💫star-crossed💫

"Yes." You nodded. "I thought it might be nice to get an early start today."

"Ah—shall I see if Nobara is available to accompany you?" Yuta asked.

"That won't be necessary." You said with a tight smile. "I plan to study in my room this morning."

"I see." Yuta said, returning your smile. "Then Megumi can escort you back—"

"That's hardly necessary." You asserted. "I know the way from here."

Yuta and Megumi exchanged a look.

"…as you wish, my lady." Yuta acquiesced. "Please let us know if you need anything."

You didn't bother answering, turning away quickly so that neither of the knights could see your rapidly crumbling facade of composure.

The very last thing you wanted was for other people to recognize what you were going through and then feel something about it. The woman that you were now was a far cry from the woman you had been when you arrived at the palace. Where she would have done anything to have someone to lean on, you would rather suffer the embarrassment of what you were dealing with alone.

What right did any of them have to feel something about your suffering? Nothing could be done about what was happening to you, and it's not as if anyone would have stepped in anyway.

You were about halfway back to your quarters when you noticed you were being followed.

It was one of Megumi's rabbits. Completely harmless, but clearly deployed to keep an eye on you. You supposed you should feel grateful that you were still considered valuable enough to warrant surveillance.

You practically slammed the door to your room shut behind you, looking pointedly at the bunny that was poised to scamper inside. You caught it stomping its little, fluffy foot just before the door closed, its nose twitching in irritation.

Back against the door, you slid down to sit on the floor, hugging your knees as you finally felt safe to release the glamour you had been maintaining since yesterday morning.

While it might have been nice to cry and let some of your feelings out, you found that you didn't really have the energy. Yesterday had been exhausting, and the dramatic turn of events in Satoru's chambers had left you emotionally drained.

At least the most difficult part was done. You had survived your wedding and made it through your first night with your husband. Now, you just needed to avoid him continuously. It probably wouldn't be hard, especially considering Satoru had been making a similar effort ever since you arrived. With any luck, he would neglect you entirely.

If you really thought about it, this was the most desirable outcome for you in your arranged marriage. It was almost like being a forgotten concubine. No real responsibilities, no unwanted husband to pester you every night, no need to garner unattainable favor.

You smiled to yourself, thinking about how easy it would be to focus on your sorcery. The garden had plenty of resources, and you had heard that there was a greenhouse somewhere nearby as well.

That was probably where Satoru got the asphodel.

The memory of him burning those flowers for his mysterious, preferred partner replayed in your mind. You weren't jealous, though it was impossible to not feel a little envious. It made your soulmark ache, the thought of your own soulmate yearning for you making you a little melancholy.

Before the start of your tragic arranged marriage, you had only imagined your soulmate through the lens of one day meeting with them and living happily ever after. Now that it was an impossibility, you truly understood Satoru's act of mourning.

Even though you disliked the man, it still made a part of you want to comfort him. You weren't foolish enough to believe it would be a good idea to reveal just how much you understood what he was going through, not that doing so was possible in the first place.

After feeling sorry for yourself for a little while, you eventually managed to pull yourself to your feet. 

It seemed like the staff had gotten the message that you wanted to be alone, something for which you were unreasonably thankful.

Finally taking the necklace your father had gifted you off, you felt like the weight of the previous day left you with it. You drew your own bath for the first time in what felt like forever, soaking in the enormous tub in an attempt to wash away the bad feelings still clinging to your skin. It was nice to not have anyone pulling you this way and that. You were fairly certain you wouldn't have been able to handle it after yesterday. 

Nobara did come to your door to call you for breakfast, but you elected to skip it, claiming to be too sore and tired to leave your bed.

The day passed by quickly. You spent most of it reading over a new text you had brought with you on the use of common herbs in basic potions, annotating as you went so that you could utilize the information more easily later when you tried to put it into practice. Most of what you learned wasn't new to you, but it was always good to get a different sorcerer's perspective for methods on how potions should be brewed.

