#fae!gojo

The tiny market was busier than usual. Usually, only a small number of villagers milled around between the stalls, but that morning there were at least double the typical amount. The merchants were pleased with the business, if not stretched somewhat thin, though the tension felt throughout the market wasn’t just the thrill of the sale. 

“The spices you sold me last month were stale, are you sure they’re fresh this time?”

“Two pieces of silver for a suckling pig? It’s huge, how do I even know it’s the proper age?”

“That woman took the last of the apples, then tried to sell some to me for double what she paid!” 

You were content to mind your business, ignoring strangers and acquaintances alike as you shopped for ingredients you couldn’t gather personally for meals and herbal remedies. If someone offered you a bad deal, you simply moved on. If they lacked what you needed, you were content to do without. To move like water was your way; you understood you could not always fight change, but you could often choose to move with it.

Some degree of conflict was only to be expected when so many villagers gathered together, especially given the stress caused by increased patrols in the area.

“Did you hear about the king’s men? They demanded lodging at the old inn, and now we haven’t room for paying travelers.”

The political state of the kingdom was of little concern to you. What good was worrying about the will of such fussy, uppity, ultimately apathetic people? There wasn’t a point to it; anything that those people got around to making a decision about took years to begin affecting the lives of small settlements like the one you called home. That was the nature of the legislature; it generally only impacted the ones who were more directly involved in its creation. Out where you lived, the people governed themselves.

“What business does the king have sending those foot soldiers out this way? There’s nothing worth royal attention here.”

Well, that had been the case until recently.

The king was a man of peculiar power with many strong allies and countless like-minded supporters, and as such he rarely needed to exert even a fraction of his full influence to accomplish his goals. He had been in power for so long that no one could even recall a time before his rule, and most of his people were content enough that they didn’t bother trying. There wasn’t a point in speculating ways to fix something that wasn’t broken; the only people who sought to inspire change were obviously those who wanted to seize more power for themselves.

Something had been off lately.

“Those knights have been overstaying their welcome. We have limited resources, you know!”

More knights rode through town than usual, surveying the land and questioning its people. They were particularly curious about the influx of spirits and the subsequent effects, though for all their inquiries about evil spirits, the knights had done little to make a real impact on their numbers. If anything, the activity of the spirits only increased with each new batch of surveyors.

“There’s no point in them being here if all they do is eat our food and flirt with our young people-this last batch only wanted to speak of spirits. They wouldn’t even hear me out about the bandits that came last month—”

It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t known to have magic.

The business of the king wasn’t your concern, but the effect on the people around you was. You were already on the fringe of society by the nature of your power and faith; the last thing you needed was to be associated with the increase in ill omens and unholy happenings.

You were standing at the table of a vendor who you were on fairly good terms with, a woman and her husband who you had done work for some years ago when their youngest child had fallen ill. They kept many unusual birds and sold off the meat, feathers, and infertile eggs, often offering you a significant discount even though they had long paid off their outstanding debts. You were examining some extremely small, light pink eggs when someone elbowed you in the shoulder, causing you to nearly drop the delicate items you were holding.

You whipped your head around, actively suppressing the anger that threatened to creep onto your face as you realized just who had bumped into you.

A knight, a particularly sour looking man, with blonde hair, sharp features, and a smug smile. He wore the king’s crest prominently on his chest, emblazoned boldly right where everyone could see it. The bright, red symbol gleamed in the morning sun, its swirl pattern drawing your eye even as you tried to look away.

“Watch yourself, woman.” The man sneered. “You’re lucky you didn’t break those eggs and soil my cloak.”

“She was standing still.” The bird-keeper’s husband scoffed. “You’re the one who ran into her.”

“Who are you to argue with authority, merchant?” The knight snapped. “I’m saying the clumsy thing backed into me, and that’s the end of it.”

You looked between the knight and the couple, unsure how the absurdly minor conflict had begun to boil over so quickly. You were quick to assess a situation such as this, as was necessary in your line of work, and knew there was only one way to easily move forward.

You curtsied, bowing your head far lower than necessary.

“Apologies, sir knight.” You acquiesced shamelessly. “I’ll keep a better eye out in the future.” You curtsied once more, gathering your belongings and skittering away before you could be dragged further into the devolving conversation.

You could hear the merchants chattering as you fled, gossip brewing even after such a short interaction.

“The king’s favor must affect one’s eyes. The wishing witch only agreed with Sir Zenin Naoya to keep peace–”

“She must not want anything to do with the visiting knights–”

“They're too much trouble, I’d have done the same–”

That evening, you made preparations to commune with the stars.

The power you inherited from your mother, and her mother before her, was not a power that was well known. Witches came in many forms, and those who could see spirits were very often not the same to one another. Those who could alter the spiritual world were even fewer and further between than those who could perceive it alone, and the strange abilities of such individuals could be as frightening as they were inspiring.

Your power allowed you to summon the Wishing Well, a mysterious body of water where one could sacrifice an item of perceived value in order to make a wish. The value of the item was roughly congruent to the maximum potential of the wish, but there were objective limits based on the amount of magical energy that you could personally imbue into the item. The amount of magic you possessed was nothing special, but your technique did allow you to store power in multiple items for later use, meaning you could feasibly hold on to valuable items for the purpose of strengthening a future wish.

Your mother was a woman of water, just as you were, a witch who could summon the Wishing Well and exchange fates. Your grandmother, however, was a woman of fire. She was a powerful witch, a person with the ability to bargain with the stars. That woman had been able to accomplish things far beyond your comprehension.

Your grandmother had claimed you stood on the cusp of understanding her magic before she passed on, always pestering you to hone your strength and focus on your connection with the stars. After she died, you finally started listening, though no matter how much you spoke to the stars, they never answered back.

It didn't stop you from trying.

The sky was clear, the moon full and bright, the stars above twinkling with their silvery light. You started your prayers as you always did, thanking the stars for watching over you, and asking for their favor in your endeavors. You explained the wishes you had sought to grant to others that month, and spoke of the problems your village faced. You prayed for protection from those who intended to curse, and promised your continued devotion to them in return.

Suddenly, a brilliant, blue star shot across the inky background, burning a white-hot trail across the night sky as it went. The star disappeared behind the enormous trees that guarded the horizon, its lingering light dissipating some moments later. 

You didn’t know what to make of it, but you thanked the stars for their response anyway.

You were starting to think that the shooting star had been an omen.

You couldn’t seem to go anywhere without encountering the knights that had recently taken up semi-permanent residence in the local inn. Visiting the market outside of the usual hours? The knights would make a sudden appearance. Entering the village square to eavesdrop on news? The knights were the ones circulating it. Relaxing in the local tavern? The knights were questioning everyone present.

Determined to not let them bully you out of a drink, you walked with purpose, sitting in the corner and hoping that they would all ignore you and move on. It was working fairly well; you got your chilled cider, and even managed to order a second without catching anyone’s eye. You were nearly ready to leave when your luck finally ran out.

“So, the famous ‘wishing witch’ finally sees fit to bless us with her presence?” The voice of Sir Zenin Naoya rang out over the tavern.

You looked up to see that upsettingly familiar head of shaggy, blonde hair. You had successfully avoided the irksome knight a number of times since your chance encounter at the birdkeeper’s table, but it seemed that had not been enough time for the unpleasant man to forget you.

“Sir Zenin.” You greeted the man with as much politeness as you could muster, though you were sure it wouldn’t matter given the antagonistic way he was approaching you. He stood over your table, blocking your easiest path out and away from him with his body.

“Is it true what they say about you? That you see spirits? That you can ask them to grant a wish?” Naoya asked. The knight reeked of unearned authority and well-honed entitlement; it was clear that he was used to pushing people around and getting whatever he wanted out of it.

“There is some truth to what you have been told.” You answered carefully, increasingly eager to escape the conversation. You fiddled with the silver chain of your necklace anxiously, soothing yourself by pressing your fingers against the small, jagged, deep green stone it held.

“Only some?”

“The magic I make comes with a price, sir.” You reluctantly elaborated, unwilling to offer more information given the great scrutiny magic had been under as of late. 

Naoya laughed at that.

“Of that, I have no doubt, witch.” He cackled. “I wonder, how much I would need to offer for you to grant my wish? I doubt your price is very high–I’ve seen you wearing the same, ratty cloak each time you slip away.” He placed a hand over yours, his uncouth suggestion made clear as his thumb stroked over the exposed skin at your wrist. The look on his face made your skin crawl, his shameless, slimy insinuation even more-so. 

Your mouth was moving before you could stop yourself saying something regrettable.

“There is no price, nor magic power, Sir Zenin Naoya, that could afford you what you seek.”

You snatched your hand out from underneath the shocked knight’s, standing and pushing past him before running off into the darkening day.

You dreamt of fiery stars falling from the sky that night.

They landed in the fields, taking first the crops, and then next the animals. Burning horses fled, running to escape the site of the disaster, carrying with them the calamity. The flames spread through the village, burning up everything until all was naught but ash.

When the smoke cleared, the Forest of the Forgotten still stood tall on the edges of the ruined civilization, a dark, ominous witness, completely untouched.

It was rare that you dared to venture past the tree line of the forest by which you made your home. You lived on the outskirts of the village, slightly closer to the wilderness than your nearest neighbor, but you weren’t a wild woman by any means.

The Forest of the Forgotten.

The forest was known to be a dangerous place. That wood was full of those who had lost their names to the fae, and full of even more still who had lost themselves entirely. The nameless were generally harmless enough, if only very desperate to be known and understood, but those who had gone completely mad from a fae’s curse were too unpredictable to be considered safe company. Few dared to speak of that evil place, fewer deigned to attempt to traverse it.

It was rumored that deep within that most accursed forest, there was an even more accursed creature that lurked in every shadow; a monster that waited for opportunity to perpetuate the misery and hatred it felt.

Even knowing that, you had always felt drawn to those woods. Each warning you heard fed a growing enticement, a powerful enamorment with that forbidden place and its many secrets. Your grandmother had scolded you many times for even nearing the edges in search of shade-loving herbs, and had once beaten you bloody for setting a single foot beyond the perceived border. She was adamant about you avoiding those woods, so much so that even after her passing you had heeded her wishes.

That was, until you had need for things you knew could only be obtained in that mysterious place.

Your grandmother was a highly superstitious woman, and for good reason. The names of her entire family had been stolen by a powerful, trickster fae, a petty show of revenge for some minor insult. Only your grandmother survived the incidents that followed, though she didn’t make it out unscathed. She only remembered that she’d had a loving family; she couldn’t recall a single other thing about them, and she felt that was much worse than losing them entirely.

That was why you had never been given a name.

Well, you had certainly been given one at birth, but the knowledge of what exactly your name was had lived and died with your grandmother. It was a simple trick, one that you might have appreciated for its genius were it not something that happened to you. You were effectively immune to being unnamed, but your identity suffered for it all the same, though as an adult it no longer bothered you the way it had when you were a child.

Now, you found it empowered you, giving you the necessary bravery to walk the tree line along its more dangerous edge.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

You stepped carefully over the narrow trail that wound along the safe side of the forest, avoiding the twisting vines that reached into the path. There was abundant honeysuckle that grew along the edge of the trees this time of year, their innumerous white, fragrant blooms overwhelming in their perfume. The afternoon sun barely penetrated the thick, springtime foliage. Come summer, almost no sunlight would make it through the overgrown canopy, and the leafier brush would give to foreboding, thorny, berry-laden brambles until early fall.

You were accustomed to the strange things that happened when you crossed the floral border.

There was always temptation present in some way or another, illusions designed to lure you further away from the light of the sun.

Dead birds that looked to still be breathing when you watched them from the corner of your eye. Plants that seemed to grow impossibly fast, their thin tendrils curling around your ankles and up your calves when you stayed in one place for too long. Voices crying out in a language you could never quite place, and soft laughter from somewhere in front of you whenever you looked back over your shoulder for the speaker.

On this venture, the most notable oddity was a number of glittering stones. They were scattered all around, increasing in size and allure as you walked, trails of precious-looking rocks leading deeper and deeper into the trees, calling to you with their inexplicable shine. You knew better than to fall for such an obvious trap, though it didn't stop you from imagining pocketing one.

You had readied yourself that morning for this journey, taking special herbs for protection and mental fortitude. What you needed wasn’t very far into the forest, but one only had to cross the border to encounter trouble. You made haste, fingers toying with the chain of your necklace as you headed to your destination.

There were some paths that were always present. They were ancient and stubborn, unchanging in their route and landmarks, though you had some suspicion it was more about where they led than how one got there. This particular trail was one you had walked more times than you could count. It led to a special spring, one that produced crystal clear water with magical properties. When you were small, your grandmother had claimed the water to be tears of the moon goddess, though she had later revealed the spring’s location shortly before her passing.

Your monthly adventure to the spring was one that made you feel closer with your grandmother. You would imagine her making the same hike through the Forest of the Forgotten, thinking of how she might have combated the strange happenings or awed at the impossible wonders that she encountered. It made you feel loved, knowing that she had selflessly put herself in so much danger, that she had stood up to her fears with such unfettered bravery, all so that she could bring you the special water needed for your nightly, ritual anointment.

You reached the small spring without trouble, squatting down amongst the thin, moonflower-covered trees that surrounded it, retrieving the special container you brought with you. The enchanted vessel was the only thing fit to hold the spring’s pure water, an ornate thing made of fae-glass and silver. The round vial was wrapped in thin, protective strips of silver. The valuable metal had been molded to imitate the moonflower plants that surrounded the spring, the fine craftsmanship so life-like that you often wondered how a person could have ever managed to part with something so painstakingly created.

Humming quietly to yourself, you dipped the vessel beneath the surface of the spring, filling it to the brim. Once the small bottle was full, you sealed it with a fresh cork and stowed it in the pocket of your dress. You then dipped a cupped hand into the spring, beginning your prayer to the stars as your grandmother had taught you.

You thanked them for their nightly vigil, and promised in turn to continue your own duties, renewing your vow of unerring devotion to the stars.

The water was pleasantly cool to the touch, refreshing to your weary spirit even before you had the chance to drink. You appreciated the sparkle of the pure, white stones that lined the bottom of the shallow pool as you pulled back from the water, carefully lifting your hand to your lips. You drained all of the liquid from your palm, licking your hand and fingers clean of the precious fluid.

The delicious, clean taste was something you were long used to after many years of ritual ingestion, but the feeling of invigoration was addictive in a way you weren’t sure you could ever overcome. You felt the magic pouring down your throat and pooling in your belly, felt it radiating throughout your body and purifying you from within.

You felt content then, and decided that this was a fine opportunity to meditate by the spring, as you sometimes did on these occasions. Dipping your fingers back into the water, you gathered just enough moisture to wet the skin above your heart. You glanced up as you stood, looking for your preferred sitting rock, only to find that you were no longer alone.

Across the small pool, lounging in the bough of a tree, was perhaps the most beautiful, ethereal man you had ever seen.

Hair whiter than fresh snow on a winter morning, eyes of crystal blue, and a form that spoke of danger and violence as much as it did power and grace. He wore a fine robe, a cream garment that hung open, exposing his bare, muscled chest. His dark, sirwal pants were of similar fabric, the loose cloth on each leg bound tightly at the ankle. He wore no shoes.

As he shifted in the low light, you could see the shine of old, faint scars littering his pale skin. He was watching you closely, a small, mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You bowed your head so quickly that your vision spun.

“Apologies.” You spoke softly, unable to make your voice louder without it threatening to shake. “I did not intend to disturb you.”

You kept your eyes on the still surface of the spring, willing your feet to stay planted, though every fiber of your being was actively screaming for you to run. You were still feeling the effects of water strongly, the strange energy pulsing under your skin. You glanced up to see that the man had leapt down from the tree, and was now rounding the spring, approaching you with an unhurried gait. He was of towering height, as tall as some of the largest knights you had ever encountered, and somewhat lean in his obvious strength.

“You’ve not disturbed me. If anything, it is this interloper who disturbs you, water-drinker.” The fae man’s voice was smooth and rich, a sound you found soothing, even considering the circumstances. “I only came to take in the beauty of this place. On this occasion, I have found that the spring is more lovely than ever.” 

You chanced a quick look at the stranger. He was standing only a few paces away, looking down at you with mirth dancing in his eyes.

“It seems then, that we have met only in passing.” You concluded firmly, taking a shy step backward.

“A shame.” He pouted. Thick, white lashes fluttered around disappointed eyes, his brow creasing slightly as he watched you prepare to flee. “Perhaps next time, we might exchange names, wishing witch.”

You took another step back before turning toward the path that would bring you far away from this place.

“Perhaps.” You lied.

You ran the whole way home.

You knew they were coming before they even arrived.

Great need for your magic brought with it a certain feeling to which you had grown sensitive, and so you knew hours beforehand that someone would be visiting.

It was how you always had tea ready when such guests made an appearance.

The rancher who oversaw the many herds of horses that lived near the village sat in your tiny kitchen, sipping from your provided, shoddily painted, clay mug. He was a skeptic, someone who believed in what he could see and hear, not someone who had faith in powers beyond explanation. For things to be bad enough that he would personally come to see you—the situation could only be described as dire.

“I’m sure you didn’t come to have tea.” You prompted. “How can I help you?”

“Horses are sick.” The rancher grumbled, staring into his tea. “Wife said we need a witch.”

