greatly preferred, and there would be plenty of work to occupy your mind. The area was much more populated than the village you had lived your previous life in, but it was still far away enough from the central area of the kingdom for the residents to prefer self-governance.

Though you had not met very many people, you had gotten the sense that this town was accepting of outsiders, and that they did not seek to police the harmless ways of others. Yuko had confirmed that there was not any enforced religious practice among the townspeople, although there was a particularly large sect that followed the king's faith.

The only problem was that you were exceedingly far from the special spring from which you procured your magical water. Even if you skirted the edge of the Forest of the Forgotten, your old village was at minimum a five day journey from where you were now. If you were foolish enough to cut straight through the woods, you might be able to save a couple of days, but there was no telling how long it would take you to discern the correct path initially.

That was all assuming you wouldn't be caught and punished by Sukuna. For all you knew, he could be hanging around the spring to ambush you the moment you showed your face. He was somewhat poetic in that way, you wouldn't put it past him to think it romantic to start and end things with you in the same place.

You did your best to never think about that beast of a man. The thought of him only ever brought you pain, the mess of feelings inside you boiling over each time you remembered what you had done.

Things felt much less complicated now that you were no longer in the Forest of the Forgotten. Though it was true that you were never afforded the luxury of choice, Sukuna had been as kind as he could be cruel. He was aggressive, but never so volatile as to cause you real harm. There had even been improvement in his behavior over time; the Sukuna you had known at the end was a far cry from the monstrous master with which you had begun. It was your affection for Sukuna that had driven you to become sick with longing for his reciprocation, something which you were unsure he would be ultimately able to provide.

Speaking with Yuko about her previous affliction had changed what you believed about the unnamed, and had reinforced your suspicion that spending too much time in the forest had similar effects to becoming nameless. Your head had cleared over the days you were recovering in Yuko's home, the world becoming sharper as the forest's magic left your blood.

You might have investigated if your own magic had been soothed by your departure, were it not for the fact that the public opinion of those with magic had soured significantly in your absence.

“I cannot even sell herbs properly.” Yuko complained. “Buying too many culinary seasonings at once is viewed as suspicious. The taste of food in this town has suffered greatly.”

“A kitchen witch would need more than salt and leaves to cause real harm.” You rolled your eyes. “They would get further with a malicious animal sacrifice.”

“No one ever complains about extra meat in their bowl.” Yuko sniffed. “Folks pick and choose what to view as evil and what to turn a blind eye to. It seems more about convenience than conviction.”

“I am grateful you do not view me as suspicious despite my abilities.” Your eyes flicked to Yuko, who was arranging goods on a shelf in the corner. She didn't even look over as she answered.

“It is convenience.” She hummed. “Who would keep me company if I reported you? I would have to settle for someone less interesting.”

It was pure instinct that had you ducking behind the counter as the shop door opened, a ripple in the air that felt familiar in a way that turned your stomach.

The sound of his voice confirmed it, a timbre you had not forgotten even after so long.

“No one told us this place was owned by a pretty, little woman. Tell us, ma'am, do you offer special discounts for the king’s loyal men?”

The appearance of Sir Zenin Naoya had startled you badly. That horrifying man had stood mere paces from where you hid beneath the shop's counter, flirting heavily with Yuko and muddying the floor with his boots. You had feared the worst, but it seemed he was content to make Yuko uncomfortable and leave without creating too much trouble.

Yuko had taken your actions in stride, though she did seem thoroughly impressed by your quick reaction. When you told her of the events that brought you into the Forest of the Forgotten, she was horrified but unsurprised.

“There has been no official decree, but distrust is strong enough among the people that they turn a blind eye to more egregious actions.” Yuko mused. “Even I was under scrutiny when I returned, and I was known to be completely ordinary before being unnamed.”

“I thought that mine was an isolated incident.” You sighed. “It is troubling to find that such violence is practically sanctioned."

“There has been word that it is worse in the larger cities. Entire temples have been desecrated, their followers jailed or murdered outright.” Yuko admitted. “Though gossip is not reliable when spreading fear becomes an agenda.”

“Whether it is truth or fable matters not.” You agreed.

“Perhaps it would be best for you to spend more time out of sight.” Yuko said. “Just until this group of knights passes through.”

It was that very evening that you began to make plans to leave. Spring would come soon, and you would be able to travel on your own with greater ease.