You were so invested in the uninterrupted study session that you didn't even realize the sun had set.

A sharp knock on your door pulled your nose from your book.

"My lady?" Nobara called.

Deciding it would be best to not cause them believe you were deliberately hiding yourself away, you made your way to the door, nearly forgetting to reinstate your glamour before opening it. You didn't miss the way Nobara's good eye quickly looked you over before she spoke.

"Your evening meal is ready." She explained.

"I'm not hungry." You replied.

Nobara's brow quirked in irritation. You had noticed that she had a temper, one that probably would have made her unfit to serve as any other noble woman's lady in waiting. To you, however, it was refreshing. It was nice to be around someone who wasn't constantly posturing, or at least someone who wasn't always succeeding at it.

"That may very well be true, my lady." Nobara sighed. "But his highness insists."

It shouldn't have shocked you to hear that as much as it did. It only made sense; Satoru couldn't have you wasting away before he had gotten his use out of you. Who would possibly volunteer to tolerate the crown prince long enough for him to become emperor if you died so quickly after you were wed?

"Is it possible to take my meal here?" You asked. "I would prefer to not be forced to dress just to eat alone."

Nobara pushed her way into the room.

"If my lady truly cannot be bothered, we can throw a dressing gown over—" Nobara eyed your thin slip. "—that. The lingering guests have all been sent home anyway."

You sighed. It was apparently too much to hope for the ability to quietly disappear into the background so soon after being introduced to the palace. You would just have to keep trying; the people around you would surely tire of attempting to keep up with what were ultimately unnecessary duties eventually.

After allowing Nobara to help you into the heavy, blue dressing gown, you followed her to the dining room, dragging your feet the entire way. Though you knew you needed to eat, it was hard to get excited for a meal that was guaranteed to be unappetizing. You practically had to choke down all of the meals served in the last few days before your wedding.

Walking into the room, you saw that Maki and Mai were posted where Megumi and Yuta usually stood. It was late; the two knights likely had duties more important than waiting around for you to show up to eat.

The food came quickly after you sat down, and you were absolutely astonished to find that you could actually smell it. Other than what you had eaten at your wedding, you hadn't been served hot food in at least a week and a half. It smelled good, too, an earthy mix of herbs and spices filling your nose as the meal was placed in front of you.

It was some kind of pot pie, the flaky, buttery crust a far cry from the burnt bread you had been receiving. You broke it open with your fork, a fragrant steam rising from the creamy mixture inside. It appeared to be a mix of roasted root vegetables in a rich, thick sauce, the smell of black pepper and garlic growing stronger as you brought a bite toward your mouth.

It was delicious. The taste of it was comforting—nothing too complex, but overwhelmingly hearty. It was hard to not devour it like some kind of starved animal, the fear that it would suddenly be stolen from you looming as you tried to maintain a civilized demeanor.

You actively worked to not think about the reason that you were suddenly receiving something palatable. Maybe skipping breakfast had made them think twice about what they were giving you, or perhaps they just felt bad enough for you to give you a break.

You didn't even notice someone dropping a second dish off, only realizing it as you polished off the pie. Beside you was a plate of thinly sliced, toasted bread with some kind of soft cheese and fruit preserves. Dessert was not something you had been served in your time at the palace, so your sweet tooth was more than deprived. The plate of bread, cheese, and fruit disappeared much more quickly than the main course, the tart sweetness still lingering on your tongue as you later laid back in your bed.

Full and satiated for the first time in weeks, you decided that you didn't care why you had gotten a good meal. They couldn't take it from you now, and you were smart enough to not believe that you should be expecting similar treatment in the future.

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When all was finally quiet much later that night, you threw a paper crane out your window, watching as it turned into a small bird and flew away.

The halls were predictably empty, though it wouldn't have mattered much under cover of darkness. It took little effort to spirit yourself through them to your destination. For good measure, you released another, louder bird to act as a distraction, which would hopefully draw the attention of anyone in the immediate area.