You were already vaguely aware of what was happening, having heard about the rancher’s troubles through rumor.

A sickness had come with the rains, and many members of the most prominent herd were afflicted. The keepers feared that the illness would soon spread and begin affecting more of the horses, and so in hopes of preventing further calamity, they were pressed by community members to turn to you. 

“I can try to wish them well.” You hesitated. “But a heavy price must be paid.”

“I know of your ways, wishing witch.” The rancher replied gruffly.

You weren’t offended by the thinly veiled hostility; it was common for those you assisted to be callous and unappreciative.

The man pointed out your open window, directing your attention toward his offering.

A black colt, young and spry, stronger than most at only a day old. He was a beautiful animal, one that held great promise and greater value to his keepers. He pranced around outside your cottage, exploring the newness of this world, totally unaware of his inevitable fate. 

The rancher offered to slaughter him for you.

“Hurts more if we have to do it ourselves.” The rancher shrugged. “We already lost his mom this morning. Mare who lost her own foal rejected him. It's either watch him starve, or this.”

You looked at the man before you critically. You knew these keepers to be empathetic people, people who were truly bonded with their charges. If you understood the situation for what it seemed to be, it was a fair trade for an unfair circumstance.

“He'll do.” You concluded.

The creature looked pathetic when they brought him inside. Small and sad, the tiny thing looked like it could have been sleeping were it not for his lifeless eyes.

You performed the ritual mechanically, distancing yourself emotionally from the transaction to prevent contaminating it with your own sorrows. When you summoned the well, you barely felt a thing as you laid the foal into the black water. When his big, shiny eyes opened to look back at you in accusation, you stayed strong, and only stroked the fluff of his mane as he went under.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

The moon was absent that night, her ghostly shadow all that remained in the night sky. 

You were asking the stars for help again, settling your debts of devotion as best you could given the star’s perpetual silence.

“Forgive me, stars above, I ask for something selfish again.” You prayed. “I fear that my power is not great enough to save those who seek my assistance. I ask that you shine on them, and grant mercy to those I cannot save.”

You hadn’t been able to get the image of the tiny horse out of your mind. As the day had dragged on, you had begun to worry that the well had rejected the offering, something that would spell devastation for your village. 

“Lend me strength that I lack, see me fit to wield your light against evil.”

The nature of the sacrifice made by the sufferers had seemed sufficient to you, and so you could only conclude that failure would be due to a lack of magical power on your part. You had a stock of valuables in your cottage that you had already infused with power, but the three items you had used to supplement the wish seemed to only be a waste in the end.

“Know I seek only to do good, hear my prayer to be righteous.”

Your encounter in the Forest of the Forgotten had shaken you. You nearly lost your way coming back home, and that night you had stammered through your devotionals with unusual confusion. Even several days after the encounter, you often still found yourself in a daze, your mind running over the words of the fae man again and again.

“Protect this woman who wishes for others, speak guidance into the ear of the one who listens intently.”

The stars didn’t answer. 

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

On your journey back to your cottage, you tripped and fell, catching yourself on your hands and knees. You heard the fabric of your skirt ripping, felt the skin of your knees burning. You groaned, the ache blooming in your wrists one that would surely cause you pain in the coming days. As you rolled to sit and recover, you noticed the tail of a black snake curled across the path.

At first, there was nothing about the little beast that alarmed you; a snake was a common sight this close to the forest. However, on closer inspection, you realized there was something wrong.

The snake had twin heads, and they were fighting.

A shudder rocked your spine as you took the creature and its struggle in. It was thin, likely unable to eat properly due to its condition. Its shining, obsidian scales were bloodied at the fork in its neck. Both heads hissed their anger, attacking one another in turn. One head was clearly winning; it was bullying the other head with punishing bites, grabbing and twisting its twin with vicious, merciless fury.

Horrified, you said a quick prayer for the two-headed snake, scrambling to your feet and gathering your skirt as you looked around for a stick that could help you intervene.

Before you could so much as locate a twig, the snake disappeared, leaving not even a drop of blood behind.

You'd have been dead if you weren't so set on mending your skirt before the next day.

You smelled the smoke before you saw the light of the fire, the sound of the retreating riders far too distant for you to properly hear.

They had set fire to your little cottage, the old, thatched roof catching easily despite the recent wet weather. You darted around your home, gathering your most precious belongings and stashing them in the pockets of your apron. The fire was spreading quickly; you knew you weren’t going to be able to save much more, and you ran to the door thanking the stars that you were able to do anything at all.

You pushed at the old, sturdy, wooden door, only to find that it was stuck fast, and likely blocked from the outside. You ran to the window, finding it similarly barred. Smoke was filling the cottage, and you knew that you had precious little time with how the air had begun to choke you.

Thinking quickly, you broke the chain on your mother's necklace. It was overkill, an offering that you had been saving for a situation even more dire.

But you couldn’t ever encounter that sort of fate if your journey ended here, could you?

You performed the ritual to summon the well with haste, readying yourself to give up the only thing that remained of the woman you had never met, tears forming in your eyes as you let the nature of your sacrifice wash over you. 

The well did not come.

You squeezed the necklace in your hand, shaking in frustration and fear. You released a shattered scream, coughing up useless, dirty air as you staggered back toward the door, slamming your fists against the wood, sore wrists protesting as you desperately pounded against the unyielding barrier.

The ceiling above you was beginning to creak and groan, supporting logs threatening to give as they burned. Suddenly, a small section of the roof caved in, flaming thatching falling to the floor, scattering embers that caught quickly on the contents of your cottage. The sweltering heat was overwhelming, the thinning air even more so, and you were beginning to panic as you realized that you were probably going to die, trapped alone in your home.

The space left behind by the cave-in was consumed in flame. Through it, you could barely make out the sky, which was lightening with the coming sun, but blackened by the thick smoke that was billowing out through the hole as more and more of the cottage was consumed.

You could see a single, enormous, red star, somehow burning brighter than the flames destroying your home. Its strong light fought against the sun and smoke, shining down onto you. You didn’t even realize you had crawled dangerously close to the burning mass of dried reeds on your floor, the star beckoning you in a way you didn’t consciously understand. It was a star you didn’t recognize, one that was possibly only a mirage created by your desperation. 

There wasn’t any harm in trying.

You knew it was truly selfish to ask the stars for something that was only for your own benefit, but your addled mind found the prospect of punishment from the heavens more appealing than immediately burning to death.

Unable to find your voice, you realized that the air was much too toxic to breathe deeply enough to properly speak anymore anyway, so you focused on the red star as best you could, and simply wished.

Please, please, please, I swear that I will give myself to you completely––just allow me to survive this trial.

Time seemed to slow as you wished on that crimson star. You could feel the shift in everything around you, the exchanging of fates; the taste of the tides of destiny was one that you could never forget.

You looked around, seeing that there was a clear path to the door, which miraculously swung wide open.

You took the opportunity without another thought, making for the open door, grabbing your work boots on your way out. You stumbled away from the burning cottage, taking advantage of your training to immediately let go of any and everything that you were leaving behind in the flames. You had saved what you could, and that was far more than enough under the circumstances. 

Refusing to look back, you tugged on your work boots, thankful that you hadn’t bothered to remove your stockings before settling in to mend your still-torn skirt. You weren’t sure what you were going to do, nor where you could even go after such an obviously deliberate attack, but you had a feeling that most of your previous options weren’t the best idea.

You had very nearly made it to the path that led to the main road when you spotted him, a shadow standing watch over your tragedy.

Sir Zenin Naoya.

He first looked shocked to see you, but then Naoya looked thrilled. A sickening grin spread across his face, a terrifying expression that stopped you in your tracks.

“Thank the heavens–” Naoya called. “I thought surely you would have perished in flames so disastrous, witch.”

You knew his words to be deceptive. There was no chance that he had only come to investigate the fire; Naoya was there to ensure that it took you. 

Naoya began to approach, putting on an air of concern as he neared. Your eyes darted from side to side, looking for possible escape routes, only to find that there were no good options. To one side, there was the road to town, where you would surely face more of the same. To the other, there was the Forest of the Forgotten, where you would likely face horrors beyond comprehension.

Steadying your breathing, you made peace with your circumstances, and decided it was best to just work one moment to the next until you were safe enough to think properly. You waited until the knight was nearly on you, trembling as if you were a weak, helpless fawn, looking up at him with innocent doe eyes.

“Poor thing–” Naoya cooed mockingly. “I’m sure you’re unspeakably grateful for a knight’s assistance. Don’t worry, I can already think of a few ways that you could repay me—”

Naoya didn’t have the chance to finish his thought. You slammed your knee into his groin, then kicked your heel into the knight's own knee before running away as fast as your legs would carry you.

You heard Naoya hiss behind you, followed by the sound of thunderous, disturbingly fast steps pursuing you. The earth under your feet was soft, giving slightly as you pushed against it to propel yourself forward. Your lungs were still struggling after breathing in so much smoke, and your nerves were fried from the stress of your ordeals.

“Filthy bitch–” 

You wondered if the stars would grant you one more favor, if they would see fit to curse the knight who threatened one of their actors. You pushed your body, muscles protesting as you forced them forward. You were being herded toward the forest, a barrier that Naoya likely felt was more sure than any blocked door or barred window.

“Best keep running, wishing witch. You won’t like what I am going to do when I catch you–”

That place, commonly known to be a death sentence, was quickly becoming your only option. If you didn’t end up a victim of the nameless wretches or the fae themselves, you were likely to fall prey to one of the many beasts residing in that haunted place.

Still, at least your corpse would feed more than the egos of your would-be murderers.

“I was going to be nice, but now I think I’ll just have my fun and then burn you myself.”

You saw it as you neared the edge of the woods. A little, black horse. Furious and proud, the tiny colt slipped through the trees, kicking up starlight as he wove through the flowery brush. He snorted at you as he ran off, melting away into the shadows.

The overpowering smell of flowers was suddenly the most enticing thing you had ever encountered. Your vision narrowed, the light of the morning sun disappearing almost entirely as you stared into the blackness of the Forest of the Forgotten. You felt a strong wind against your back, an otherworldly push that sent you forward faster than you were naturally capable. Somewhere behind you, Naoya was still shouting, but you couldn’t hear it over the roaring sound of hooves on the forest floor. 

You flew over the border, crashing through the honeysuckle and into the absolute darkness beyond.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

You collapsed at the edge of the water.

The path was one you followed by pure instinct, your feet bringing you along that same, safe route you so often traveled. The spring was unimaginably soothing in its stillness after everything that had happened. The quiet might have been unnerving were it not so welcome, the promise that the only thing that would disturb you now would be something you had no hope of fighting anyway.

You laid on the bank, dipping one hand below the surface, feeling the smooth stones present at the bottom with your fingertips. When you finally felt strong enough to sit up, you drank.

Taking far more than you had ever dared, you gulped the water down greedily, letting the power flow through you until you were feeling well again.

Legs shaking, you stood carefully.

Behind you, something tutted.

“Too much–”

You managed to face your opponent before your legs gave out on you, your scraped knees unceremoniously hitting the ground just prior to your ass meeting your heels. You looked up at your impending fate, blinking slowly as your vision blurred.

A monster. No, a man.

You were seeing double. The enormous man before you looked to have four arms, making him appear much more monstrous than human. You couldn’t suppress the whimper that clawed its way up your raw throat. The man was a giant, heavily muscled and wildly intimidating in his aura. He was bare-chested and covered in thick, dark, tattooed lines. He wore pants not dissimilar to the last man that had found you at the spring, though this man wore his loose at the ankle. He exuded a certain, unique sadism, a feeling that far exceeded mundane cruelty. His defined form heavily reminded you of a deadly predator, and you got the sense that much like a bear, he wouldn’t bother to kill you before eating you.

“Already broken.” The man spat. “Pathetic.”

He lifted an arm, pressing one huge hand against your cheek. For a moment, you were deluded enough to imagine that the gesture might be a caress, but then the man applied pressure, pushing you over with ease. You caught yourself with your forearm before your face could crash against the ground, glaring up defiantly as best someone who could hardly straight see was able.

The fiendish brute looked to be smiling.

There was definitely something wrong with you, your swimming vision aside. You were hallucinating heavily, seeing extra body parts appear on the man standing above you. He looked to have four, terrifying, red eyes now, each of them trained on your shuddering body, practically burning holes into you with their stare. Extra mouths had appeared on various parts of his body, popping up in strange places like his hands. It even seemed like there was a mouth on his torso, a gargantuan maw with horrifying, sharp teeth that gleamed in the early morning sun. The mouths laughed at your plight, sporting mocking smiles as he assessed you.

You huffed, scowling as you tried to right yourself, using your arms to push back against gravity so you could face him with a modicum of dignity.

Suddenly, a foot kicked your arms out from under you, causing you to fall forward, your forehead hitting the damp earth beneath you. 

“I see you have not been shown the proper way to kneel.” The monster growled.

A hand came to rest on the back of your head, pushing your face down until you were essentially kissing the dirt.

“I look forward to teaching you.” 

Neither yields.

next

cry wolf by sundazer

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

next

Your fighting spirit was renewed upon arrival to your apparent destination. The large clearing was clean and tidy at the edge, a place where someone clearly lived, though the building at the clearing's center was far from a home.

Enormous and intimidating, the shrine loomed above you, illuminated only by the barest shard of the waxing moon. A monument to power and death, it was fashioned of wood and bone, painted in blood and suffering.

Shrine though it was, there was nothing holy about that place. It radiated an aura of malevolence, a pestilent stain that besmirched the forest with its very existence. The grotesque building sat upon a foundation of skulls, the stench of old death rising from the earth beneath it. The most terrifying feature was the entrance. Instead of a door, there was a vicious, gaping maw, its sharp teeth dripping in anticipation. 

It was as horrifying as it was magnificent, as beautiful as it was macabre, as grandiose as it was bellicose.

There was a single, ultimate truth that resonated through you as you took it all in, an inescapable inevitability that couldn't be denied.

The place before you intended to swallow you whole.

As you were carried closer, you realized that the profound feeling saturating you was in fact that horrible thing's potent desire to devour you, the dark craving curling around your throat and settling in your gut.

Your feet caught earth beneath you, swinging desperately for traction, kicking up rocks and shards of bone as you were brought closer to the shrine’s steps. Arms swinging, hands clawing, you reached for any available purchase, finding little reward for your fervent efforts.

The monster restraining you was unperturbed by your increased determination, only grunting when you swung your fists into his body.

This is unfair.

You had just barely escaped certain death—being accepted by the stars in your most dire moment only to encounter another damning trial was too cruel.

The accursed demon brought you to the very edge of the threshold, finally acknowledging you as you nearly swung your own head against an ornamental structure. He dropped you at his feet, sneering at you as you blinked up at him, bleary eyes still unable to focus properly.

“You would dare to damage yourself?” He rumbled. “You test me, woman.”

Your gaze darted to the side, seeking escape with your newfound ability to move. Without even considering the consequences, you lunged clumsily for the tiny opening on your right, but you were unable to make it more than a pace away before being stopped. The beast scruffed you, pulling you up by the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. Your knees dragged across the ground, held only just too low for you to right yourself and make it onto your feet.

“Insolent little thing.” He hissed. “You would do best to learn that your choices are no longer your own.” He pulled, effortlessly maneuvering you until you were nearly inside the enormous maw.

“No, no, no–” You whimpered, leaning as much of your weight as you were able away from the jaws of that devastating shrine. “I don't wish to be here!”

“You receive nothing you've not asked for, pitiful woman.” He growled. “To beg for salvation only to spit upon it; an ungrateful creature such as you will find hardship here.”

“Please–I will surely die if I enter that place!” You begged, pleading for your life for the second time in as many days.

“I can promise that a more unpleasant fate awaits you should you remain out in the open in such a state.” The beast snarled impatiently.

That gave you pause. Surely nothing in that damned forest could be worse than the ending such a merciless, hungry entity guaranteed. You didn't know what you could trust. Your senses had betrayed you, your emotions thrown into a frenzy after everything that had occurred.

A woman of water could be unpredictable under pressure. There were moments of calm stillness, composure akin to the glass-like reflection of a lake, and there were moments of torrent, the rampaging, ruthless rapids of a roaring river. You, however, had always been the sort to endure the rain until the dam within you broke, a person who rose to the occasion suddenly and without warning. 

A flash flood.

The bottle of stardust was precious, salvaged from the grave of a fallen star by your grandmother. It was powerful and volatile, much like the burst of bravery that emboldened you to throw the entire thing into that vile demon's face.

It exploded on impact, a star’s last light blooming across the entire clearing. The monster roared, dropping you again as his many hands came to try and clear away the shining, magical dust.

Your sudden freedom was disorienting, but you managed to scramble to your feet, nearly tumbling down that abhorrent shrine’s steps as you made your escape. The stardust’s glow was dimming, but you could still see into the treeline, your goal growing closer as you urged your feet to make haste. 

There was a strange wind swirling around you, dark and light magics dancing together under the cracked eye of the moon. Equally evil and benevolent, where one would expect a clash, instead those energies pushed and pulled in tandem. There was a cadence to it, a pounding, rushing drumbeat, racing faster and faster with each moment.

Lost in the feeling, you didn’t notice until it was too late.