Though you were eternally grateful to Yuko for her kindness and generosity, you knew that her association with you brought potential for great harm. Her position was fragile enough; the last thing that someone like Yuko needed was to be found harboring a witch. It would be best if you removed yourself before that possibility ever arose.

You did what you could around her home, fixing things that needed mending and cleaning up areas that had been neglected. She kept chickens in a coop adjacent to her home, the lot of which had been sickly over the harsh winter, so you spent a great deal of your time patching areas that let in drafts. Yuko didn’t question your actions; she knew that you had become uncomfortable with extensive idleness through your time with Sukuna. 

It made you feel bad to think about leaving someone you cared for again, but this time you were more assured that it was the right thing to do.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

The night before your vial would run dry, you finally told Yuko that you had to go. It was during your evening meal that you mustered the courage. Your untouched bowl had begun to grow cold, the anxiety of disappointing your friend spoiling your appetite.

“There is an important journey that I must make.”

Yuko nearly spit out her soup, shock painting her features as she processed what you had said.

“You intend to leave?” Yuko asked. “Are you sure that is wise?”

“My faith requires it.” You tried to be vague, but you knew that Yuko would be smart enough to put things together. “It is not a matter of choice.”

Her eyes widened.

“Surely you do not intend to return to that wood.” Yuko gasped. “Foolishness of all foolishness, what you seek cannot possibly be worth your life.”

You smiled.

“I do not expect you to understand, Yuko.” You said. “But I must go all the same.”

The stars were brighter that night than they had ever appeared, the sky in which they were embedded somehow darker despite it. It was still, achingly so, as if the forest before you was holding its breath. Your grandmother brought you just over the threshold, holding your hand the entire way.

It was the first time you had been allowed to enter that forbidden place. As you crossed over, the shadows in the Forest of the Forgotten seemed to come alive, dancing as if there was fire all around. Strange sounds echoed through the trees, and quick, sparkly movements caught your eye, distractions that had been completely absent only a moment before. The smell of summer rain had disappeared entirely, replaced by fragrant flowers which bloomed before you in a mere instant.

Your grandmother squeezed your hand, bringing your attention back to the matter at hand. In her other hand, she cradled a vial of glass filled with water, a pretty thing wrapped in vines of silver.

“Hold out your palm.” Your grandmother directed.

You acted without question, and were surprised to see the shine of a knife as your grandmother quickly drew it across your open hand. She had you make a fist, allowing your blood to drip into the special vial.

“After tonight, this wondrous thing will be yours, child.” She explained. “Cherish this gift, for it alone is strong enough to hold the sacred water.”

She helped you anoint yourself, whispering prayers and incantations as she worked. You prayed together, the same way that you did each evening, though this time the action evoked an invigorating feeling that you had never experienced. The pain in your hand faded, though blood still steadily weeped from the cut. 

Your grandmother pressed the vial into your uninjured hand.

“Drink.” She instructed. “All of it.”

You did as you were told, emboldened by the fire of your faith and eager to please your caretaker. When you finished, she took the vial from you and had you sit on the spot.

“You must not move from here, child.” She said firmly. “Whatever you see, hear, or feel—you must endure it all. I will return for you with the sun. Do not allow any of the things you experience to shake your faith.”  

By morning, you were exhausted, but strangely enlightened by the visions that had come to you in the night. When your grandmother came for you, you tried to explain what you had seen, only for her to stop you.

“The things that the stars show you…they are meant for you alone, dear child.” She said, embracing you tightly.

You looked up at her, your vision bleary.

“Is it forbidden to speak of such things?” You asked.

Your grandmother shook her head, pulling a familiar piece of jewelry from the pocket of her dress. Your late mother's necklace, with its dainty chain of silver and sharp, broken green stone, was placed around your neck.

“What you see here is wisdom, the whispers of silent stars and shadows of long-snuffed light.” She said. “It is knowledge and power both. To share it is not something to be done lightly.”

You considered her words for a moment, long since accustomed to the cryptic way she spoke of the intangible.

“I treasure your experience, Grandmother.” You said finally, your wounded hand coming to touch the jagged stone of your mother's necklace. “Your light shines so brightly. I can only hope that I have the sense to follow your example through the dark.”

Your grandmother smiled at you, an expression that was as proud as it was pained.