You hung the sachet from the handle of his door, figuring that he would easily happen upon it there.

It was merely a paltry show of appreciation for a good meal. Nothing more.

A week later, the improved meals still hadn't stopped. In fact, the quality of your food had only gotten better. The first morning, you had been a little shocked to find a fresh, hot breakfast waiting, but your amazement only grew as the meals quickly became increasingly elaborate.

The surprise quickly turned to confusion. Nobara still refused to let you eat your morning and evening meals in your room, although after you had made the request several times in a row, someone started to bring you a snack midday.

You had been taught well enough to never look a gift horse in the mouth, and so you simply carried on as you had planned. When you felt brave enough to wander the palace grounds, you took great care to avoid anywhere you thought that your husband might be. You didn't dare to venture into the gardens yet, still too scarred from the last time you had visited, but you had successfully bewitched a few more paper cranes to bring you sprigs of herbs and flowers.

As the next few weeks went on, being sequestered in your chambers started to drive you a little crazy. However, you were determined to keep up your hermit behavior until people slowly began to forget about you.

Your father always said that being mildly insane made for a better sorcerer anyway, something that you were finding to be true. The boredom was making you more productive when it came to creative problem solving, and there was actually a special sort of peace that came along with not being constantly distracted by frivolous things.

You were somewhat sad though. It had already been lonely for you in the palace, so cutting off the little social contact that you did have before isolating yourself amplified that feeling. You could tell that the staff noticed that you were hurting for company when you blabbered on about nothing during your meals.

That was probably why Yuta had been reassigned to your rotation of escorts. He had always been the most open to chatting with you. The young knight kept his distance, both physically and emotionally, but you had to admit it was still really nice to have the comfort of someone who was more gentle with you.

"Perhaps you should consider getting out more, my lady." Yuta suggested.

You were complaining about how stuffy your room had been getting with the summer heat, so it wasn't like Yuta was bringing it up out of nowhere, but something about the way he was speaking made you believe he had been waiting for an opportunity to speak on it.

"I don't know—" You sighed. "I would hate to take up your time with such unimportant affairs as following me around the gardens."

You thought that bringing up the gardens would deter Yuta, but it only encouraged him.

"You would like to see the gardens again?" Yuta asked. "That is something we could arrange—I can walk you to Nobara's quarters after you finish eating."

Nobara's quarters were halfway across the palace, though it felt like most places were with how enormous the grounds were. You knew the path well, and as you considered the offer, a wicked idea suddenly popped into your head.

After the incident with Satoru in the gardens, Yuta always took care to follow you at a significant distance. Between where you were currently and Nobara's quarters, there were several places where it would be easy to round a corner and disappear without raising the suspicion that you had intentionally lost your tail.

You wouldn't need long alone in the gardens—there were just a few plants that you were interested in acquiring without being actively observed.

You smiled, the perfect route already coming together in your mind.

"You know what? That sounds nice." You mused. "We can go find Nobara after this."

There was a quiet eagerness about Yuta as he followed behind you. He seemed pleased with himself after getting you to agree to a walk in the gardens. It made you wonder if your keepers had been instructed to ensure you were getting proper enrichment, or if he was simply kind enough to genuinely care about your well-being.

That almost made you feel a little guilty about planning to utilize him in another one of your schemes. You weren't planning something devious this time, though. You would just be making your way to the gardens a little faster than expected—it wasn't like you were going out of your way to run into Satoru again.

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You could hear Yuta calling for you as you slipped into an alcove, could hear his panicked footsteps as he broke into a run to try and catch up. The young knight had good instincts—he had actually turned the correct direction. Watching as his shadow blew past your hiding spot, you waited until you could no longer hear him before peeking out into the hall.

Once you confirmed that you were alone, you dashed in the opposite direction, sliding around the corner toward your temporary freedom. If you were quick, it would only take you a few minutes to reach a spot that would lead you outside, and the gardens wouldn't be far beyond that.