You slammed directly into your captor’s muscled chest, falling backward to the ground, the jarring impact knocking the air from your lungs.

“I have little patience for trickery, witch.” He hissed, leaning down to grab you by the hair again. “And even less for weakness and insubordination." 

There was a moment then, one where you dared to stare into the face of a beast who would surely kill you for the blatant act of defiance alone. He stood above you, irritation written all over his tattooed face, his many hateful eyes blinking away tears that shimmered like stars. You cried out as your head was yanked back, exposing your throat. You could feel your pulse thundering under the thin skin, heart beating in time with the rhythm that had begun to fill the forest.

As you stared into those eyes, the time between beats began to slow, the silence seeming to suddenly stretch out into forever.

“I will forgive your transgression.” The beast mused. “But only this once.”

The last thing you saw as you were dragged into the absolute darkness of that doomed shrine, was the sliver of moonlight gleaming off that monster's sadistic smile.

The sound of sweet birdsong stirred you, pulling you from deep, dreamless sleep. 

You ached, both in body and mind, apparently having slept in a heap on the hard, packed dirt beneath you. You pushed yourself up into a seated position, groaning as the pain in your bones became more pronounced.

The memories came back to you slowly. The raging fire and the bargain with the stars. The escape to freedom and the monster that took it from you.

The shrine of death.

This place was nothing like the nightmare you had imagined.

It was small—a shabby, humble thing made of ancient wood. There was little to speak of inside save for a sizable, crumbling altar which was barren of offerings, a rickety chair, and a mess of furs piled in the back corner. The walls were of questionable integrity, as was the roof, both of which were made up of an astounding amount of empty space. The bright morning sun filtered through the holes in the structure, spatters of light that chased the shadows into the far corners of the shrine.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you summoned the courage to look behind you to the doorway, finding that it was just as ordinary as the rest of the hovel. The entrance lacked the teeth you had so feared, adorned only by an old bull’s skull that just barely hung into the archway.

You lurched to your feet, fighting the pull of the earth, your head spinning as you tried to orient yourself in space. Your needs made themselves apparent immediately, your body screaming for care you had not provided in well over a day. No stranger to hardship, you sifted through the sensations, triaging to direct your course of action.

The most profound feeling was a pounding headache and an intense dryness in your mouth that bled into your throat, incredible thirst that demanded immediate rectification.

Dizzy, you staggered out into the sun, seeking remedy for your condition.

The clearing was almost as neat as you recalled, the edge of the circular space lined with irregular rocks. There was a fire pit some distance from the shrine, and a few odd, broken things and dilapidated structures scattered around the open space. An enormous, flat rock sat near the far edge of the clearing, partially hidden by the small shrine. As you approached it, you found there was a well nearby, situated just by the tree line.

There was a bucket lying near the well with a rope of good integrity attached. You used it to draw water from the well, drinking until your thirst was slaked.

A shadow grew over you, causing you to nearly drop the bucket and the precious, clean water left within. Your instinct told you exactly what it was standing behind you: the cruel beast, who had surely returned to torment you for his own pleasure.

Shaky with nerves, you turned to find not a monster, but a man. 

He was nearly as large as you recalled, built strong and sturdy, his skin decorated with harsh, thick, black lines. His hair was dark, the color of black ash, and his eyes were as red as freshly spilled blood. He only had two eyes. In fact, all of his extra body parts had evaporated, leaving behind only a man who seemed somewhat of a monster rather than the other way around.

The man had a look of wicked amusement on his face, crimson eyes dancing with playful sadism, lips pulled into a small smirk that only grew when you flinched as he took the bucket from your hands. He drained the contents, handing you the empty vessel with an expectant look. Out of politeness, or perhaps sheer nerves, you filled it again, watching with interest as he drank the entirety of what you retrieved before tossing the bucket to the ground.

“It pleases me to see that you have survived the night, troublesome woman.” The audacious man grunted. “Though I still wonder if you are worth the effort.” He cocked an eyebrow at you, looking you over as if for the first time, taking in your dirty, torn skirts and unhindered scowl.

A nauseating thought slid through your mind as you pondered his strange words and actions, his unknown intentions blossoming into disgusting possibilities.

“You will find that I intend to make the effort outweigh any benefit you seek, unpleasant stranger.” You spat, taking a step back, eyes flicking to the forest beside you.

The man moved with incredible speed, grasping your wrist in one of his enormous hands, fingers curling around your forearm and squeezing hard enough to hurt.

“Be still, impulsive creature; I have no desire to retrieve you from those perilous woods again.” He said it slowly and directly, like he thought you merely didn’t understand his ire.

“Then do not retrieve me, vexatious man.” You snarked, tugging against his unyielding strength.

The man rolled his eyes, sighing heavily as if holding you captive was the greatest burden he could have to endure.

“Give me your name, woman; I tire of these games.” He commanded.

The demand brought with it the overwhelming urge to vomit. It was as if he was pulling your name from your tongue, but because you had nothing to give, your body was trying to provide the next available thing. Saliva pooled in your mouth, bile and water threatening to coat your throat. You swallowed it all, glaring at the man as you pushed everything down.

“I have no name to give.” You finally said. 

“Do not attempt to deceive me.” The man growled. “I know you have a name, defiant woman–I can smell it on you.”

“I speak truth; I am indeed named, but still I cannot give it.” You explained.

The man released you, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. He inhaled deeply, as if he was truly tasting the air to ascertain the validity of what you were saying. The tension between you was palpable, a moment of assessment and appraisal that felt more of a threat than anything else.

He must have decided to believe you, because the feeling faded as his face relaxed.

“I've also no name to give.” He grunted. “Though by a name, I am still known.”

You were taken aback by his admission, suddenly much more cautiously curious than concerned. 

You hadn't had the chance to consider that man as anything more than the monster you had conjured. Now, you were realizing he was likely neither monster nor human, but instead something of the fae.

Your experiences with those otherworldly creatures had been few, mostly limited to fleeting moments of contact that you ended as quickly as possible. In almost every case, the fae were only vaguely interested in you, though a few times they had apparent ill intentions. They were inherently dangerous due to their mysterious power and fickle whims, but they were generally harmless unless somehow provoked.

A nameless fae was another thing entirely; you couldn't get a solid sense of what this man might be capable of, let alone what he might desire. An unnamed human could amass enough power and notoriety to gain some semblance of a name, causing them to straddle the line between the two worlds; an unnamed fae in such a situation blurred the line completely.

You should have fled then and there.

Instead, you looked the man over with the same scrutiny he held for you.

“What are you called, notorious man?” 

Your confidence surprised both of you. The man blinked, then smirked, a cruel, smug expression settling on his face.

“Ryomen Sukuna.”

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

It was a lively night at the tavern; a traveling band was passing through the village at the same time as a troupe of actors and dancers, and after a few too many glasses of the village's specialty brew, they had all come together and decided to provide a spontaneous evening of entertainment. 

The band was playing a merry tune, their abilities apparently unhindered by their inebriation, and the dancers were doing well enough under the circumstances, successfully recruiting some of the crowd to dance along with them. The smell of spiced cider and mead ran thick in the air, fresh kegs that had been opened that night already mostly drained.

Though you had not planned on straying from your home, the sounds of a wooden flute had drawn you in, a beautiful noise that reminded you of dawn in springtime.

You sipped your drink, watching the party from a dark corner, enjoying the show from a comfortable distance.

A dancer sat down beside you, a pretty girl with long, brown hair and big eyes.

“I always feel a little out of place when we do something like this.” She mused. “The corner is much better than the spotlight, don't you think?”

“That’s an odd thing for a dancer to say.” You cocked an eyebrow at the woman, but she only laughed.

“I suppose you're right.” She agreed. “But becoming a dancer wasn't my first choice either; it was either this, or give up and be a weaver like the rest of my family.” She sighed heavily, leaning back against her chair and flagging down a barmaid to request a drink.

The woman, who you learned was called Saori, told you that she had initially left home in search of making a different life, but was subsequently ostracized in her next village for declining a marriage proposal. You chatted with her for a while before being interrupted by a group of actors, who loudly and drunkenly proclaimed that they would be presenting an exclusive showing of their newest play.

“Gather round, gather round, and hear a tale that’s most profound!” An actor shouted. “A tale of mystery, of evil and good, a tale about that forbidden wood!”

“Ugh, I hate when they do this.” Saori groaned. “Our troupe leader is always trying out new material on unsuspecting innocents—it's almost never polished enough to be presentable.”

You shrugged, tipsy enough that it didn’t matter to you either way; a free show was a free show.

“We’ve all heard tell of danger that way, of beasts and nameless and trickster fae—” Another slurred. “But what, pray tell, would come of thee—if in just one, you met all three?”

Much to Saori’s chagrin, more actors assembled, providing dramatic ambience and wandering amongst the growing crowd to generate interest.

Could a monster like that possibly exist?

I think I’ve overheard knights speaking of a such a beast, a thing that bathes in blood and feasts on human flesh!

Isn’t the Forest of the Forgotten dangerous enough as it is?

Another actor took charge, waving his arms to bring the other participants closer. “It’s true! You see, dear listeners, your forest it disgraces—a terrible monster most foul—the spirit with two faces!”

Ryomen Sukuna!

The actors carried on, spinning a dramatic story about a dangerous creature that was rumored to haunt the forest. You were sure that you had heard the legend before; it was likely one of the many entities that would be whispered about whenever someone had particularly bad fortune, a personification of any number of curses or omens.

You paid little attention to the intangible; a wishing witch only concerned themselves with real curses and spirits. A fabled monster was just that–a fable.

The evening was already winding down when you took your leave. You tried to shake Saori, but found yourself unable to decline when she expressed a need for shelter for the night. She and a few of her friends stumbled after you, chattering about how the other performers had behaved in the tavern.

One in particular, a young man with long, blonde hair named Haruta, wouldn't stop bringing up the impromptu play.

“I think that act is our best one; everyone loves a scary story~” Haruta giggled, skipping along the path. His purple face paint had long since smudged, partially washed away by sweat and careless hands, but his performer’s personality hadn’t waned in the slightest.

“It’s bad luck is what it is–” Saori sighed. “Profiting off of the fae without giving them their cut is guaranteed to bring bad fortune.”

“Saori is right, Haruta.” Another dancer, a shy teenager called Arata, flipped his pale hair out of his face. “I know that the boss thinks drama sells better, but—”

“But what?” Haruta huffed. “It’s not like Ryomen Sukuna is real—he’s made up to keep people away from the forest. A couple of ugly faces for a nameless foe.” He laughed, a skip in his step all the way back to your cottage.

Shortly after dropping your guests off, you had made an excuse to step out, practically running to do your nightly anointment under the powerful starlight. The stars lit your way that night, shining brighter than usual as you made the trek to the area where you did your devotionals. The spring’s water felt like heat and potential energy, your magic vibrating under your skin as if the very stars were being channeled into you, invigorating even to your soul.

It was on your way back that you saw him collapse at the edge of the forest.

Haruta’s breath was ragged, the shuddering gasps coming in worryingly uneven intervals. The blood wouldn’t stop, your initial efforts to staunch it unsuccessful. He smelled of death, fear, and the lifeblood leaking from his wounds. There was an acceptance lurking in his eyes, the knowledge that he was on borrowed time already apparent to him.

His injuries were unusual. There were clean cuts—thin, precise slashes across his back and front—but there were also chunks of him missing, as if a beast had torn away pieces of flesh with its sharp teeth as Haruta escaped.

“M-monster—the w-w-wood—” Haruta stuttered, his voice barely a whisper.

“Don’t try to talk.” You warned. “I don’t think I can bargain for your strength.” You rummaged through his pockets for anything you could use, finding that all he had was a strange, worn pouch made of a rabbit hide that still had the creature's feet attached. There was a small sum of various coins inside, but nothing of sentimental value.

You summoned the well, throwing in the lot of coins, pouch and all, trading Haruta’s wealth for the strength to carry him back to your cottage. He loosed broken sobs, his blood soaking your back as you staggered forward, feeling only just strong enough to bring him back to your cottage without collapsing yourself.

The horror on his friend’s faces was overwhelming, the shock and terror that filled the room even more so. You rose above the panic, steeling yourself emotionally to do what you could for the people around you.

“I don’t think I can save him.” You explained. “But we can ease his pain.”

You summoned the well a second time, sacrificing a doll that you had stowed away in your cottage. It was just enough to bring Haruta peace, enough to let him have a last moment with his friends.

A last moment was something you were rarely able to provide. Each experience was unique to the person receiving such an extension. Some begged for more time, some expressed love or resentment, some denied their fates and squandered the extra time for which their loved ones bargained and sacrificed

Haruta used his last moment to warn them.

“It-it was him.” Haruta whimpered. “The two-faced fae—”

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

“Ryomen Sukuna.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

You were still looking him in the eye, but your hands were shaking uncontrollably. You wanted to respond, to say something meaningful in turn, but your voice was stuck fast in your tightening throat.

“I see that my reputation precedes me.” Sukuna's eyes were like fire, sparks that had ignited on the fuel that was your cowardice.

“Yes–” You breathed, barely able to get the word out. 

Being alive after everything you had already done was a miracle; perhaps the stars had granted you favor after all.

“Have you already forgotten?” Sukuna asked. “I thought you had learned well enough how to kneel—could it be that you need another lesson?”

Perhaps not.

With obvious reluctance, you lowered yourself to your knees, sitting on your heels. Despite your fear, or maybe because of it, you couldn't bring yourself to press your own face to the ground. Head bowed, you looked up at Sukuna through your lashes, watching him in your peripheral.

He stepped forward, standing directly above where you knelt. His hand came to your chin, tilting your head up toward him. Though you wondered if he might pluck your eye from your head for your insubmission, you still couldn't bring yourself to look away, unperturbed by the blazing fire in his gaze.

The tension between you rose again during that growing silence; even the birds had stopped singing under the immense pressure of Sukuna's intimidating aura.

“Tch–” Sukuna tutted in annoyance, withdrawing his hand. “Stand, woman. It's pointless to waste time like this if you won't bother to do it properly.”

You almost didn't believe him, rising to your feet cautiously, still anticipating being cut down at any moment.

“Why have you brought me here?” You asked carefully.

“You already know, witch.” Sukuna laughed, low and gravelly. “It is as I said; you receive nothing for which you've not asked.”

You stared into the red-hot coals trained upon you, smoldering fire that licked over you as you tried to understand. 

A memory struck you then, one of raging flames and desperation. 

A crimson star that burned brighter than the sun.

The truth rippled through you, a devastating knowledge that you were always destined to be swallowed by fire that night. You had not escaped your fate, you had only changed its application.

“A shame that I cannot have all that was promised, but I suppose you might be useful as you are.” Sukuna hummed, closing in on you, backing you against the edge of the well.

A shiver crawled up your spine as you realized you had only just avoided belonging to Ryomen Sukuna entirely.

“What am I to do?” Your question came before you could stop it, a thing born of the anxious anticipation blossoming inside you.

A cruel smirk settled on Sukuna's face as he towered over you, an expression that told you he looked down on you in every way possible.

“Serve.”

Serving, as it turned out, was something for which Sukuna had no clear definition. He was irritable, snappy, and impatient, and you had no idea how to predict what he was going to require of you next.

First, he had you sweep out the dingy shrine, but the broom provided was of poor quality, resulting in you kicking up more dust than you evicted. Sukuna watched, shooting you critical glares while you worked. It was difficult not to laugh when you glanced at him; he had chosen to sit in the old chair, which he utterly dwarfed. He looked like a petulant child who had been sent to sit in a doll's chair, arms crossed and brow furrowed with his displeasure.

Next, it was hauling logs from the edge of the clearing and stacking them near the shrine, only for Sukuna to decide he wanted them piled back where they had been in the first place.

After that, Sukuna made you sort nuts while he meditated on the large rock behind the shrine. He didn't seem to get much meditation done though, as he would often open an eye to check if you were doing as he had asked.

It was one command after another, a series of short-lived tasks that made you wonder if Sukuna was ordering you around just for the sake of doing so. He never strayed far, though he occasionally left you before quickly returning to complain you weren't meeting his ambiguous expectations.

He motivated you with a mix of degradation and threat, using what you understood of him against you. If it hadn’t been your reality, it might have been comical, the way that Sukuna implied he might maim or torture you because you weren’t bundling sticks or moving rocks to his liking.

Be quick, woman. Use the legs I have been gracious enough to allow you to keep.

I’ve met nameless children with more sense than you—you’re lucky I don’t leave you to them.

I should have saved myself this burden and eaten you.

It was nearly dusk when Sukuna pulled you from another pointless endeavor and brought you to the fire pit.

“Tend the fire.” He grumbled, sitting you down by the fledgling flames and stalking off toward the forest, disappearing into the trees without a second glance.

It was the first moment you felt like you could truly breathe all day. Sukuna's constant presence and incessant demands had worn on you more heavily than tasks themselves. You couldn’t stop picturing the man who had bled out on the floor of your cottage, couldn't stop the echo of his shuddering whimpers as he warned his friends of the demon that lurked in the Forest of the Forgotten.

The terror of it was paralytic, the understanding that you might be one misstep away from meeting the same brutal end had put you into survival mode. You weren’t thinking—you were just doing, moving from one command to the next.