“My dearest one.” She said, hooking her arm with yours as she brought you back to the forest's edge. “One day you will come to understand the true nature of all of this. I can only hope you will feel the same then as you do now.” 

In the end, you decided to let Yuko see you off.

Her big, brown eyes were watery, but she didn't allow the tears to fall, the excess wetness gathering in the corners on her thick lashes.

“I know you have to leave.” Yuko said. “But I surely wish you could stay.”

“Were things different, I very well might have.” You smiled. “I am thankful fate brought us together, even for such a short time.”

You reached into the pocket of your apron, retrieving the ossified egg you had saved from your burning cottage. To you, it seemed like that tragedy had happened a lifetime ago, but the egg still felt hot to the touch.

“Keep this safe where your chickens nest.” You said, placing the small, round object in Yuko's hand. “It will protect them, and they will always lay well for you.”

Yuko hugged you tight.

“You are not allowed to die out there.” She said softly.

“Stars willing, I will not perish on either side of the forest's border.” You laughed, squeezing Yuko just as tightly. “At least not before my time.”

By day, you traveled along the wintery edge of the wood. By night, you planned to camp on its summery side.

The consequences of forgoing part of your nightly ritual entirely were largely unknown to you. Your grandmother had never touched on the possibility, but you were sure there was some significance to the action beyond religious symbolism. Though in the past it had been necessary to ration the precious magical water for one reason or another, you had never actually gone completely without. You figured that the soundness of your magic was already in jeopardy, and you were willing to take the risks so long as you were working toward a solution.

To be a witch was dangerous as things were anyway.

In all your varied experiences of hardship, you could never have anticipated the sheer pain you felt that first night.

It burned like starfire. White-hot and unrelenting, the sensation worsened with the moonrise, and you would have fallen to your knees were you not already on the ground.

Wrapped in the thick coat Yuko had given you, you tried to breathe through the feeling, praying mindlessly for relief that did not come. After some time, the burning dulled, though it did not completely fade. If anything, it was more that you grew used to the fiery ache, a numbness that came more from strength of mind than body.

Eventually, dawn came and you were able to struggle to your feet, which dragged you onward despite your exhaustion.

The cycle repeated the next night and each night after. Though sometimes you were able to bring yourself to sleep, you spent most of your time in agony, the pain bleeding into the hours before and after the sun left the sky.

Your journey, which you had prepared well for, was taking longer than expected. The first time you thought to leave the forest's edge and seek supplies in a nearby settlement, you found that there was no settlement to be found at all. The smoldering remains of the little village were sickening to behold, the entire place abandoned in such haste that there were still starving animals stuck in intact pens.

That day was spent releasing the livestock, though you might have thought better of it once you reached the village's center. On the ground was a message, two words that had been spelled out using large rocks.

PLAGUE MAGIC

The next place you tried was nearly the same, and after the third you gave up the pursuit entirely.

It was only when you finally ran out of provisions that you decided to try your luck.

The ritual to summon the wishing well felt like meeting an old friend long forgotten, the entire process somewhat bittersweet. You steeled yourself in your faith, keeping your heart out of the affair as you closed your eyes. Between your hands, you held your small wooden horse.

The flare of pain might have been purely agonizing, were it not for the fact that the wishing well accompanied the unwelcome sensation. You could barely contain your joy, a relief untouched by the increasingly familiar pain that filled you as you offered the wooden horse to the well.

This time, rather than black water, it seemed to be filled with dark ichor.

For a moment, you feared that you had asked too much after such a tumultuous time apart. An evening meal for such a treasured item would normally have been a significant overpayment, but you knew that you had incurred some unknowable debt with your magic. That tiny wooden carving had been the very first gift you had ever received as thanks for your services, so you had thought it fitting to sacrifice it for the wishing well's forgiveness.

The air seemed to vibrate around you as the well considered your offering. There wasn't much you could do if the well rejected you, but the fact that the mystical structure had appeared at all was a favorable sign. There was a resounding crack, a sound loud enough to shake the very ground beneath your feet. Though you were used to the well's temperament, it never failed to unnerve you in its mysterious ways. 

Despite the well's ominous behavior, the carving sank normally, disappearing below the surface as the well rumbled its approval. The return was a simple meal, but you struggled to feel genuine gratitude when you saw what the well had provided.

A few handfuls of fresh, tart berries, and a large grouse baked in mud, still hot. 

That night, you felt no pain.