Your time locked away had apparently been detrimental to your mental map of the palace. When you hadn't found the area that you had expected to reach, you panicked and unlocked a window, clambering outside in hopes that you would have a better idea of where you were once you weren't within the palace halls anymore.

That turned out to be wishful thinking; however, as you were completely lost almost immediately after leaving the vicinity of your escape window.

It turned out that being lost outside the palace wasn't so bad, though. Yuta had been right about you needing to get out. Your mood improved significantly after spending just a little time in the sun, and though you would likely not be accomplishing your original goal, you didn't really feel disappointed. You could always visit the garden another day, and there were still plenty of books in your room that you could harvest pages from for paper cranes.

Allowing yourself to wander freely, you noticed an area nearby that you had never seen before. The scenery grew less ornamental as you neared it. There were still some trees around, but the shrubbery lining the walkways had become much smaller and more sparse. In some places, the ground was covered only in short grass or small rocks, and in the distance you could see tamped earth that must have been used for training of some kind.

Coming up near the outside of the palace, you noticed a network of covered walkways that lined its exterior. You took the first turn available in hopes that the cover would give you a little extra time to explore alone.

The space the walkways surrounded did appear to be intended for training. You noted several worn dummies in the courtyards, along with empty, wooden racks that were presumably meant to hold weapons. The huge, stone pillars the supported the ceiling of the walkways obscured your view of the outdoor space that they bordered, and so by the time you realized that you had happened upon an area that was in use, it was already far too late.

Impulsively, you decided to hide behind one of the pillars for a bit until the person training left, but apparently they were extremely diligent. From how things sounded, they were quite athletic, their vigorous exercise enough to make you feel tired just from listening.

Truly, you hadn't intended to look at all, but eventually the combined power of your curiosity and boredom grew too great. Peering around the pillar, a flash of steel caught your eye, and it was regrettably out of your hands from there.

Satoru was bare from the waist up, his tunic discarded on the ground near a waterskin. In daylight, you could make out more detail than you had been able to on the morning after your wedding. A body unlike any you had ever seen, strong and toned, the hard lines of him dripping with his exertion. He somehow looked bigger without his tunic, his stature and strength causing his intimidating form to seem even more impressive. Even from a distance, hidden in the shadow of a pillar, you could see the definition of the muscle on his body.

It was mesmerizing, not only the beauty of him, but the predatory efficiency of his form.

The sight of him hard at work was so distracting that you didn't notice it at first. An enormous scar, old and faded, spanning all the way around his middle. It was the sort of scar you had seen before, the kind that was left behind after the removal of a soulmark. When fresh, those scars still sparkled and shined with the remnants of the magical power that had stolen the mark away. Satoru's was old enough that it should have looked almost like a normal scar, but you tell from the tissue banding that it likely still ached as if it were new.

You were aware that it was common for people of higher status to have their marks removed, but you hadn't really thought about the state of Satoru's suspected soulmark. Before now, it had been a nebulous concept, unconfirmed speculation that you had never considered beyond its affect on you. Having put some serious effort into not thinking about that man and his theoretical soulmate, it was disappointing to suddenly have all of that work undone. Feeling envious of a dead person for being the object of Satoru's unrelenting devotion was the last thing you wanted to do, but regardless of how much you tried to suppress it, the feeling still lingered beneath the surface.

Knowing what you did, you felt like you were invading Satoru's privacy seeing him like this.

Still, you couldn't bring yourself to regret witnessing what you had stumbled upon, not when the sight was so strangely satisfying to behold.

You were determined to only watch for a moment, and then a moment longer, and before you knew it, Satoru was finishing up with his training.

Eyes still locked on him, you found yourself deeply ashamed by the fact that you were practically salivating over a man who couldn't stand you. Satoru tilted his head back to drink from his waterskin, stray liquid dripping down his chin and chest. Now that he was standing still, you could better make out the lines of his body. He was lean enough that the definition near his belt brought with it the suggestion of what might lie beneath, a line of thinking that you followed quite willingly despite the context of who you were fantasizing about.