Now that you had a moment to think, you were actually a little grateful that Sukuna had been so overbearing. If you had been able to really consider your circumstances while he was around, you might have had a hard time controlling yourself.

You stared into the flickering fire, feeding it dry twigs, watching them slowly be consumed and crumble to ash. The smell of smoke was comforting, the scent practically indistinguishable from almost any other campfire that you had sat beside. If you closed your eyes, you could even imagine that you were at home outside your cottage–

Your cottage that didn’t exist anymore.

That was something else you have been deliberately ignoring all day. Even if you weren’t caught in the trap that was Ryomen Sukuna’s interest, you didn’t have a home to which you could return. It was clear enough that you weren’t welcome in the village any longer, likely for a slew of reasons that you couldn’t hope to stand against. You wished it was as easy as blaming the knights for instilling prejudice in the people, but it would be foolish to deny that those sentiments had never been present before things had taken a turn for the worse.

Your grandmother had warned you that you would never be able to change the way that people perceived you because of what you were, that you would always be something different from them in their minds. Having magic had always othered you, had set you apart from those people. You were only ever as safe as you were useful to them.

Still, you hoped after years of devotion to the good of the village that there might have been more to show for it.

It was stupid to be so upset about something that was out of your control, but you couldn’t help it. You missed your cottage and your routine. You missed the people you had grown to care for and the feeling of community, shallow as it had been. You even missed the little grievances of village life simply because they were yours.

You looked starward, trying to prevent the tears pooling in your eyes from spilling over.

The sky was covered in a thick layer of cloud, the light of the stars and moon alike unable to filter through. It was a warm night, the first truly warm night of spring, one you normally would have rejoiced in, celebrating the turn of the season with a midnight dance. Now, under the lightless sky, you found yourself unmotivated to even make an effort to feel gratitude, let alone make a show of it.

The fire was burning low, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stand and retrieve another log. What did it matter if you let it burn out? How likely was it that if one mistake wasn’t your last, the next one would be?

Your heart ached.

You should have never made that selfish wish, should have never asked for the red star to save you. You overestimated your abilities, meddling with the threads of fate and finding yourself utterly entangled.

It would have been best to let things take their course.

The rustle of underbrush snapped you out of your brooding. Your head whipped toward the noise, your heart suddenly filled with fear that the state of the fire would displease Sukuna and that you really would meet a brutal, meaningless end.

At the clearing’s edge, just within the low light of the fire, was a small deer. She was pretty, soft edges and a flawless hide, a doe who had done well for herself over the harsh winter. She nibbled budding leaves, unafraid of you even as you got to your feet. You watched her as she munched through the new foliage, ears swiveling toward you as you walked to grab more fodder for the flames.

The fire crackled happily, shining against the darkness of the forest. Under brighter light, you could better make out the doe. Every so often, she would raise her head, surveying the area for danger before getting back to her meal. She really was a gorgeous animal, her big, dark eyes blinking back at you, thick lashes fluttering. She even looked pretty while she chewed her cud.

The sound of Sukuna returning startled you both.

The doe bounded off into the forest, leaving you to handle Sukuna on your own. He walked directly toward the fire pit, stopping on the side opposite to you, his back to the woods. He looked you over briefly before dropping his prize onto the ground—three dead grouses. Sukuna sat on the ground in a huff, removing the waterskin he was wearing on his back.

He gutted each grouse in turn, expertly removing their entrails before setting them to the side in an old basket. You were impressed by his ability to accomplish such delicate work efficiently, especially considering how the grouse were fairly small compared to the size of his hands. To your surprise, his waterskin contained fresh clay, which he packed onto the grouses before setting them in the flames.

It was only when he finally looked back to you with that smug, egotistical smirk that you realized you had been staring.

“What happened while I was away?” Sukuna asked.

“Nothing.” You blinked, surprised by his question. You had expected criticism, a negative comment about the fire or a snappy remark about your poor manners. “It was quiet.” You added thoughtfully.

“Good.” He grunted, poking at the baking birds, using a stick to carefully turn them over. 

Sukuna ignored you after that, gazing into the fire until it was time to take the grouses out. He cracked open one of the hardened, clay shells, revealing the meal inside. The clay had effectively de-feathered and skinned the bird, leaving a clean, easy path to the juicy meat beneath. You watched him devour the first grouse, picking the bones clean before he cracked open the second.

How he heard the growling of your stomach over the sound of the fire, you couldn’t be sure, but Sukuna glanced up at you the moment it happened.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, raising a brow at you.

You nodded, feeling your face flush with embarrassment. You had been starving the entire day, your hunger only kept at bay by anxiety and the consistent stream of work to be done. The thought of asking for food had floated through your mind, only for the memory of Haruta gasping for air on your back to replace it.

“Then eat, woman.” Sukuna directed, rolling the last grouse toward you.

You hesitated for only a moment before cracking the shell as you had seen Sukuna do. The steam floated up into your face, the delicious smell wafting into your nose. It was, in essence, a bird covered in dirt, but that didn’t change how incredible it tasted. 

The first bite was enough to make you nearly moan. The clay kept the grouse from drying out in the fire, the taste of fresh kill satiating you in ways that the nuts you had been planning to sneak would never have accomplished. You had to stop yourself from eating it too quickly, both to savor the meal and prevent yourself from becoming ill.

When you finally finished, you looked up to find that Sukuna was now staring at you. His jaw flexed when your eyes met his, and if you didn’t know better, you might have thought he was holding his tongue.

“You will eat when you are hungry.” He mumbled. “If you grow any weaker, there won’t be a use for you.” He stood, looking down at you pointedly, a little smirk playing at his lips, the expression barely visible in the flicker of firelight.

“Thank you!” You blurted out, both embarrassed by your genuine gratitude and relieved you had managed to express it.

Sukuna only grunted in return, but in the dancing shadows, you thought he looked satisfied with himself.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

You buried the grouse bones near the forest’s edge, praying over what remained of the birds to thank them for their sacrifice, wishing them well as they returned to the earth.

Sliding your hand into the pocket of your apron, you were relieved to find that your vial of spring water was still unharmed after your many trials. You performed the ritual anointment automatically, finishing your rites quickly and quietly, promising your devotion to the stars without thinking too hard about what that meant for you now.

Sukuna was watching you from the doorway to the shrine, likely ensuring you weren’t planning to flee under the cover of darkness. He didn’t protest, allowing your practice without seeking explanation, though you were suspicious that his actions had less to do with kindness and more to do with his own mysterious connection to the stars.

He didn’t say anything to you when you returned, only nodding his head toward a barren corner while he settled into the massive nest of furs across the room.

The next morning was much the same as the day before. You woke alone, roused by the calls of birds and gentle morning light, sore from sleeping on the hard ground. You wandered outside, finding Sukuna seated on the large, flat rock, apparently meditating.

You approached him cautiously, thinking it best to not wait for him to seek you out. You stood a short distance away, shifting from foot to foot. It was a while before he acknowledged you, though you knew he must have been aware of your presence as one of his eyebrows twitched every time you made even the smallest sound.

“Water.” He muttered.

“Water?” You asked, yawning slightly.

“Yes, water.” Sukuna snapped, shooting a glare your way. “Fetch it, tiresome woman.”

So started the day’s series of menial tasks. After drawing water for Sukuna to drink, you were immediately directed to draw even more water, enough to fill a large, shallow washbasin, which Sukuna insisted you use to clean yourself. Mercifully, he made himself scarce while you did so, returning not long after you were finished, though your relief was short-lived as Sukuna then undressed, instructing you to wash his sirwal.

You bounced from one chore to the next, only barely able to keep ahead of Sukuna’s impending irritation. It became easier as you went; he was fairly predictable if one kept in mind that he was somewhat unreasonable and completely impossible to please. Sukuna spoke to you very little outside his criticism, preferring to utilize gestures and ambiguous noises when possible, though he did seem to mutter to himself when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

As evening drew nearer, Sukuna left again, charging you with keeping the fire going in his absence. He returned more quickly that night, bearing two hares and an assortment of wild greens. You watched him skin the hares while you sorted the greens, pulling out the ones that would be too bitter or buggy. You ate in silence, though Sukuna did throw you a look or two when you neglected the fire.

The stars were visible that night, blinking back at you while you looked up at them. Though you were no longer sure who or what to pray for, the practice grounded you, and the spring's water made you feel more like yourself.

The days went on that way, routine if not repetitive. You were put to work almost as soon as you awoke, and by the day's end you would drag yourself into the shrine, thoroughly exhausted. Sukuna worked you hard enough and kept you up long enough that your eyes were practically already closed by the time you were lying on the shrine’s earthen floor.

You were almost grateful for the way he was treating you. The work quieted your mind, preventing you from being able to think about everything that had led you to your current circumstances. The only time you were truly alone was when Sukuna left each evening to hunt. Sometimes he returned astoundingly quickly, but occasionally his absence stretched late into the night. 

Those nights were the worst. You had too much time to remember. The fire brought you comfort as much as it did pain, a reminder that you were alive even though there were plenty of people who would have preferred that you were not.

The saving grace of those evenings was your lone visitor, the pretty doe. She didn’t always come, but she often kept you company during Sukuna’s lengthier ventures.

Sometimes the doe watched you back, though for the most part she was content to go about her business. She wasn't skittish. She didn't dare cross the clearing's boundary and fled as soon as Sukuna arrived, though in your opinion, that just meant she had good instincts.

Her departure was always bittersweet; you missed your friend when she was gone, but Sukuna's return meant the end to your hunger.

That part of the day was your favorite. The work was simple, if it was given to you at all, and Sukuna's mood was typically at its peak after a successful hunt.

Sukuna never asked again if you were hungry or openly offered you anything, but he always brought enough back to ensure both of you were satisfied. He even awarded you a treat from time to time—a handful of tart, purple berries had mysteriously made its way into your bowl more than once. On occasion, he asked you to tell him about your life in the village, though he didn’t seem to have much interest in what you spoke about.

Those were the nights that caused you to wonder about the nature of your fate. Sukuna was not kind, if anything he was the opposite, but he certainly seemed to care in his own way.

It was the morning before the full moon that you woke with sticky thighs.

Normally, you would have been prepared for it, but in the fray of it all, you had completely forgotten about your monthly bleed.

Standing quickly, you examined your dress for new stains. Luckily, it seemed you had caught the very start of it, your skin the only victim of your negligence. Sighing, you scurried out of the shrine, wondering if you could get away with washing yourself before Sukuna found you.

You were standing, skirts lifted and a wad of soaked moss in hand, when Sukuna appeared. You froze, feeling uncharacteristic shame paint your cheeks as he took in your unusual stance.

“What are you doing, woman?” He grunted. His nostrils twitched, a strange look passing over his face as his eyes caught on your bloodied thighs.

Sukuna didn’t wait for your stammered response, turning on his heel and stomping off toward the stone storage structure on the far end of the clearing. He returned quickly, pushing a wad of clean linen cloth into your hand, only huffing when you thanked him.

“Leave it in the basket by the fire when it is dirtied.” He instructed, pointing to the ancient basket that he used to hold discarded animal guts.

It was the last that he spoke of it, but each evening Sukuna returned with a pain-relieving bark for you to chew, and each morning there was a fresh cloth and tepid basin of water waiting for you.

Those days were otherwise the same; Sukuna showed you no more leniency than he did any other time, supplying you with an endless list of tasks, though he didn’t complain any more than usual when you struggled with the more physically taxing work.

On the morning that you woke to a clean cloth, the sum of linens you had used were stacked neatly in their own basket near your corner, and the wash basin was dry and empty.

You decided not to think about how Sukuna knew that your bleed had ended.

On the eve of the new moon, the energy in the clearing felt disturbingly different. There was a growing sense of ennui, a dissatisfaction in your work and in yourself no matter what you were tasked with.

Sukuna seemed unbothered, if only slightly more irritable, though you wondered if you weren’t just taking things personally. His muttered comments felt more cutting, as if the armor you had grown over the month was failing you.

Where is your head, woman? Do as I've asked.

I've never seen poorer weaving—give it here, I will do it myself if you're incapable.

Perhaps you are simply hopeless…shall I find a better use for you?

You felt an undercurrent of fear, a worry that your time was running out. Sukuna was always harsh, but usually his words held less weight. You found yourself dwelling on the memory of Haruta’s death more and more often, the picture of his bloodied face floating into your mind.

When daylight began to fade, Sukuna sat at the fire pit as always. However, when he called you from your work to charge you with the night's fire, he did not leave immediately. Instead, he sat back, leaning against a stump he had recently had you drag over.

You tried to think nothing of it, acting as if he wasn't there. Keeping your eyes on the flames, you focused on your breathing, trying to ground yourself in the steady rhythm of the fire's hunger.

You found little success.

Sukuna was watching; you could feel his eyes boring into you. Despite your best efforts, your heart began to thud against your chest, a mounting anxiety pumping throughout your body. 

When you dared to glance at him, you realized that he was not just staring, but glaring. Sukuna's brow furrowed as you looked back at him, his scowl deepening. Your eyes flicked back to the fire, your shaking hands busying themselves with prodding the crumbling sticks within.

“Your prayers.” Sukuna said suddenly. “Do them early tonight.”

You startled, nearly dropping your fire-poking stick. Your pulse quickened, the strange demand echoing in your mind as you tried to understand Sukuna's intent.

“Early?” You asked quietly. “Why?”

“Because I require it, woman.” Sukuna grinned, flashing his unusually sharp teeth at you. “Go now—I will see to the fire.”

Your body moved for you, carrying you away from the light of the fire to the forest's edge. It felt like you were floating, a passenger behind your eyes, the shake in your limbs somehow not your own.

It was hardly a spiritual experience; you merely went through the motions. 

Your vial was nearly empty. You had been rationing your spring water, using far less than was usually needed to conserve what remained, but there was so little left that you were forced to deplete your supply entirely.

You figured it didn't matter anyway.

The stars were indifferent as always, twinkling far above you and your meaningless devotion. Your only solace was the familiar feeling of your holy ritual, the energy bringing you the peace you needed as you traversed your unfamiliar circumstances.

Sukuna stood upon your return to the fire, approaching you in a way that made you recoil into yourself. He towered over you, sadistic pleasure leaking from him as he raised an arm, bringing his hand to your face.

Deceptively gentle, Sukuna trailed his fingers over your cheek. You trembled under him, raw terror flooding your mind with his worst possible intentions. You understood that Sukuna enjoyed toying with you, that he liked the way you wilted under the immense pressure of his powerful presence.

This felt different. There was something distinctly hungry laced into the usual cruel amusement and unquestionable assertion of dominance. Sukuna had rarely touched you after bringing you to the shrine, and even then it had mostly been accidental.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to swallow the rising tide of fear.

“Look at me.” Sukuna growled.

Your eyes snapped back open, meeting Sukuna's burning gaze.

Sukuna's hand slipped down, fingers sliding along the outer edge of your apron. He seemed to relish the way you shook under him, pupils dilating when you whimpered as his hand continued its descent.

Lower and lower, the intensity of Sukuna's gaze matched the intensity of the moment, a tight band of anticipation that was threatening to snap.

You wanted to run. You wanted to flee whatever this was and take your chances with all the combined powers of the forest, but those crimson eyes held you fast.

Sukuna leaned in, bringing his face near your neck, inhaling deeply near where your blood ran close to the surface. You could feel his hot breath against your sensitive skin, could feel the excitement thrumming in the space between your throat and his teeth.

“You smell good.” Sukuna rumbled.

A tear fell from your eye, rolling down your cheek.

What came next was so fast you almost didn't process what was happening. The hand on your apron grabbed, anchoring itself in your clothes. Sukuna’s other hand clamped down on the back of your neck, preventing you from pulling away.

Something warm and wet slowly dragged itself up your face.

Sukuna's tongue.

He licked you from chin to cheekbone, stopping just a hair's breadth from the corner of your eye.

“Your fear tastes sweet—” Sukuna hissed.

You were like that for just another beat, Sukuna's ragged breath in your ear, your trembling knees weak beneath you—

And then it was over. Sukuna was back on his side of the fire, turning your precious, empty vial in his hands. The pretty, protective shell shone in the flickering light, flashes of silver gleaming in the darkness as Sukuna handled the vessel.

You had hardly caught your breath before he was back to barking orders at you, acting as if nothing had happened.

“You will keep the fire going until I come back. Do not sleep while I am gone.” Sukuna said firmly, pocketing your vial as he ran a hand through his dark hair. “If you make trouble for me…you will not enjoy the consequences.”

You nodded, barely able to comprehend what Sukuna was saying, but understanding the underlying threat all the same. You sat back down, watching Sukuna disappear into the night.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

The night seemed to stretch endlessly, though you knew by the rate the fire was consuming tinder that it was merely an illusion.

You couldn't stop reliving what had occurred between you and Sukuna, shivering each time you recalled how he had licked the tears from your cheek.

Recalling how he had savored it.

To say the event confounded you would have been an understatement. It wasn’t that you didn’t understand Sukuna's behavior, but rather that you were confused by your own. A sane witch would have run or fought or otherwise expressed herself.

You however, had practically rolled over—had just stood there and taken it, like it was something you—

The rustle of brush snapped you out of your spiral. You looked upward, half-expecting to see Sukuna, only to find something else entirely.

It was your doe.