It confused you, but you didn't plan on seeking answers. The peaceful sleep was welcome after days of restlessness, though it may have been that you traded the physical pain for emotional hurt instead.

You dreamt of him.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

Sukuna never said much when he tied you to himself before your outings. He rarely spoke out of turn, and being that he was the master of the clearing, conversation was often in short supply. Still, sometimes he would offer more than the occasional, gruff order for you to lift your arms.

That day, he had questions.

“Is there a season you favor, woman?” He asked, tying off another knot. The black rope had begun to wear soft with use, the gentle sound of the attached crotal bells welcome to your ears.

“Mmm?” You hummed. “A season?”

“Yes, woman.” Sukuna huffed. He sometimes seemed frustrated with how relaxed you became during the process, though he didn't ever do anything to deter it. “Which do you favor?”

You pondered the question for a moment. There were good and bad things about every season, just as with anything else. It hadn't occurred to you that you should enjoy one in particular over another.

“I think—perhaps I favor summers the most.” You said. “The nights are warm enough that one could sleep under the stars, and the forest is full with new life.”

Sukuna used his grip on the rope to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you as he began to tie off another length of rope behind you. The casual closeness made your stomach flutter, and you averted your eyes from his steady gaze, choosing instead to look at the dark tattoos on his face.

“Summer—” Sukuna said the word like he was tasting it. “I suppose it is a fine season.”

When you dared to look at his eyes, you regretted your boldness immediately. Sukuna was staring at you, as if he was waiting for you to look all along. He tied the next knot roughly, causing you to squeak in surprise. The last length that connected the two of you was always something Sukuna made quick work of, and he made no exception on this occasion.

“Come, woman.” He said, tugging you toward the forest's edge. “The day is short, and there is much to do before evening comes.”

You followed him, spending most of the trek thinking about how nice Sukuna's dark hair looked among the turning leaves, and you found yourself wondering if you might actually prefer autumn.

The evidence of tragedy appeared far before you reached your old village.

The earth was scorched, the grasslands that once surrounded the settlement burnt to ash. In some places, the decimation led right up to the edge of the Forest of the Forgotten, though the forest itself was expectedly untouched. The smell was noxious. It was the scent of sickness, a putrid combination of charred corpses and animal waste.

You dared not approach the village proper, but you could see the derelict skeletons of buildings long abandoned on the horizon. It was worse than all of the destruction you had seen previously; the fires had taken most everything. The land was largely flat and barren, the ground releasing dark, miasmic vapors that curled menacingly through the air.

The path to your old cottage seemed particularly dangerous, and you were forced to stick to the very edge of the forest to avoid the worst of the damage.

Despite being made mostly of flammable material, the cottage itself was miraculously still standing, though it was a far cry from the beautiful place you once called home. The frame was constructed of stone, mud, and old growth timber, and so it had largely been left intact, though the thatched roof was completely gone.

The door was thrown wide open, looking just as you had left it when you fled the disaster.

Imprudent in your courage, you crept toward the cottage, examining the debris carefully. Your garden had been salted so heavily that a crust of halite had formed over some areas, the evidence of the act still present even after so much time. Standing in the doorway, you could clearly see that the cottage had been looted. Though you had not hoped to recover anything, seeing that what may have remained was already gone left you with an unpleasant tightness in your chest.

The sound of an animal snorting made you jump. You spun around to see a large, dark creature staring at you, looming mere paces from where you stood.

It was a yearling colt, his coat pitch black. His ears pinned back, the beast stomped a hoof, shaking his head slightly as he watched you. The appearance of a horse in a place where horses had historically lived would not have been of interest to you, were it not for the fact that you had seen the decayed carcasses of many such animals on your journey. This animal was in astoundingly good health given the circumstances.

An idea came to you then, something that had been lurking in the back of your mind since the last time you were in this place.

“It was you all along, wasn't it?” You spoke softly to the horse, watching his ears swivel toward you. “The one they couldn't give up.”

The horse didn't answer, though he did offer another small snort.

You had gone over that last sacrifice in your mind scores of times. The meeting with the rancher, the tiny colt in your garden, and the still animal that sank into the depths of the well. There were so many things that could have gone wrong, but there was something about those details that made you believe it was more complicated than mere error.

There had been two foals. One that had played outside your cottage, and one that was born with empty lungs.