It might have remained a harmless secret—had Satoru not suddenly turned your way.

You thought that the phenomenal speed at which you disappeared behind that pillar might have saved you, but in retrospect, your luck had likely run out the moment you decided to investigate the training grounds.

In turning to flee, you tripped, and fell directly into someone. Your arms flew out in an attempt to catch yourself, wrapping around the body of the person in front of you. Your knees hit the ground, your face colliding with the person's front as you fell. You could feel your face burning with your embarrassment, your body flooding with heat as you tried to will yourself to ignore the fact that your cheek was pressed directly into their loins.

You knew that it was Satoru without looking up into his face. Who else could it have been? Besides, after spending the better part of the last hour staring at him, you would have recognized even part of that body anywhere.

Time seemed to slow as you tried to will yourself out of existence. Both you and Satoru were frozen in place, likely because neither of you were entirely sure what to do.

Regrettably, because you did still need to breathe, you inhaled, the smell of musk filling your nose, something earthy, spicy, and distinctly sweet. It smelled like Satoru's bed, but stronger. It was an oddly pleasant scent, one that you had been unable to fully erase from your mind.

One that you would surely be unable to after this.

Pressing against your face, however, was something that caused your racing thoughts to abruptly come to a halt. You could feel it pulsing against your cheek, huge and hard and definitely not that way for you. He had just been working out; it was only natural for a man like him to have healthy blood flow to all parts of his body.

The fact that the state of him had nothing to do with you didn't seem to matter to your own body. Already traitorously aroused by peeping on his training, the still-fresh thoughts of what married couples were supposed to do with one another would have brought you to your knees—were you not already on them, of course.

It was only when your eyes met that scar at his middle that you truly understood.

If someone had given you the choice between staying right where you were or pulling away and looking up at your husband, you would have asked if the third option of being struck down by the gods was a possibility.

However, the gods had proven themselves to be anything but merciful when it came to your marriage, and eventually you were forced to turn your gaze toward Satoru's.

You met those beautiful blue eyes, devastation washing over you as your mind confirmed everything you were feeling.

You almost wished that he would have insulted you. That he would have made some crass implication about your duty as his wife or called you a desperate whore. That he would have pushed you to the ground and made you kiss his feet as an apology for leering at him the way you had been.

Anything would have been better than the nauseating look of shock and revulsion on Satoru's face as he finally stepped away from you, breaking the hold your arms still had on him.

The realization you were coming to was enough to choke you all on its own, but your bound tongue took care of any remaining possibility of expressing yourself. Gagging on every word you wanted to say, you blinked up at your husband with your mouth agape. He looked stunning from every angle, but in your infinite misfortune, your mind was already unhelpfully supplying a different, superior context of him above you.

Satoru opened his mouth to say something, but at that exact moment, Nobara came sailing around the corner, her heavy skirts fluttering around her ankles. She skidded to a halt when she saw the two of you, panicked disbelief painting her face as she took in the sight. Yuta appeared moments after, only narrowly avoiding slamming into Nobara as he came to a stop.

Yuta and Nobara must have known one another for a long while, because all it took was a single glance exchanged between them before they jumped into action. The two of them quickly inserted themselves between you, clearly trying to stop the imminent situation from developing any further.

"Your highness, Advisor Kento has been looking for you—" Yuta explained.

"My lady—" Nobara gasped, still catching her breath. "You cannot just run off like that!"

She grabbed you beneath your arms, hauling you to your feet before fretting over you in an overly dramatic way. Examining your dirtied dress, she kissed her teeth, acting you as if you were an errant child.

"Come, we'll need to get you into clean clothes—the wife of the crown prince can't be seen looking like a mess—" Nobara dragged you away as quickly as she could, scolding you until Satoru was well out of earshot.