At least, it looked a lot like her at first. Standing at the edge of the wood, staring straight at you, was a creature unlike any you had ever seen before. It was mostly a woman, naked and clearly human, but it had the head of a deer.

The deer-woman blinked at you, molars grinding a mouthful of leaves.

You stood, both frightened and intrigued, curious enough to want a closer look, but intelligent enough to know better.

It was hard to see, the moon's absence making it difficult to visualize much outside the fire's light. You tossed another log on, keeping an eye on the strange visitor.

You might have left it at that, splitting your attention between the creature and the fire until Sukuna returned, but then it started speaking.

“With me—come with me—” It whispered. “I know where to hide—to hide—”

“What?” You asked, suddenly feeling much more afraid than anything else.

“I hide—we hide—come with me—” Though it was barely audible, the creature's voice seemed to echo around the clearing, repeating its quiet offer over and over. “Danger here, forest is safe—”

“G-go away.” You stuttered.

“You come—we go away—go away.” The creature tilted its head. It was creeping around the rock-lined edge, slowly making its way closer to where you sat.

“Please leave.” You kept your eyes on the thing, watching for any indication that it might dare to cross the barrier.

“Danger—” It repeated, stopping at the point on the circle that brought it closest to you. “Follow me—hide.”

It stood there, staring at you, doe eyes unblinking, black pools that swallowed the fire's light. The creature was unnaturally motionless, unnerving and uncanny, whispering of danger and promising safety.

It wasn't until the fire was nearly out that you realized how long you had been staring back.

You will not enjoy the consequences.

You panicked, pushing dry leaves and twigs into the edge of the dying fire, feeling relief beyond measure when they caught. The desperate endeavor engrossed you to the point that you almost forgot about your horrifying visitor. By the time you remembered it, the creature was nowhere to be seen.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

If there had been any chance of you neglecting the fire or falling asleep before the deer-woman, it had completely evaporated after.

Day had broken before you knew it, a faint light that coated the sky in a warm, golden glow. It wasn't long after that Sukuna returned. He bore a fine leather satchel, a sizable thing that was slung over his hip, and a lidded, woven basket on his back. There was an urgency in his approach, a far cry from his usual slow, dignified saunter. He threw the basket down carelessly, removing the satchel with similar indifference before he sat in his usual spot across the fire.

Sukuna looked you over, brow furrowed, a deep frown on his lips.

“What happened?” He asked, voice rough and hoarse as if he had been speaking endlessly for hours.

“I…I saw something strange and almost let the fire go out.” You answered, too scared to either elaborate or lie.

“Mmm.” Sukuna hummed, looking out into the trees. “What did you see?”

“It was a woman who bore the face of a deer.” You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, glancing toward the spot at the tree line where the deer woman had stopped to speak to you. “It spoke of danger—I think it wanted me to leave with it.”

Sukuna followed your gaze, his lips pulling into a dangerous, toothy smile.

“It seems they grow bolder when I am away.” He laughed, a rumbling sound that came from deep in his chest. He opened the basket, pulling from it a large loaf of bread and a hunk of waxed cheese, tearing one end of the bread away and tossing it toward you.

“Who grows bolder?” You asked, catching the chunk of cheese that you had suspected would be lobbed at you next.

Sukuna didn’t answer, instead returning his attention to the basket. The next items he retrieved were thoroughly unexpected—a plain, linen dress, a tunic, and a pair of trousers. He folded each item in turn, laying them on the stump behind him before removing the final item from the basket.

It was a fine tea set, a thing that felt completely out of place in the clearing. Though it was far from the most ornate item you had ever seen, compared to the simplicity of everything else you had come to know of the course of the month, the porcelain tea set was positively regal.

“You can make tea, correct?” Sukuna questioned, cocking his head toward the set.

“Yes?” You answered, feeling unsure about absolutely everything after what had occurred that night.

Sukuna looked satisfied, moving the tea set to the side before biting into his portion of bread.

“Starting tomorrow, you will serve me tea every evening.” He said, swallowing an absurdly large mouthful. “You may drink it with me, though I suspect you will not enjoy the taste.”

You tried to keep the confusion from showing on your face, though you had a feeling Sukuna wouldn’t care either way, as he had begun ignoring you in favor of his meal.

When he was finished, he seemed to remember something, placing the satchel on top of the folded clothes before he wandered over to the shrine.

Curious, you decided there wasn’t any harm in investigating the items on the stump, especially given how you had great suspicion that the clothes were not intended for Sukuna to wear. The satchel was empty, save for your vial, which was filled to the brim with spring water.

Sukuna was already bedded down for the night when you made it inside, though you swore you heard him scoff quietly when you thanked him.

A face like no one has ever seen.

next

ever by team sleep

You were unsure exactly what Sukuna had planned when he approached you with several bundles of thin, black rope. The fiber it was woven from was incredibly fine, thousands of individual strands wrapped tightly together, the ends whipped with red thread. There were two, tiny crotal bells fastened to each end of the lengths of rope, their delicate sound barely reaching your ear.

“Hold still.”

Sukuna took one rope and doubled it at its middle, then wrapped it around your waist, running the ends through the gap between the ropes and tightening it until it held fast. He paid little attention to you or your comfort, bringing the rope around you several more times, using the same simple knot to secure each loop. The feeling of it was hypnotizing, the rhythmic vibration as the rope was pulled through and the quiet tinkle of the bells soothed the anxiety that came with Sukuna’s touch.

Your mind quieted as he continued, and you became a passive observer to the experience. When a length of Sukuna’s rope ran short, he tied it off, then resumed the process with a new one. He worked carefully and methodically, focusing intently on each detail of his knots, and you came to anticipate the steady feeling of his hands brushing against you while he perfected the work. It lulled you into a state you had rarely achieved since coming to the clearing, a relaxation that was not dissimilar to the spiritual high sometimes granted by the stars.

By the time he was nearly through the small pile of ropes, you felt as if you were standing in the space between sleeping and being awake.

A sharp pull roused you, and your eyes focused to see Sukuna standing before you, tying the ends of the last rope around his own waist. The work done on himself was shoddy compared to the elaborate design that had been tied onto you. After a few simple knots, Sukuna decided he was finished, and he stepped away to assess the length of the loose rope between you. He could only get around a score's worth paces from you before the rope pulled taut. Sukuna took an additional step backward, causing you to be pulled toward him. Your many bells jingled as you stumbled forward, the sound and sudden movement fully breaking you out of your trance.

Sukuna led you to the edge of the clearing, stopping in front of the most defined trail on the perimeter.

“You walk ahead.” Sukuna grunted. “I will tell you which way to go.” He tugged on the rope that connected you once more, ensuring it was properly attached, then motioned with his head for you to start moving.

The relaxed feeling that had been lingering in your body evaporated, the fear of the forest instilled in you since before you could properly walk it rising within you. Your hesitation did not go unnoticed.

“Woman.” Sukuna’s annoyance was palpable. “I thought you knew the name Ryomen Sukuna.”

“I surely do.” You nodded.

“Then you should know that no creature in this cursed wood stands against me.” He asserted. “Walk.”

The trail had a well defined border even as it led you deeper into the forest, something you had rarely witnessed on your own journeys into the wilderness. Sukuna moved behind you with predatory silence, which might have unnerved you if you weren't so committed to depending on him if trouble arose.

You had not ever seen Sukuna interact with another being. Every animal he brought back was already dead, and up until he had returned with staples of civilization, you assumed he just killed everything he met. The possibility that he had murdered the former owner of your outfit was one to which you remained deliberately ignorant. Imagining Sukuna bartering for anything was a preferable fantasy.

The forest was lively that day; there were many small creatures going about their business, stirring the idle magic that coated everything in the deeper parts of the wood. Small bands of songbirds fluttered through the underbrush, chirping and singing to one another as they went.

A tug on your rope startled you.

“We turn here.” Sukuna pointed to a game trail that led into a dense thicket.

“Off the main trail?” You asked nervously.

“It is good enough for the animals.” Sukuna said plainly. “Keep moving, woman. Daylight will not wait.”

Though you nearly ran into several spiderwebs, the thin trail was surprisingly free of magical distraction. The area it led to was small, but it provided a perfect place for many kinds of herbs to grow. There was variable shade and the soil thrummed with the forest's power, giving rise to a healthy variety of potential plants both ordinary and magical to choose from.

It became clear that you were here to gather herbs for Sukuna’s tea. Sukuna didn't seem to have many preferences, his only request being that you abstain from making use of liquorice, so you settled on something you would have made for yourself. 

Sukuna had not explicitly stated that the satchel he had brought back was for you, but he also had not said anything when he noticed you had strapped it to yourself and made use of it. It was stuffed full of clippings and leaves by the time Sukuna decided it was time to return to the clearing. You were practically skipping the whole way back, overly pleased with your haul simply because it was your own.

Sukuna set you up by the shrine, where you spent the rest of the available daylight sorting through what you had gathered.

That night, Sukuna did not leave.

The man had grown restless as the day progressed, patrolling the rim of the clearing as dusk settled over the forest. He paced endlessly near the edge closest to the fire pit, eyes fixed on the void. There was tension in the way he held himself, every muscle coiled in anticipation, as if he was waiting for something to happen.

You were at your place by the fire, making a point to busy yourself with exactly what you had been assigned so that you would not be scolded by Sukuna. He had actually growled at you when you got up to retrieve kindling, herding you back over to where you belonged before bringing you an armful of sticks, glaring at you as he threw them down.

This side of Sukuna was interesting. He had never come off as particularly territorial to you, at least not so openly. He had always exuded a subtle, unwavering confidence, a knowledge that lower beings would not dare to test the invisible boundaries of his patience.

Sukuna finally settled after the moon had risen, though his mood was still noticeably poor. He was twitchy and irritable, and he snapped at you several times over things that he had never mentioned before.

The meal that evening was light, made up of starchy roots and nuts that Sukuna had brought back some days before and a bundle of greens that you had snagged while walking the trail back. It was significantly less rich than every meal you had been provided since being brought to live in the clearing, but it was infinitely more satisfying in that you had been partially responsible for procuring it.

You deliberately got ahead of Sukuna’s mood, making it obvious that you were busying yourself with preparing tea for him. After selecting an aliquot of the herbs you had gathered, you retrieved the teapot, turning it in your hands.

“This teapot is quite nice, but I fear it may crack under the strain of water made hot enough for tea.” You advised.

“It will not break.” Sukuna assured you. “The vessel is enchanted, witch. Can you not tell?”

You looked closely at the pot, eyes scanning over the fine enamel design. It looked exceptionally normal to you, though that could have been because you were accustomed to seeing all manner of goods imbued with magical power.

“Ah, I see now.” You lied. “I did not notice before.”

Sukuna raised a brow at that, looking you over skeptically. It was only then that you wondered what the punishment might be for being blatantly untruthful. Whatever his thoughts on your response, the moment passed without incident, and you returned to fussing with the teapot.

The tea you made was particularly fragrant, a minty, floral smell that reminded you of home. Before you had the chance to taste it, Sukuna snatched the pot from you. He poured a strange powder into the brew, then served himself before pouring some for you. You tried the beverage, mostly because it had been offered to you, barely able to keep the complete disgust off your face when the liquid hit your tongue. It was unfathomably bitter, and whatever powder Sukuna had used had failed to properly dissolve, making it slightly gritty.

You glanced at Sukuna, who at least seemed to be enjoying himself, though you weren’t sure if it was because he was pleased with the tea or your reaction to it. Swallowing with a grimace, you looked into your cup and wondered if it might be easier to drink what remained all at once.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. Sukuna let you take over serving the tea, and though he did not comment on how you never refreshed your own cup, you could sense that he was amused each time you attempted to sip the concoction. You were able to finish what you had been given, though you were unsure if you would be able to manage the feat with any regularity. 

The fire was burning low before Sukuna addressed you again.

“There are no bones to bury, so you will not need to stray far from the fire tonight, yes?”

You looked up at Sukuna, finding that for a man who had sounded so uninterested, he looked a beast that was anything but.

“No, I suppose not.” You agreed.

Sukuna trailed behind you as you found a suitable spot to pray, loitering much closer than he ever had for your spiritual practices. He would huff when you strayed further than whatever boundaries he had privately decided on, though he refrained from actually forbidding you from going a particular direction.

You chose a spot that was both just outside the light of the fire and the shadow of the shrine, settling for the little privacy the space offered. The session was not incredibly productive. You had trouble concentrating knowing that Sukuna was looming a few paces away, and the stars were hard to see through the dense cloud cover that had begun to gather. Muttering your prayers, you did what was essentially the bare minimum before allowing Sukuna to lead you back to the shrine for the night.

The next morning, Sukuna was in better spirits—at least, to the degree that could be said of that irascible man. He was eager to rise, waking with the sun as he usually did, and was even more eager to begin working.

He left you that evening without a second glance, vigor in his step as he made for the forest. Sukuna’s return to his usual demeanor gave you comfort; it had been troubling when he had forgone his nocturnal voyage the night before, and his unusual attitude had left you with a sense of unease. 

Though you would not say you ever felt truly safe, his preoccupation had made it more difficult for you to feel secure. His oscillation between absolute confidence in the forest and bristling agitation in the clearing had concerned you. If something put Sukuna on edge, that something went doubly for you. Sukuna was not the type to explain himself, which had left you feeling helpless and afraid.

Sukuna’s return was remarkably quick that night, though the sight of him was far from relieving. Slung over his enormous shoulders, was the fresh carcass of a doe, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle. There was a wild look in his eye, a feral smile stretched over his lips. A frightening aura surrounded him, something familiar that you had not witnessed since your very first meeting.

Sukuna approached the fire pit, allowing the doe to fall from his back when he was a few paces away, the body landing with a heavy thud. He left you alone with the deer for a moment, returning with tools for dressing. Rolling the doe onto her back, he took a sharp, flint knife and carefully slit her belly.

Sukuna was typically reserved when processing an animal, dutiful even. This was decidedly different. His aura felt erratic. The derangement that was always hidden somewhere deep within him had surfaced. You had to look away as he began removing her organs; his enthusiasm for the process was making you queasy.

The sound of a sickening crack made you jump. You glanced over, only to regret daring to do so when you realized it had been the sound of Sukuna breaking the deer’s chest open with his bare hands. You corrected your gaze just in time to miss him doing the same to the hipbone, exhaling shakily as you fixed your eyes on the fire.

It took less time than you expected, but still much more than you wanted. Sukuna dressed the doe expertly, artfully carving meat from bone with little effort despite the somewhat primitive tools he had at his disposal.

Dutifully, you tended the fire while Sukuna saw to butchering the carcass, keeping yourself occupied with the task at hand. His mood had evened out somewhat with time, his energy quieting as he completed his own methodical work. There was still a tangible tension, a band pulled taut within him, ready to snap and reignite the fire of his fervor.

You should have been starving by the time Sukuna began cooking some of the venison, but your appetite had evaporated as your mind involuntarily wandered to the disassembled doe beside you. You had not risked chancing a look at her face, too afraid that you would find your doe’s dead eyes staring back at you.

Foolishly, you thought that if you simply kept quiet and busy, Sukuna would not address you. You ignored him when he began to eat, prodding the fire and pretending that you had not noticed what he was doing.

“The taste is good, much better than expected.” Sukuna commented.

You hummed, eyes flicking up in acknowledgement before you looked away again, wondering if you could manage to escape this meal so casually. 

“It went quickly, I was not cruel in my execution.” He added.

“A kindness.”

Sukuna fell quiet again, though you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you. He continued eating, the sound of him tearing flesh with his teeth somehow louder than it had ever been. The space around the fire felt thick with anticipation, a deadly potential lacing the air.

You wondered if this was the same way the doe had felt before Sukuna struck.

“The hour grows late.” Sukuna said it much too softly for the degree of threat lurking beneath his words.

“Would you like me to brew your tea?” You asked, avoiding his eye as you reached for the pot.

“I would like you to eat, woman.” Sukuna growled, snatching your outreached arm.

The tension you had been feeling around you gave all at once. Sukuna was standing over you before you could properly react, your arm still ensnared, held high up above you in his huge hand.

“Why do you refuse?” Sukuna demanded.

“It—it is unnecessary.” You replied.

“Unnecessary?” Sukuna scoffed, squeezing your forearm harder. “You have taken to lying to me, witch. Try again.”

“I regret the death of such a creature.” The mounting pain in your arm was becoming too much to bear; you feared Sukuna would not hesitate to break you over a petty display of disobedience.

“Closer.” Sukuna remarked. “Again.” 

You did not want to reveal your affinity for the deer. Though not explicitly forbidden, such attachments were easily exploited, but it was becoming apparent that you were being left with little choice.

Sukuna was growing impatient.

“I—there is a doe that wanders nearby.” You cried. “I would not wish to eat her.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the product of your terror and pained confession. Sukuna released you, and for a moment, you swore you saw the slightest flicker of sympathy pass over his expression.

The moment quickly passed. He looked down at you as you cradled your arm, a grim satisfaction in his eyes, a cruel determination in the set of his jaw.

“I suspected as much.” Sukuna's mouth was twisted into a cruel smirk.

“I—” You started.

“Quiet.” Sukuna growled. “I have already told you; your weakness disgusts me, and your insolence tries what little patience I possess.”

You kept your mouth closed, your lips pressed tightly together.

Sukuna looked to the fire for a moment, lost in thought.