The visions that had come to you that last night had all blurred together, but the sight of that colt disappearing into the darkness of the forest had always stuck with you. You couldn't deny it now—among the many things you had seen that night, that sight had at least been real.

The rancher had lied. They had taken you for the kindhearted fool you were, and brought the foal’s stillborn twin in place of the living one. When your magic had failed, those ignorant people had blamed you instead of themselves, and had then ultimately paid a heavy price for their selfishness.

“All of that for them to leave you behind.” You whispered. “How awful.”

It wasn't hard to imagine how the village had come to be destroyed. Magic worked in mysterious ways, and the consequences of trying to cheat the stars were bound to be unfavorable. While the burning of your home had always felt like a personal punishment, you were now beginning to understand that you had actually been blessed.

“Are you lonely here?” You asked the horse, reaching into the pocket of your satchel for the few berries that remained from your earlier sacrifice.

The colt relaxed a little, his body language softening as you spoke to him. He blinked at you, nickering quietly as he took a small step forward. You held the fruit out in your palm averting your gaze slightly as the young horse took another curious step. Soft lips tickled your hand, the berries gone in an instant. The beast ground them between his teeth, the delight of receiving a treat apparent in his expression.

“I am lonely, too.” You admitted, extending a hand cautiously toward the horse's muzzle. He was shockingly gentle for how standoffish he had been at first, leaning into your touch as you stroked him.

The spool of enchanted thread was certainly meant to be used in a different way than you were planning, but that was of little importance to you. You cut a length with your knife of bone, braiding it into a tiny section of the colt's mane. He twitched under you as you cut a small section of hair from his forelock, watching carefully as you used more thread to weave yourself a bracelet.

“There.” You smiled as you tied the bracelet onto your wrist. “Now we will be with one another wherever we go.”

Though you had never found a horse to understand your words exactly as they were spoken, you had always gotten the feeling that they correctly interpreted the sentiment. The black colt nickered again, a sound he was apparently unusually prone to making. He followed you as you went to find a spot to camp by the forest's edge, occasionally nudging at your satchel when you removed it for the evening.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

Sleep eluded you that night. The colt lingered nearby, alternating between dozing and snacking on foliage at the forest's edge. The cold was worse that night than it had been in many days, and you found yourself unable to quiet your mind.

The thought of all the people you had ever helped potentially having perished in fire or of terrible sickness disturbed you greatly. Though you had thought yourself to have already successfully let go of that part of your life, the idea of all the good you had ever created being undone so easily made you hurt.

What was the point of all of that sacrifice if nothing could be salvaged? Was the relief you had provided little more than illusion? Could your practice even be considered one of sanctity if it had ultimately led to this unholy end?

The colt was still nearby when morning came. He followed you around as you wandered the tree line, interested in almost everything that you did. You found yourself wondering when the last time he had seen a person was.

“It may be dangerous where I am going.” You said. “Though you are welcome to accompany me.”

The horse huffed, his nostrils flaring slightly, as if he was telling you that he was already familiar with the forest's ways.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

The path was always the same. Waves of nostalgia overcame you, the journey that you had taken so many times filling you with uneasy familiarity. You tread carefully, taking each step as if it was your very first, though you knew better than to believe such an ancient place would change in so little time.

You smelled the moonflower before you saw it, an overgrowth of blooms that produced an unmistakable scent.

Pushing through the foliage, you found that the spring was almost the same as you remembered, save for the presence of a familiar, ethereal person lounging by the small pool of water.

He looked just as he had the last time you had seen him, his white hair and sparkling blue eyes catching the sunlight that filtered through the trees. His robe sat folded beside him, his partial nudity revealing more of his damaged body. The scars on his skin shone slightly in the dim light. There was a particularly large one cutting straight across his middle that caught your eye, something you had not noticed the last time you had seen him. He had an innate relaxation about him, a confidence that spoke of his power without needing it to be presented outright.

The fae man seemed even more unbothered on spotting you.

“Ah—” The pretty man sighed. “So you have finally returned, stargazer. I had wondered if I should ever be so lucky as to meet you again.”

Your throat closed in your shock, catching your cry of surprise. Behind you, the colt snorted apprehensively, though the fickle beast was quick to turn his attention toward the bounty of moonflower.

“Come, sit.” He beckoned you. “I have a wish I need granted.”

Just as darkness is inevitable, so too is the coming of starlight.

retrograde by duster

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