The rest of your day was a blur, your attention turned completely inward as you realized the true nature of everything that had been laid out before you.

You were fairly sure that you were going to have to be restrained the next time you saw your father, otherwise you might end up strangling him. The fact that you had ended up here, in an arranged marriage with your soulmate, was an impossible coincidence. Knowing Suguru as well as you did, along with the little that you understood about his darker, more secretive work, it was easy to believe that he had been planning this for a very long time.

It was apparent that your father had ultimately bound you for your safety, but the fact that he had sent you into all of this without telling you a single thing was just plain reckless. At the very least, Suguru could have hinted that he was sending you into this kind of predicament.

You were standing before your mirror, fingers tracing the lines of you soulmark. You must have been frozen there for at least an hour, completely mesmerized as you grappled with the tumultuous mix of feelings that had bubbled up inside you.

Satoru Gojo was your soulmate.

Under any other circumstance, this would have been the best day of you life. Being so lucky as to actually marry one's soulmate was highly unusual for people like you, and that went doubly for Satoru. At the same time, it was extremely unfortunate. There was no way that things would ever be easy for the two of you, even if you somehow managed to be unbound. Peace and happiness were a pipe dream for soulmates of higher birth or status.

Any yet, as you touched the sparkling, silver lines of you soulmark, you dared to imagine that impossible life.

Having such a world-shattering realization made everything that had happened to you since coming to the palace look new. The devotion Satoru felt toward his soulmate and his resulting disdain toward you had been easy to understand. It was the behavior that didn't fit the pattern that had confused you. The intense, territorial jealousy, the strange protectiveness, the way he kept bringing up a smell that no one else had ever mentioned—all things that you had written off as the quirks of a powerful man who had always gotten his way before you came along.

Now, however, you had new context for all of it.

Your horrific introduction to the man, the systematic demoralization, the dreadful wedding and subsequent night together…all of that effort followed by the sudden, inexplicable changes in the way you were being treated made complete sense.

Whether or not Satoru had figured out what was going on was difficult to ascertain. Seasoned leader that he was, it was unlikely that he would be quick to reveal such sensitive information, even to the most relevant party. Combine that with the fact that he seemed to care a great deal about his soulmate, and it was possible that he could learn the truth and decide to never disclose it.

But something in your gut told you that Satoru didn't know.

If that were the case, then you truly had your work cut out for you. As you dwelt on the idea, you realized that your plans for surviving this palace would likely be unsustainable. Even if you were initially able to resist the temptation, able to prevent yourself from being drawn toward your soulmate, the magic that tied the two of you together would inevitably make it impossible.

Every individual's symptoms were different, but being bound as you were, yours were only destined to worsen as the soulmate magic fought the restrictions placed on you.

You could already feel the pull, a sensation that you hadn't understood before your epiphany. You had chalked it up to anxiety, assuming that the feeling of your throat tightening up had been related to the unpleasant things happening to you.

There was nothing to be done for it. You would just have to change up your strategy.

After all, how hard could it be to seduce your own soulmate?

Satoru was entirely convinced that he had gone mad.

He hadn't been able to focus all evening, his thoughts inevitably returning to what had happened earlier that day again and again. Being the sort of over-thinker that he was, Satoru had already twisted the memory into an elaborate fantasy.

In truth, it had been a brief moment, a few seconds of awkward contact, follow by an even more uncomfortable resolution facilitated by his knights.

In Satoru's recollection, however, everything was different.

The way Satoru remembered it, you hadn't stumbled to the ground, but instead dropped to your knees. You hadn't caught yourself using his body, but rather pulled him into your embrace. You hadn't accidentally fallen face-first into his erection, but willingly pressed your lips against him.

In Satoru's re-imagining, you hadn't looked up at him in humiliation and horror. You had looked at him with passionate, burning desire.

Each time Satoru banished the image from his mind, it came back stronger and more perverse.