“We will correct this.” He said decidedly, retrieving the remaining venison and bringing it over to where you sat. You looked up at him, eyes wide, dread bubbling in your gut as he offered it to you.

You couldn’t help it. Unable to suppress the thought of it being your doe, the sight of the meat made you gag, much to Sukuna’s displeasure.

He dropped to the ground, catching you off guard and giving him ample opportunity to pull you into his lap. He barred his arm around your body to secure you, and though your legs flailed in your panic, he seemed to only be encouraged by your physical protest.

Sukuna arranged your body against his with little effort. He positioned you at a slight angle, using one of his legs to prevent you from kicking yours. You knew where things were going, but you still couldn’t help squirming when Sukuna brought the venison up to your mouth.

“This is the price of my mercy.” Sukuna urged, pressing the warm meat against your lips. “Eat, woman, and I will consider your slights forgiven.”

Sukuna’s unyielding insistence provoked the tears you had been holding back to fall. You were frustrated and furious, bound by your own powerlessness, shaking in the grasp imprisoning you. A whimper caught in your throat before a sob broke through, your lips parting for just a moment—

Sukuna took the opening, shoving the venison past your teeth before clapping a hand over your mouth, fingers gripping your cheek, his pinky pressed into your neck.

The rich flavor of the meat coated your tongue, a smokey, gamey taste. You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat, forcing yourself to chew. It was somewhat tough, and it took a monumental effort to actually get it down, but you managed. Gasping, you tried to breathe through the experience, making a conscious effort to push the troubling thoughts from your head and simply get through it without pushing Sukuna further.

You didn’t intend to struggle, but the sight of Sukuna’s hand bringing more venison toward you broke your focus. There wasn’t any give in Sukuna’s hold on you. You wiggled desperately to no avail, only earning annoyed grunts from Sukuna, and a sharp pain in your side as he squeezed the breath from your lungs.

The meal continued like that, one unwilling mouthful to the next. Angry tears stained your cheeks, sobs catching in your throat as you pushed bite after bite down. Your primary emotion became indignance, a righteous anger pointed at the man pushing you through the experience, a fire cutting through the icy nausea in your belly.

When you had finished it all, Sukuna released you with a grunt, pushing you off his lap and into the dirt. He stood, crossing his arms and staring down at you as you focused on preventing yourself from vomiting.

“These bones are needed—you will not bury them.” Sukuna’s tone was cold and detached.

“I—okay.” You agreed, stifling your sniffles.

“You may still thank her.” He added gruffly, turning away from you to return to working with the deer’s remains.

Realizing that you were being dismissed for your prayers, you got up hurriedly, making haste to the nearest suitable spot. The stars blinked at you, blurry lights struggling through the cloudy haze and the residual wetness in your swollen eyes.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

The next morning, you found Sukuna soaking the doe’s hide at the edge of the clearing. The creature’s brain sat in a bowl nearby, the macabre sight of it turning your empty stomach.

“It was not yours.” Sukuna glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“What?”

“The doe.” He huffed. “It was not yours.”

Though it did little to soothe you, you knew it was the closest thing to an apology Sukuna was willing to bestow upon you.

“The forest is where the fae are most powerful, dear child, but that power is as wild as the earth itself.” Your grandmother explained.

She was working on her embroidery, a threaded field of wildflowers that she planned to patch onto your finest dress. There was an important upcoming holy day for the followers of the stars, one that even some of the townsfolk observed.

“They must be formidable.” You mused, watched her needle work through the scrap of linen.

“Some are indeed formidable.” Your grandmother hummed. “Truly taming such power is nigh impossible, but it can still be managed by those who understand the way.”

“The way is quite mysterious.”

“Yes, child.” Your grandmother mused. “That is the lesson of this holy day. The way cannot be taught, only learned, it can never be bought, only earned, and it is unsalvageable unless totally burned.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How can something be salvaged from ash?”

Your grandmother only smiled, tying the final knot on her piece.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

You worried the edge of the embroidered patch between your fingers, running them over the finely stitched edges of the patch, the protective border of thread worn soft from years of handling.

Sukuna had been softer with you since that night. He was preserving the rest of the meat, and though he had partaken on occasion, he had not forced you to eat any more. He could see that you were wary of him, that you had flinched at his touch when he tied you to him and took you into the woods. The fear that you had rid yourself of over the course of the last several weeks had returned, and it left you feeling lonely and afraid.

It was possibly the gentlest reminder you could have received.

The man you served was far from benevolent. His kindness was practical, and for you to have interpreted it as anything but was foolish.

There was precious little left of the life you had before coming to live with Sukuna, but that only made everything you had of more use to you. You had stuffed your pockets with a few of your most treasured items as everything else burned around you.

The patch embroidered by your grandmother, a knife of bone, your mother’s necklace, a spool of enchanted thread, a wooden carving of a horse, an ossified egg, and a silver ring with no stone in the setting.

Of everything you had collected and hoarded, as well as everything those who came before you had possessed and left behind, those seven, small things were all that remained. You had already foolishly wasted your only vial of stardust, and the last falling star you had witnessed was likely in the unreachable depths of the forest.

The decision to summon the well was a difficult one.

The last time you had called on the wishing well, it had not appeared, something that had not happened to you in many years. Though you could not be sure, you suspected that the failure of your power was related to the last service you had tried to provide.

The sacrifice had felt wrong, as if there was something off about the dead foal. At the time, you had thought it might just be the sheer weight of the wish that caused the ritual to fail, but now you had a feeling that it would have been impossible to succeed under the circumstances.

It had taken you a while to decide what you desired.

There were many things for which you might ask. Safe passage out of the Forest of the Forgotten. A spot at a familiar hearth. Freedom.

All the things that seemed obvious were too great in expense or too ambiguous in interpretation.

If you were going to convince the well that you deserved to be back in its good graces, you were going to need to orchestrate something that was guaranteed to work.

The ritual to summon the well felt comfortable, something familiar after weeks of adjustment to your new circumstances.

A harsh wind came in from the west, blowing through the trees and into the clearing. The edges of the patch fluttered in the strong breeze, a fledgling begging to take flight. There was a low hum echoing around you, and the smell of incense and ash rose from the very earth beneath you. You closed your eyes, focusing your mind and your magic on your intentions, and requested the well’s presence.

All you needed was a sign.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

The well did not come.

It was a few days later that you woke in the night to a fierce ache in your belly, a sensation that radiated into your lower back and down your legs.

Hissing through the pain, you rolled yourself over, hand groping for the small basket of linens that had been waiting in your corner since your last bleed ended. You padded out into the stillness of the night, careful to not make any sound as you left, the full moon providing you just enough light to assist you through the shadows.

You drew just enough water to clean away any blood that might have escaped you. You felt unusually exposed in your nudity, though you had come to feel uneasy anytime you were alone in the clearing. You washed off the small amount of blood clinging to your thighs, fixing your clean cloth between your legs and hurrying back to the shrine, eager to try and sleep through the pain in your womb.

The silence in the shrine was almost eerie, a quiet that laid over everything like spidersilk, tense and telling. The decision to feign ignorance was instinctual; something within you knew that your acknowledgement was the weight that would set the fragile peace off-balance.

After some time, the tension in the room waned, and you dared to peek through your lashes and look into the shrine. The full moon had begun to set, and the very little light it provided had all but disappeared completely.

All that you caught was a spark of crimson, a quick glimpse of color in the far corner.

Red eyes watching you in the darkness.

The following night, Sukuna interrupted you while you were in the process of brewing his tea.

“This water was drawn this morning—fetch fresh water from the well.” Sukuna demanded.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, suppressing a groan when the ache in your belly grew as you stood. This bleed was particularly heavy, and your mood had been severely affected by your symptoms. You took your time, allowing yourself to breathe through the irritation you felt, quietly reveling in the revenge that was depriving Sukuna of his tea for a few moments more. 

There wasn’t much else you could do about Sukuna being Sukuna.

On your return, the flash in his eyes told you that this was more serious than the nameless master of the clearing’s usual antics. He tracked you as you approached, eyes fixed on your face, his expression intense though unreadable.

“Your cloth.” Sukuna grunted, watching you set the vessel of fresh water beside him.

You blinked at him as you straightened up, unsure what he meant.

“My cloth?”

“Yes, your cloth.” Sukuna huffed. “The one lodged between your legs, woman. Give it to me.”

“It—it is dirty.” You argued, taking an involuntary step backward, an odd sensation coursing through you as you watched Sukuna’s eyes darken at your quiet refusal.

“Do you believe I am unaware of this?” Sukuna spat.

“No—no, I only—” You stumbled over your words, swallowing your explanation as Sukuna stood.

“Do you fear sullying your hands?” He towered over you, one of his hands winding itself in your skirts. “Shall I retrieve it for you, woman?” He grinned, his teeth gleaming in the firelight.

The implication froze you on the spot, your breath catching in your chest as you involuntarily imagined his hand between your thighs. Sukuna tugged at your clothes, indicating that he intended to make good on his threat if you were not quick to comply.

“I—I apologize. Allow me to recover it for you.”

Sukuna hummed, releasing you. When you tried to flee to somewhere more private, however, his hand snatched your wrist before you could take a single step.

“You can do it here.” He said pointedly. “You have wasted enough time already.”

You shuddered, the cruel edge to his words reminding you that he was merely tolerant of your small shows of disobedience, never ignorant.

Mercifully, he allowed you to turn you back to him. You lifted up the front of your skirts, grateful that you had chosen to wear your dress rather than your trousers that day. Pulling the cloth from between your legs, you took care not to look too closely at it; the sheer embarrassment of what you were doing was already great enough.

You held out the bloodied linen, face burning as he took it into his hand. You hadn’t given much thought to the end of it, having gotten caught up in shame and anticipation of what Sukuna was asking of you.

Sukuna cradled the soiled cloth in his hand, reaching for the teapot you had left to warm by the fire. He deposited the cloth directly into the pot, pouring some of the fresh water inside before returning it to its spot by the fire. Settling back into his spot, he lounged against his stump before bringing his bloodied hand to his mouth.

He drew his tongue over his palm, licking away the blood—your blood—ignoring the small gasp you let out at the sight of him. Sukuna took great care in his bizarre act, tongue languidly pushing between his fingers before he took each one into his mouth to suck them clean.

You stood there, transfixed, finding yourself unable to move as you tried to process what Sukuna was doing. You understood him to have unsavory tastes, but this was far beyond the realm of your expectations. The memory of your last bleed surfaced, the understanding that the linens you had used might have ended up in Sukuna’s mouth barely registering before you next realized those same cloths were bound to return to the well of blood between your legs.

When Sukuna was finally finished, he looked to you, pupils blown wide in carmine eyes. He cocked his head toward your side of the fire, indicating that you were to take your place.

For a woman of water, it was most natural to take the path of least resistance, so it was unsurprising when you found yourself returning to your nightly duties without offering commentary on what had occurred.

The temptation to look into the teapot was strong, but you averted your eyes expertly, filling the mouth with herbs and replacing the lid before setting the pot aside to steep.

Sukuna was quiet, though you could feel the rising tension within him, an anticipation you had come to know well during your time with the master of the clearing. He had a habit of waiting impatiently, though arguably politely, making his irritation known without pressing it on you.

You served his tea with marked detachment, refilling his cup as he emptied it until the pot ran dry. Sukuna's mood improved as he drank, something which you found equally soothing and disturbing.

As you left the fire to pray, Sukuna called out to you.

“If I find you resistant tomorrow, I shall not hesitate to take what I am owed straight from the source.”

It was dark; dim, broken beams of moonlight were your only aid in the darkness. The air was hot and thick with a familiar scent, something metallic and animal and sickly sweet.

It smelled like blood. 

You were naked, your back flush against the hard earthen floor of the shrine. Sweat dripped from your temple, your entire body damp with exertion. Your muscles were exhausted, your body trembling weakly as your chest heaved.

Between your thighs, there was a head of dark hair.

The sound was primal, whines and moans that were met with muffled grunts and pleased rumbles.

His eyes met yours, rubies flashing in the full moon's light.

Fervently, desperately, something warm and wet was working itself over your aching cunt. You gasped as it pushed itself inside you, forcing its way in deeper as you clenched around it.

Strong hands kept your legs open. There was a thumb at your clit, brushing rhythmically against that slicked pearl of flesh. You felt the tension in you poised to snap, a basin ready to overflow—

He removed his mouth from you, sharp claws digging into soft flesh in warning.

“Keep your eyes open, woman.” He growled. “Bear witness to the consequences of your defiance.”

He ran his tongue over the pointed edge of his teeth, licking the blood away before he slid his canines against your inner thigh.

As you met his gaze again, he pressed his lips to you, kissing you where you bled for him.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

You woke with a gasp, your breath coming heavy, your heart pounding against the cage of your chest. The intensity of the pain in your belly was dulled, the fading waves of euphoria washing over you.

The same dream came again that night, and then again the night after that. Each iteration of the dream was more vivid than the last, and each morning you awoke to greater lingering physical sensation.

On the fifth morning, you woke to find your hands reaching downward, fingers outstretched as if to catch hold of the owner of the mouth that had been tormenting you. You groaned, rolling onto your side and curling into yourself, covering your face with your arms.

Sukuna’s words haunted you each evening. You wished you could let them go and forget, but each evening the memory was refreshed by the new addition to Sukuna's tea ritual.

I shall not hesitate to take what I am owed straight from the source.

He had not mean it that way. Sukuna's whims were often sadistic, and almost always selfish in some way or another. There wasn't a chance in all the heavens that he would do something like that with you.

Reaffirming that did not make the dreams any less intense, and it certainly didn't make it possible to keep them out of your thoughts when Sukuna licked your blood from his lips each evening.

Sukuna was gone for an unusually long amount of time the night after your bleed ended. Though his longer voyages made you nervous, it was a welcome break from his presence after everything that had happened over the past few weeks.

The well's absence troubled you greatly, almost as much as Sukuna’s behavior. He had always been strange, off in the way that the fae could be, unpredictable in the way that the nameless were, but there seemed to be direction to the activities he added to his routine. Living with Sukuna was not as horrible as you had expected initially, though you were unsure how much of that feeling was born of your lack of agency. It was difficult for you to tell if you would choose this life if you had other options.

The reality was that you were powerless to escape him as things were.

You stared up at the stars, wondering if they were even listening anymore.

Anticipation came with the rise of the new moon.

“You remember the rules, woman.” Sukuna said gruffly as he took your vial from you. “Tend the fire, I will return with the morning.”

You had not forgotten the unsettling creature that had visited you last month, but you felt more assured because of Sukuna’s confidence. You already had an appropriate amount of firewood nearby, having elected to make things easier on yourself should anything strange happen while you were alone.

The sound of something approaching the clearing still brought with it a sense of intense fear. You kept your eyes on the fire, having already decided that ignoring the creature was the best course of action.

Despite your lack of acknowledgement, the visitor still addressed you.

“He has gone far away again.” A familiar, soft voice rang out over the clearing.

You couldn’t resist the weight of your own curiosity.

The being waiting at the edge of the forest appeared far less disturbing than the last time it had come to tempt you.

She looked more human, at least from the waist up. Below her navel, her form became like that of a deer. Her unusual, furry legs terminated in hooves, which she occasionally stomped into the ground as you looked her over. It was as if she was wearing a strange costume, one that gave her lower half the appearance of an animal, much like the faun-folk you had seen in the books your grandmother had kept. Her face was pretty, her big, brown eyes framed with thick lashes, and her straight, brown hair was cropped at the shoulder, the front of it cut to frame her forehead and face.

Though her form had changed, you recognized her immediately.

“You should go, deer woman.” You urged, looking back at the fire to signal your disinterest. “The master of this clearing would not hesitate to slay you.”

“Do you feel yourself exempt from his wrath?” She asked. “That man is not so merciful; you would be safer if you left and learned the forest’s ways.”

“What is your name, visitor?”

The pitiful look she threw you was one that solicited your sympathy.

After your last encounter, you had begun to speculate about the deer woman and her identity. You had suspected that she might be more or less human, though her condition and Sukuna’s response to her presence informed you that she was nameless. It made sense that Sukuna would be wary of the unnamed, if only because they were a threat to his possession of you.

“I cannot come with you, deer woman.” You asserted, throwing a stick into the fire. “But I hope you regain your name.”

“I would not take your name, witch.” The woman insisted, leaning against a tree and plucking a leaf from one of its lower branches with her hand. “I know it is not yours to give.” She stuffed the leaf into her mouth, grinding it between her teeth.

“What other reason do you have to seek my company?” You asked. You knew that to question the forest and its inhabitants was a pointless endeavor. The nameless woman was probably more mad than sane, but her increased lucidity was intriguing to you. Though you were not so senseless as to believe her outright, her answer piqued your already rampant curiosity.

“It is easier to remember around you.” She shrugged. “If you come with me, I am sure I will know myself again.”

“Ah.” You nodded. “It is unfortunate that we cannot help one another.”

The nameless woman frowned at you.

“Indeed.”

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

Sukuna’s return brought with it a greater anxiety than the deer woman’s appearance. You could sense his unrest as he settled at the fire, his demeanor even more prickly than usual. This time he bore foreign fruits, a large hunk of salt, and a small wooden box carved of heartwood. He handed you the box, which you found contained your vial, once again filled to the brim with spring water.