Worse still, his scar hurt. It was almost as if his soulmate was punishing him from the beyond for his lack of fidelity. Though Satoru had been mostly free of serious episodes in recent years, the pain had flared back up as soon as you appeared, and the contact your bare skin had made with his scar that day had only caused the problem to become more severe.

And yet, Satoru couldn't stop.

Yes, Satoru was entirely convinced he had gone mad, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not when what he was experiencing felt so. incredibly. good.

⊹༺✦༻⊹

On the night of Satoru's wedding, that dull ache in his scar had evolved into something more complicated. As much as he hated to admit it, the brief conflict that he had with his new wife had stuck with him. It was like he had taken that blade to his ribs rather than his hand, each breath making the blossoming ache grow.

The way you smelled was getting to him, too. It was unbelievable, a soft sweetness that followed you everywhere you went. Summertime strawberries and thick, sugary cream—each inhale fed the unfamiliar beast within him. It felt like magic, wild and alive, a snarling, writhing thing that clawed its way up his throat and burrowed into his brain. The feeling had set him on edge from the very first moment he noticed your scent, making him restless when he was usually able to make himself still.

Satoru didn't sleep at all that night, the time ticking by at an agonizingly slow pace. Lying awake there, he realized that he was angry, not at you, but at himself.

You hadn't asked to be involved in this marriage, and when you had made an effort in good faith, Satoru had only worked to make your life unbearable. As much as he acted like he wanted nothing to do with you, he had only grown more obsessed as time went on. He found himself checking in on you constantly, playing with the details of your life and telling himself that he would feel better once you were more miserable than he was.

Satoru understood that what he was doing was insane. It didn't make sense—he wasn't even this invested in his revenge on Suguru Geto. The fact that you had still been willing to fulfill your marital duties had set him off entirely. After a long day of being reminded that he was marrying a woman he could never love, having you merely insinuate that the two of you were obligated to consummate the marriage was enough to push Satoru over the edge he had been dancing on all evening.

He admired you, in a way. Even in the face of the highest power in the empire, you allowed yourself to bend appropriately, but you still refused to break. Satoru had taken you for a weak, soft woman, and while you did your best to play the part, you still consistently proved you were capable of so much more.

By the time morning had come, he was absolutely furious.

Satoru was going to personally see to having that dagger destroyed. He never wanted to see that damned blade again, especially not in your hands. Witnessing you ready to hurt yourself had done something to him. The moment replayed in his mind, fear gripping his heart each time he pictured your determined expression.

How he managed to control himself through the night, Satoru wasn't entirely sure.

There was a limit to every man's will, however, and after having spent the greater part of the night lying awake with a raging erection, Satoru Gojo had finally reached his. It wasn't a moment after you closed the door to the royal bedchambers behind you that Satoru rolled over and buried his face in the pillow you had been using.

Satoru had noticed your sweet scent from the very first moment that you had walked into his office. At first, he thought you were just wearing some kind of luxury perfume. Later, he had begun to suspect that your father had provided you with a potion of allure. Your claim that you weren't wearing anything had proved true. Satoru had gone through all of your things himself, so unless you kept the substance hidden on your person, that intoxicating smell was all you.

How could a person even smell like that? Normal people didn't smell like fresh powdered sugar and ripe fruit.

Each breath Satoru took did nothing to satisfy him, the urge to take in more of you only growing with each desperate inhale. Pressing his nose deeper, he wondered if it would be possible to have your personal pillow exchanged daily so that he could have this experience every morning.

Satoru hadn't even noticed that he was rocking his hips against the bed, his neglected cock leaking onto the rumpled sheets. He didn't think it was possible for him to get any harder, but huffing your sweet scent had proven him wrong almost instantly. It bordered on painful, his body demanding release that he was reluctant to give it.

Indulging in a single, strong roll of his hips quickly had him changing his mind. The feeling was simply irresistible, a wave of pleasure that washed over him before pulling him under entirely, sweeping away the logical thoughts that told him what he was doing was wrong.