You tried to act as if everything was normal, though you could sense Sukuna was not planning to do the same.

“What did you see?” Sukuna asked, cracking open a large green fruit with his hands, revealing the juicy, deep red flesh inside.

You paused. It was only for a moment, but you were sure Sukuna took note.

“Nothing unusual.” You replied.

It didn’t feel like a lie, though you had a feeling Sukuna would feel differently. It was true in a way; you did not think that the appearance of a nameless woman in the Forest of the Forgotten was unusual.

Sukuna smiled.

“I see.”

The next day, Sukuna seemed to be preparing for another long journey. He spent a significant portion of the afternoon making himself ready, busying himself to the point that you were left to your own devices for a portion of the evening.

You spent that time on the large rock by the well, pretending to meditate while you considered all that had happened over the last day. 

Though unpleasant, the previous night had been informative. You had begun to question the presence of your doe in the area after the first appearance of the deer woman, and though you were reluctant initially to make a connection between the two, it was clear they were the same creature. The nameless woman was unwell. The unnamed could sometimes become so deeply afflicted by their condition that it would begin to affect their physical forms, though you had never before witnessed such a thing yourself.

It was as if thinking of the nameless woman summoned her.

She appeared shortly after Sukuna's departure. She looked to be an ordinary deer that night, but you knew it was her. The deer woman wandered around the edge of the clearing, glancing at you occasionally as if she had said something and was expecting a response.

You spoke to her, reminding her that she was at risk and that you would not follow her, but she seemed content to linger anyway.

He took you both by surprise.

A roar echoed across the clearing, startling you so badly that you jumped to your feet. You saw Sukuna tearing across the clearing at inhuman speed, a terrifying aura about him. The deer woman was already fleeing, but Sukuna made ground much faster than she took it.

“Sukuna, wait!” You shouted.

It was only for a moment, but you saw his head turn your way before he bounded off into the darkness of the forest.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

It wasn't long before Sukuna reappeared. There was a blatant satisfaction about him, a thick smugness that settled over the clearing. You could feel it in the air, a potent, animal assertion of power that came off of the man before you in waves.

He tossed a small boar down at his feet, making quick work of preparing it, placing the prime cuts over the fire as he worked.

The looks he threw you were concerning. Sukuna was buzzing with manic energy, his mood radiating off him as he worked. You felt a sickening anticipation building, as if he was high on the night’s events and still craving more. 

That was fine with you. Though experience had taught you there was little point in fighting Sukuna, that did not stop you from wanting to do so.

You ate in silence, pushing yourself through the experience if only to deprive Sukuna of the ability to force you to partake.

Things finally boiled over once the meal was finished.

“Did you enjoy it?” Sukuna asked, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

“No.” 

Standing before Sukuna could excuse you, you didn’t make it more than a few steps from the fire before Sukuna stopped you. He stood over you, exerting a pressure that would typically make you submit without question.

“Be grateful, woman.” Sukuna scoffed. “I have brought you neither deer nor man.”

The acknowledgement of your private fears broke something in you. Burning anger, emotion born of smoldering ashes that Sukuna had fed with each violation. Every display of dominance, every assertion of power, every reminder that he saw himself as an insurmountable power—all of it had caught and grown into indiscriminate flame.

“You killed her though, did you not?” Your voice trembled, not from fear, but rather rage long repressed.

“I rid myself of the problem.” Sukuna sneered.

“Problem?” You gaped. “All she wanted was comfort, some solace in this damned wood—”

“And it would have led you to your death in search of that illusion. Your solace is here, woman.”

“She did not know what she was doing.” You insisted, crossing your arms.

“The nameless are a threat regardless of intent. They are desperate, dangerous, and unpredictable creatures—they are fickle as the wind.” Sukuna argued. “That creature was so far gone that it could not hold human form, there is no way to know if its mind was intact.”

“You know what?” You were shaking, a wild, undampened spite heating your blood. “You're right. The nameless are unpredictable and dangerous.”

Sukuna blinked at you, as if he was initially unsure if you had meant to insult him or not.

“You would do best to hold your tongue, witch.” Sukuna warned. 

His tone didn't deter you. If anything, it fanned the flames of your fury. 

A wicked smile spread across your lips, every grievance you had so skillfully put to rest suddenly revived. You felt like you were burning, like you were still in the fire that took your cottage. Sukuna stood over you, using his size to remind you it was pointless to push against him, inching closer to you like he was preparing to pounce.

“Why?” You snapped. “What would you do? Push my face into the dirt until it becomes mud in my mouth? Make me believe I have committed unspeakable sins against the stars? Use my body for your perverse desires?”

Sukuna's kiss was not pleasant. It was raw and harsh and claiming, every bit a show of dominance as it was a show of passion. It was not an act of affection, but instead anger, something meant to remind you of your place beneath him.

He crushed his lips against yours, gripping your jaw in a way that forced it open so that he could slide his tongue inside. It felt like he wanted to consume you, like he was using this as an excuse to put something of you in his mouth.

When Sukuna finally broke away, it was difficult to tell if he was enraged or enthralled.

“I would rip your tongue from your mouth if you dared disrespect me like that again.” Sukuna hissed. “I do these things for your benefit as well; do not make me regret my foolish actions, ungrateful woman.”

Breath ragged, you glared up into Sukuna's eyes, daring him to make good on his threat. The tension hung there between you, fragile peace suspended on a thread of starlight.

Sukuna lunged.

Instead of maiming you, Sukuna picked you up, slinging you over his shoulder. You started screaming, your words lost to the feral fury beneath them. Beating your fists against Sukuna’s back, your fight was more about making your displeasure known to him than anything else.

Sukuna dragged you all the way into the shrine, throwing you into his hoard of furs, bearing down on you before you were able to orient yourself. The smell of him was everywhere, spicy and earthy, the scent of something wild and strong.

“I had thought better of this.” Sukuna spat. “But it seems I have put it off for too long.”

He was kissing you again, his strong hands assured in their battle against your panicked limbs. When he finally yielded, you were so lightheaded that you almost couldn’t get your words out.

“Sukuna, stop—” You gasped. “I need—I can’t breathe—”

Sukuna did not stop, but he did give your mouth a break, kissing and nipping over your jaw down to your neck. He was thorough, finding the most sensitive points on your skin and honing in, making a point of giving attention to each spot that made you weak.

At some point, between nearly suffocating and losing the strength to be resistant, you started to enjoy the feeling. He didn't allow you to relax, however, sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder each time you went completely limp under him. The stimulation was overwhelming. You grew loud, whining and crying out as you tried to process what you were feeling. Yours was a body unused to the touch of others, especially after coming to live in the clearing, and your response seemed to only fuel the frenzy.

The efficiency with which Sukuna removed your clothes was startling. One moment, he was pulling at the lacing on your bodice, and by the next, you were completely bare beneath him.

He wasted no time on romantic gestures, grunting appreciatively as he wrenched your thighs apart, using his weight to pin you as he liked. There was something inquisitive about the way he drew his fingers over the slickness that had gathered at your entrance, a serious curiosity that morphed into something hungrier as he pushed one thick finger all the way inside you.

You arched beneath him, shuddering as he ground his palm against your center. A second finger prodded at you, stretching you open as it joined the first. Sukuna found a rhythm, his fingers curling inside you while he teased the swollen bud at your apex.

It felt good enough that you found yourself troubled. When your hands tried to grab at his, his correction was gentle but firm; both of your wrists were gathered in one of his hands and pressed against your bare chest. His eyes didn’t leave your cunt, gaze locked onto the place where you were leaking into his palm. The tension in your body felt too tightly wound, like it was closer to breaking than releasing.

You did break. You shattered beneath him, crying out as your body kicked and writhed in a flurry of pleasure.

“Greedy little quim.” Sukuna mused, his hand still guiding you through the ecstasy. “You always strive to take so little, woman; is this where your indulgence lies?”

“Ah—no—” You denied, though with the way your hips canted into Sukuna’s touch, even you weren’t quite sure anymore.

“No?” Sukuna hummed, irritated amusement passing over his face.

Whether or not Sukuna took your defiance as a challenge wasn't quite clear, though you were beginning to suspect there was a genuine need to ensure your satisfaction. You weren't given the chance to recover from your first high before Sukuna began pushing you toward your next.

The feeling built quickly, the warm coil inside you winding tighter and tighter with each drag of Sukuna's fingers. Over and over, he was as merciless in this pursuit as any other, the pads of his fingers pressing into your walls with devastating precision.

You keened when it hit, stronger this time than the last, feeling yourself clamp down on Sukuna's hand as he worked. The pulse of your cunt became the only thing you focus on, the release drowning you in an unfamiliar feeling. Sukuna withdrew his hand, licking the remnants of you from his fingers as he stared down at your naked form. You could feel yourself twitching around the newfound emptiness inside you, the pleasurable feeling building again just from the anticipation of his touch.

“You were so angry before, woman.” Sukuna mocked. “Is this what you needed to feel better?”

Though you didn’t want to prove him right, you were too caught up in your own bliss to tell him off.

You were still dazed when you noticed Sukuna removing his sirwal. The sight of him shocked you. You had seen men in such a state before, though those experiences had done nothing to prepare you for what was before you. He was proportional, which was to say that Sukuna was impossibly enormous. However, that was not what brought you out of your euphoric stupor.

There were two.

Twin cocks, thick and heavy, they hung partially suspended between his thighs, too weighty to raise themselves high. He gathered himself in one hand, using the other to lock your hips down, his intent visible in his gaze.

Eyes wide with panic, you started fighting, feet sliding uselessly through the furs as you attempted to escape.

“Oh, fuck—Sukuna, wait, please—” You pleaded. “I cannot—you're going to hurt me!”

You had not expected Sukuna to listen. If anything, you had feared your words might excite him.

Sukuna paused, frowning slightly as he looked at you. He examined you for a moment, taking in the bruises blooming on your skin, the fresh tear tracks on your cheeks, the way your chest heaved with your breath. His nostrils flared as he took in your continued resistance, his grip on you tightening painfully.

You screamed when he flipped you over, your mouth filling with fur as he pressed your face into his bedding. He shifted his hand to your upper back, using his weight to force you into a prone position, holding you down until you stopped struggling.

“Sukuna—Sukuna, please—” You whimpered, squeezing your legs together as tightly as you could as Sukuna lifted up your hips. 

“Shh—” He shushed you, his thumb soothing over the small of your back as his fingers gripped tighter. You felt cool air hit your wet cunt, the fresh exposure making you shudder.

Sukuna adjusted himself over you, and for a moment every part of you clenched up, anticipating pain. Instead of agony, you felt Sukuna glide himself through the folds of you, slicking his lengths in your arousal before he pushed them between your thighs. From there, his pace was brutal, animalistic grunts leaving his lips with each harsh thrust. Occasionally, one of his heads would catch on your entrance, prompting you to squeal for mercy before he corrected himself and continued fucking your thighs.

Only when his hips began to stutter did you finally begin to consider the ways things might end. Sukuna slammed his hips into yours a final time, then pulled back, and you felt something hot hit your lower back.

Sukuna collapsed on top of you with a pleased groan, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest as he rolled onto his side, burying the two of you deep into his nest. The more you wiggled, the tighter his arms held you.

“Sleep, woman.” Sukuna mumbled against your hair. “If you are still angry when we wake, we can fight again.”

She stares at the void, and feels it stare back.

stare at the void by superheaven

next

That winter in the clearing was no different than the summer had been. You fretted needlessly as the summer gave to fall, preparing subtly for the winter as the days grew shorter. Sukuna had not seemed concerned in the slightest, hunting and gathering as if autumn's bounty was everlasting. He did not dissuade your behaviors, allowing you the privilege of soothing yourself in your own ways. He seemed to understand your feelings, though he had little to offer when it came to conversation about them.

Over the months, you had come to better understand that nameless man. 

Sukuna was no monster, though he was perhaps closer to beast than man. Much like you, he moved with the moon, his mood heavily subject to the pull of the sky. Whether or not that man was of the stars, you could not surely say, though he was decidedly a man of blood and fire.

It was your theory that he had difficulty deciding what it was he wanted from you. The unfulfilled threats, the variance in your role, the slow progression toward stability over the months—all of it helped you realize that Sukuna was confused. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with you; he only knew that you were his, and how to act on the instincts that lingered inside him.

Sukuna was often softer with you after that first bout of intimacy, not only when he partook of what your body offered him, but when he put you to work as well. You were no longer so unnerved by his strange rituals and habits, though you experienced severe deja vu the first time your dream of his bloodied mouth between your thighs came true.

His routine was different after that first time together, too. 

Each evening you would pray under the stars, and when you were finished, Sukuna would bring you into the shrine for his own kind of worship. It didn't matter what sort of day it had been, whether you had argued or enjoyed one another's company. If you were tired, he simply had you however he pleased and let you rest. If you were eager, he would push you until you couldn't take any more. If you were resistant, he reveled in breaking you of your show of willfulness.

Sometimes, he took you with his mouth, other times he was content to sit you on his lap and have you roll your hips over his lengths. Very rarely was it so harsh and claiming as your first encounter, though when it was, you found yourself reveling in the beastly nature of it all. There was no negotiation, only the expectation that Sukuna would achieve the refection he desired. Somehow or another, the event always ended with his release.

It wasn't love. It couldn't be. Any softness in his words or actions were more for his own luxuriation than yours.

You enjoyed yourself all the same, basking in the attentions of the great nameless master of the Forest of the Forgotten. When you woke alone each morning, you reminded yourself that you were nothing more to him than the use you provided, and pushed down your longing for the coming evening.

There wasn't much discussion about it between you.

He asked you once, a casual question posed over a spitted hare. 

Why do you never seek to indulge in all of me, woman?

Your answer was, in part, true.

The stars have not blessed our union.

Sukuna had taken your excuse in stride, and though he never crossed the boundary you had pleaded to set the first night, he would sometimes test it or tease you with the possibility. You knew he wanted to have you completely, that sentiment was made clear enough, but you were wary of enabling anything further than what he had already taken as his own.

He had become more insistent recently.

Sometimes when Sukuna was touching you, he would delay your climax, pushing you to the edge again and again until you were nearly delirious with want. Then, once you were thoroughly deprived, he would press the tips of himself against your entrance. He never said it, never directly promised that relief, but he made it obvious what a single word on your end would bring.

It should have scared you, but even at his most aggressive and impatient, Sukuna never progressed the sex between you any further.

That was what was so maddening about the whole ordeal.

Why bother to stop things where he had? Why forcibly tie the two of you together in a fit of rage and passion, only to later show unyielding restraint?

Why leave the decision entirely up to you when Sukuna controlled almost every, single, other thing about your life?

It was in all other respects an ordinary day. You spent the morning under Sukuna's hand, waiting patiently as he tied you to himself, then took a trip into the forest to gather herbs and oddities. When evening fell, Sukuna went out into the wilderness to check his traps, and you were left to tend the fire until his return.

The voice that called out to you was extraordinarily cheerful.

“Ah~I knew there was someone else around here~”

The voice was definitely that of an adult male, but there was something abnormally childish about it, an almost unhinged whimsy laced through the timbre. It was disconcerting, but then again, so were many things that one might encounter in the Forest of the Forgotten. You didn't bother looking up, keeping your focus on your assigned task. The fire danced, crackling happily as you fed it dry leaves and twigs.

“You should leave now, stranger.” You advised.

“But I have only just arrived.” The voice argued.

You ignored the stranger, acting as if you hadn't heard his response.

“I was hoping we could talk for a spell; it has been a long time since I have been able to speak to anyone.” He pressed. “It can get lonely out here, don't you agree?”

You couldn't contain your curiosity. Your eyes flicked over to him.

It was a young man, seated at the base of a large tree on the edge of the clearing, just visible in the glow of the fire. 

He looked strange, though his appearance wasn't all that unusual given your location. It seemed like the man was held together with sinew and sewing thread, his pale skin full of scars and seams. His hair was long and silvery, his smile wide and unsettling, his playful eyes downturned and heterochromatic. The man wore a plain, black tunic and trousers, both as heavily patched and repaired as his skin appeared to be.

You hadn't seen anyone other than Sukuna since your last encounter with the deer woman. The thought of your late friend upset you greatly; you tried to avoid dwelling on her memory. You had not put much consideration into what might happen should you come to favor another unnnamed person, but you had a feeling that it would end similarly to the first time. You feared Sukuna's reaction above all else, both for the sake of others, and for yourself.

Sukuna's jealousy had grown stronger since that night, though there had been little opportunity for the now more robust feeling to exercise itself. He warned you at times, both in action and word, reminding you that you belonged to him. That was something you had come to accept, and though you hoped for things to improve with your more steady compliance, you knew that it was unlikely.

There was little you could do about other creatures approaching you, with the small exception of gently discouraging them for their own benefit.

“It would be wise to seek other company.” You asserted.

“Why?” The stranger asked. “Are you simple?”

“The master of this clearing is wrathful.” You explained.

“He would seek to harm you for merely speaking to me?” The stranger seemed appalled, eyes widening as he leaned back.

You didn't dignify his response with an answer. It didn't seem to matter if you engaged or not; the stranger was prepared to continue the conversation without your input.

“I could protect you, maiden.” He preened. “I am quite strong.”