Rejecting you so thoroughly only to engage in a private, perverted practice like this was frightening display of abberancy. It was only because he was already doing so many things that were unlike himself that Satoru was capable of justifying it.

Although, 'justifying' was an extremely loose description of what Satoru was doing. He was struggling to keep hold of any thought that wasn't based entirely in the moment. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Satoru knew that he would sincerely regret betraying his beloved, late soulmate, but that thought was eradicated each time he inhaled.

It wasn't long before Satoru had made a mess of the bed. He came with a deep growl, the sounds of his ecstasy muffled by the pillow smushed against his face. Distantly, Satoru realized he was imagining what it might be like to have part of you pressed against his face. The thought melted away like spun sugar, the burning pleasure of his lurid act overtaking his mind.

Recovering from his shameful tryst with the bedding, Satoru threw an arm over his face, groaning as he realized that he was still half-hard.

There was no denying it, not anymore. Despite everything, Satoru wanted you, wanted you in a way that he had never imagined he could ever want another person. If he weren't so violently aroused, he might have taken a moment to examine the turmoil brewing inside him.

However, as the future emperor, Satoru wasn't the sort of person who allowed himself to engage in such extravagant behavior as considering his own emotional needs.

Satoru got up shortly after, still wanting, but determined to make the whole event out to be a momentary lapse of reason. The bloody, sticky mess he had made of the sheets was tossed aside, better evidence of an act that had never occurred than he had expected to achieve. The lovebirds, which had been mercifully silent until he got out of bed, began shrieking at him as he moved around, compounding the guilt that Satoru already felt.

After a thorough, frustrating hour of searching, Satoru finally left his quarters to go about his day, the offending dagger nowhere to be found.

⊹༺✦༻⊹

All the work Satoru had put into abstaining from repeating his shameful actions was wasted after he found you spying on him during his training.

Rather than question any of it, Satoru had decided it was easier to accept that the whole affair had broken his already fractured mind. Why the thought of you watching him exert himself excited him, why he couldn't seem to rid the feeling of your touch from his skin, why he was always having to push the thought of you out of his head…

The answer was simple. Satoru was a worthless dog, a horny mutt who folded the moment a woman who managed to even remotely interest him was in his vicinity. All his contempt for you had evaporated, replaced by absolute self-loathing.

Satoru couldn't bring himself to hate you for it. The guilt was his alone. He had picked you for this, plucked you from your happy home and brought you to the palace in hopes of personally ensuring you and your family's destruction. He had tormented you, a powerless, innocent woman, and actively sought to make your life unbearable, all for his own pleasure.

Now, for a disturbingly similar reason, Satoru was bent over his bed, fucking his fist while he smothered himself with your dirty undergarments. He been content to steal whatever he could find from the laundry, but now he was wondering if it would be possible to acquire what you had been wearing that day.

Surely if something from an average day was this utterly decadent, then the smell from that day would be akin to ambrosia.

The thought of it alone was what finished him. Satoru bit his lower lip as he came, milking thick, hot ropes of cum as he pictured you on your knees before him. It was the best orgasm he'd ever had, and yet it only left him wanting.

It was dark out when he made his way back to the laundry, the few staff who remained in the area so late scattering as he approached. They knew better than to ask questions, though undoubtedly rumors were already spreading of his continued, unusual behavior. He had already heard a group of maids gossiping about his frequent visits to the aviary.

Satoru practically sniffed out exactly what he was searching for, your clothes calling to him as if they were enchanted. He hadn't even needed to use his power to find them as he had the first time, something that he might have found troubling if he had been able to bring himself to care.

It took another two rounds to slake his lust, though it was clear that the fix was temporary. As he laid in bed that night, for the first time in his life, Satoru hoped he dreamt of someone other than his soulmate.

That settled it. Complicated feelings aside, Satoru would need to do something about you.

A restless night, two bodies thrashing against the tides, entangled in desire lines.

desire lines by lush

next

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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