“What is your name, stranger?” You asked, though you were already sure of the answer.

“I do not have one.” The odd man replied proudly. “And I am stronger for it. A name binds growth of the soul. I have no such assigned limitations.”

What you had initially taken for childish whimsy now seemed like brash foolishness. You found yourself pitying him; this man would doubtlessly fall victim to his hubris.

“Perhaps.” You hummed. 

It was madness to argue with someone who had been unnamed. The nameless struggled to orient themselves in their thoughts and beliefs; Sukuna was a rare exception as a nameless who had gained a colloquial designation. Where Sukuna could latch on to his notoriety to help ground himself, this nameless man was lacking the crucial linchpin that anchored his identity in reality.

It was sad, really.

The nameless were not well understood, and you yourself were by no means the expert your grandmother had been. It was difficult to study creatures that could not reliably hold on to any given moniker, and the fact that they might suddenly be wiped from the memory of observers made them almost impossible to track as individuals.

When someone was unnamed, it wasn't truly about their actual name. A person's name was merely the conduit through which that mysterious fae magic worked. Unnaming erased the concept of the unfortunate subject from existence, leaving behind only fragile fragments of who they once were. A nameless was less than ‘no one’, because there was no tangible ‘I’ to begin with. It was impossible for them to even hold the idea long enough to apply it to themselves; they simply lacked the foundation.

The stranger continued his attempts to garner more of your attention, but you didn't engage him further. There wasn't a point; his ramblings meant very little, and he was likely to find himself dead should you encourage him in any way.

The unnamed man kept trying for a while, but he was gone long before Sukuna returned.

You didn't mention the unwelcome, unnamed man who had visited, and Sukuna didn't give any indication that he was aware of the stranger's presence. It was your hope that the first encounter would be the end of it, but things were proving to never be that simple.

Ignoring the sewn man became a talent of yours, one which you had the displeasure of honing with unfortunate regularity.

Annoying and distressing as he was, you came to appreciate him, in a way. He provided some semblance of company, though it was typically one-sided. The insane man rambled to you, spilling his delusional theories regarding names and power. He thought himself strong, and you found yourself agreeing, though you also thought him lacking in basic sense. Where he had initially struck you as somewhat childish and foolish, you found that the flaws in the unnamed man's temperament went beyond that, verging on infantile naivety.

For whatever could be said about his poor mental state, his instinct was still quite good, just as your doe's had been. He consistently avoided Sukuna's notice, and so you began to expect him when Sukuna left, knowing Sukuna's return by the unnamed man's timely departure.

To call the unfortunate creature a friend was overstating the relationship, but you wished no harm on him. He reminded you of your doe, both in good ways and bad, and so you kept his existence to yourself, if only to spare yourself the tragedy of his death.

"I wish that everyone could feel like this." The unnamed man lamented dramatically. "A name is so limiting, so taxing to bear—the true nature of being cannot be achieved when one is named."

"How lucky for you." You hummed sarcastically, poking at the smoldering fire.

"Do not be sad, witch." The stranger smiled sadly, shaking his head as if he pitied you. "Though your ego restricts and burdens you, you still strive to understand my teachings, and that is admirable in its own way."

The unnamed man spent the remainder of his visit concocting a spirited ballad that professed the many virtues of shedding one's name. The longer he went on, the worse you felt for him. The man's denial of the severity of his condition was so great that he often bordered on satirical.

The song was interrupted by Sukuna's arrival, though for that, you were incredibly grateful.

“Tell me, woman—does it amuse you to leave me waiting?”

Sukuna was always more aggressive during the new moon.

You were being pressed belly-down against the earthen floor of the shrine, a knee on your back, a hand pinning your hips to the ground. It was far from the first time you had been put in such a vulnerable position, though the circumstances were typically different.

Sukuna was upset with you for sleeping in late. You had exerted yourself the previous night after an already long, strenuous day, and though you had woken around the usual time that morning, sleep had quickly taken you again.

It was partially innate instinct and partially shameful desire that caused you to mewl as you did.

You could sense the change rippling through Sukuna in real time, could practically feel the lurid grin growing across his face.

“Is that so?”

Your heartbeat quickened, a flutter answered deep within your belly. Sukuna's hand no longer served to hold your hips in place, instead roughly grabbing at the fat of your ass before harshly slapping one cheek.

“Have I yet to give you enough, woman?” Sukuna hummed. “You need more, is that it?”

Despite the indignation you felt, you still whined longingly, still rolled your hips as if to give Sukuna a better angle. You felt hot all over, sticky with the previous night's activity and the want boiling over inside you now. Knowing that where this led was a forgone conclusion, you allowed yourself to get lost in it all, giving in to the unrelenting torrent that was Sukuna's hunger.

Sukuna didn't leave you wanting. Two fingers pressed between your eagerly parted thighs, stuffing themselves inside to ease the need you felt. He worked with your natural rhythm, earnestly chasing that familiar, carnal pleasure.

I never tire of this, woman. The warmth of your flesh. The feeling of your skin against mine. The scent of you growing slick for me. You sing so prettily for me—perhaps I should cage my beautiful bird here like this all day.

As of late, what was usually routine had begun to feel deeper. There was desperation in Sukuna, as if he was searching for something meaningful within your release, as if he expected he might find the missing pieces of himself in your satisfaction.

You tried not to speculate about Sukuna's internal world. He was much more stable than a typical unnamed individual, but to attempt to piece together his logic was likely a pointless endeavor.

Still, the messy, needier part of you couldn't help but imagine him wanting you beyond selfish, animal indulgence.

Sukuna was warm and pleasantly heavy on top of you. His was a presence that you could have never imagined being so comforting. The snarls of his delectation only served to spur you on, and you quickly found yourself shaking under him, crying out for him as you clenched around his fingers.

He had you finish for him again, and then once more. When he flipped you onto your back, the dark promise in his eyes almost broke your resolve.

From there, it was much the same as it had been during the previous new moon. Sukuna rutted against you, lips alternating between finding yours and spilling meaningless words that would not be repeated until the next time he took you this way. When he was finished, he did not allow you to bathe, bringing you to sit by him while he prepared for the long journey to the spring. 

Sukuna had started to bring you something new each time he refilled your vial with spring water. A button of gold, smooth river stones, a tiny cup of fine crystal, a hunk of petrified wood, and a sachet of cut gemstones were among some of the inexplicable, objectively useless items you had accumulated.

This time was the same, though this particular item had greater potential use. An adventurer's pack, made entirely out of the pelts of black hares.

It felt like an apology, like he was making up for being rough with you and leaving you behind, but it was not nearly enough to soothe the want inside you.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

It was in your unwaning loneliness that you decided change was needed.

Your forbidden contact with that nameless man had made you more perceptive, but it was the late doe's words that brought you comprehension. 

There were shades of Sukuna that you could only barely detect; his underlying intentions were unknowns even to him. Whether he viewed your relationship as master and servant or husband and wife was irrelevant; the truth was that your presence brought him confusion and hurt.

For an animal, to show weakness meant death, and for Sukuna, it was just the same.

To possess you brought him to the precipice of clarity, to have you near was to live vicariously through your surety of being. Though he was stronger without you, he could not help but lower himself to feel what you offered him. 

Being irreparably unwhole, Sukuna could never live a full life. Try as he might, neither could he give one to you. You were not explicitly unhappy in his care, but you did not find the joys that your previous life sometimes brought. It was ungrateful of you to want more, to crave all the things Sukuna could not bestow upon you in the face of everything that he did, but it was in the profound absence in him that you found pain.

It was cruel for both of you to hold on, and you were the only one between you who would be able to let go.

The method of your abscondment came to you with the mad stranger's ramblings.

“I saw you in the forest today. You were harvesting herbs, yes?” The stranger called.

It wasn't often that he managed to so effectively get your attention. Your head snapped up, your eyes instantly finding the stranger's elated expression.

“Does he always take such care in tying you to himself?” He asked eagerly. “That brutish fae is quite methodical. It's admirable, from the perspective of a fellow nameless.”

The thought of the unnamed stranger lurking somewhere nearby while you traversed the wood with Sukuna disturbed you as much as it intrigued you.

“I do not wish harm on you, trouble-seeker.” You stated. “But your actions bring you closer to necessitating my intervention.”

“So serious!” The man exclaimed. “I only mean to make conversation, but I have so little to go on.”

“You would find better conversation among your fellows.” You asserted.

“They are as suspicious as they can be untrustworthy.” The unnamed man toyed with the ends of his pale hair. “And they are uninterested in my philosophies.” He huffed.

“In that respect, I find them sensible.” You smiled.

“The crimson star trusts you greatly.” The stranger hummed. “To allow you the freedom to choose how his drink is brewed.” 

Were it not for the frequency at which the unnamed man changed topics, you might have noticed the pointed intent in his words. Instead, you took the thought as more frivolous drivel, though the sentiment stuck with you long after that night.

It was shortly after that encounter that you began planning. You chose a night shortly after the new moon, packing your things while Sukuna was out hunting. He had taken you to gather herbs that morning, and you had spent the remainder of the day steeling yourself.

The bizarre nameless man's words echoed in your mind while you brewed Sukuna's evening tea.

Sukuna paid you no mind as you worked, which only served to make you more nervous. He wasn't always attentive, nor was he particularly talkative, but he typically offered some grunted commentary regarding his evening venture or his plans for the next day in lieu of real conversation.

The minty smell of the pennyroyal would overpower the scents of the other deadly ingredients. The foxglove was likely overkill, but you wanted to be sure the poison would take, that it would put Sukuna down quickly and efficiently. You were not a garden witch, nor did you have skill as an apothecary, but your grandmother had still taught you basic, herbal chemistry.

You handled the angel's trumpet with great care, ensuring that you didn't touch any part of it while you fed the flowers into the mouth of the pot. 

As the tea steeped, your stomach churned, belly full of guilt that soured the meal Sukuna had provided you. You waited until he had already drained half of the first cup before you enacted the second part of your plan.

“I wish to pray early tonight.” You said, amazed at how steady you sounded. Your hands had been shaking for most of the evening.

“Early?” Sukuna asked, sipping more of his poisoned tea. “Very well.”

It was difficult to not scamper off like a scared rabbit. When you reached the area you had designated as suitable for prayer, you glanced over your shoulder, watching warily for signs that Sukuna was suspicious. He was still seated by the fire. As you watched, he began to pour himself more tea.

Tearing your eyes away, you settled in for your nightly vigil.

Stars above, I come to confess my wickedness.

This faithful one has been selfish once again.

This evildoer seeks no mercy.

This traitor deserves no forgiveness.

I only ask to take on his pain.

When you looked back to the fire, you saw Sukuna slumped over, still leaning against his favored stump. Standing, you dared to slip closer. You watched carefully for any reaction, for an indication that Sukuna still had the strength to stop you, though you could not bring yourself to gaze upon his face. His cup had fallen from his hand, and in your eternal foolishness, you collected it.

The great nameless master of the clearing, the bright crimson star of the forest, didn't even twitch.

You knew it was pointless to cry over what you had done, but the tears came anyway. Sniffling, you backed away, slipping further and further from the man who had held you prisoner for so many moons. With the factor of his absolute power over you having been removed, the feelings you held for him suddenly felt much less complicated than they had before.

If you had felt that you had a choice, would you have done this to him? 

Water fills the vessel in which it is held, conforming to the space that it is given, its shape changing with the opportunity it is allowed. 

Before you came to the confines of the clearing, you had always been safely contained. Your cottage, your faith, your careful contracts with your magic and those who sought your assistance—you used those constants for stability. There was no chance to question who you were, because everything around you was so concrete.

Once you had lost so much of yourself to that devastating fire, you had quickly gained new purpose in Sukuna's need for you. There wasn't a point in trying to fight your new role, and you had quickly settled for your new circumstances once the retort had proved itself sure.

Now, you had not merely leaked through the cracks of your vessel, but instead broken your prison entirely. You had not considered what might become of water that was allowed to spill everywhere. 

You were feeling very afraid.

What would you do? Where should you go? How would you make your way without the direction to which you had so desperately clung?

There were no voices calling you into the forest, no visions to guide you, no wind to push you forward.

Clinging to your overstuffed satchel, you slung your pack over your shoulder, stepping through the clearing's threshold and into the void.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

You were making your way well enough, though you had precious little idea where your feet were taking you.

The thick layer of clouds covering the sky prevented any starlight seeping through. Without that dim light, it was nearly pitch black under the cover of the trees above. The darkness of the wood was something you had grown accustomed to, though it had done little to prepare you for the trial of navigating past late evening.

You got just far enough to let your guard drop.

Your legs were kicked out from under you, and you crashed to the ground unceremoniously.

The surprise you felt was short-lived. Looming over you, looking ravenous and reeking of malice and rot, was the persistent, unnamed man.

He snickered, his smile so wide that it visibly pulled at the messy stitches holding his face together.

You had known that he was no different from a common unnamed person, that his abilities to evade Sukuna were little more than a useful quirk. Despite his claims, that unstable stranger had always craved what you possessed, had instinctively wanted to obtain that which made you someone. The trust you had in the soundness of the words that came from his mouth was a reflection of your own flawed perspective; you only had yourself to blame for your folly.

You just hadn't expected that particular mistake to be the one that ended your life.

“You did it—” The ghastly man's glee was almost infectious. “You felled the great Two-Faced Spirit!”

“Get off of me!” You kicked at the man, landing a few solid hits before he leaned back to secure your legs.

“Your name must be strong, traitorous woman.” The unnamed man grinned. “Give it to me. Unburden yourself so that you may ascend to greater heights.”

“I cannot give it—” You gasped, struggling harder in an attempt to throw the man off of you.

“Do you feel that you need it?” He mused. “You do not, it will only hold you down.”

“You are the only thing holding me down, deranged philosopher.” You spat.

The unnamed man's brow furrowed, a deep frown creasing his face. He leaned in, expression souring further as he hovered just above you.

“Give it to me.” He hissed. “Or I will be forced to take it.”

The starved presence above you was suddenly replaced by something both equally horrifying and familiar.

Sukuna held the unnamed man by the throat, suspending him in the air high above the ground. There was a tension in the air that spoke of something vicious, of wrath and vengeance and bloodlust unsated.

You almost dared to feel relief.

“I have long sought to lure you from your den, little rat.” Sukuna growled.

“Mercy—mercy—mer—” The nameless man rasped, his feeble words cut short with a squeeze of Sukuna's hand. The nameless man's eyes bulged, their enduring playfulness lost to rabid panic, his hands clawing at Sukuna.

“You corrupt my land and soil my garden with your filthy essence. You covet my woman and fill her head with your delusions.” Sukuna snarled. “You seek my power and believe yourself worthy of a name. Mercy? Vile pest, you do not even deserve the honor of the attention I give you now.”

You couldn’t even perceive the nature of what occurred; it happened far too quickly for you to understand. The nameless man essentially disintegrated, his body disappearing into a fine, bloody mist.

Sukuna shook what remained of the man from his tattooed hand.

Any relief you might have felt dissipated with the aerosolized blood as Sukuna's crimson eyes turned to you. For a moment, you thought you might be so lucky, that he might decide to reduce you to a sticky puddle and be done with it all.

“To murder one's master is a lofty goal.” Sukuna rumbled. “An aspiration that should be planned carefully when something so fragile as you seeks to achieve it.”

He fisted a hand in your hair, lifting you just as he had that very first night you had defied him at the shrine. He allowed you to stand, pulling only to angle your face toward his. 

“Fear and exhaustion create an interesting flavor in my prey–” His voice echoed all around you. “I have always savored the unique taste.”

Any words you might have had were lost to the black hole that had opened in your throat, stolen from your tongue before you had the chance to plead your case. What was the point in arguing? Sukuna was the one who would decide how this would go, your input was just noise.

Sukuna seemed unimpressed by your lack of reaction.

“You wanted to run, woman.” Sukuna's hand released you. He shoved you, causing you to stumble backward. “So, run.”

You didn't waste the opportunity, taking the path Sukuna carved out for you. Bounding through the foliage, your eyes automatically located the nearest trail, and your feet followed it without a second thought.

The forest was alive with Sukuna's energy, the space around you sparking with his power. It seeped into your skin, filling you with latent terror, a sensation you hadn't felt since the first time you had come to his clearing.

When his presence became stronger on one side, you veered to the other, evading him on instinct alone. It was clear he was toying with you, exhausting you for his pleasure. Your time in the clearing had made you stronger, and had increased your endurance significantly, but you knew from experience that Sukuna could easily outperform you.

You couldn't slow down. Your feet landed heavy on the forest floor beneath you, though the thudding sound was barely audible over the thunder of your heartbeat. Your throat burned, your muscles ached, the skin on your face stung with the increasing chill.

The area you were in became increasingly unfamiliar. 

Each step you took brought you further from the place you had come to know as your refuge, each turn became another convolution in your already rudimentary mental map. It wouldn't be long before you were lost entirely.

Sukuna wasn't bringing you back to the shrine. He was casting you out of it.

You hadn't expected him to want you back after what you had tried to do, but the realization gutted you all the same, ripping open that barely healed wound left by the fire that took your last home.

It was just visible on your horizon, a greater light than you had seen in a long time, a sparkling shine that grew brighter and brighter as you neared it.

Snow.

You were approaching an outer edge of the forest.

Sukuna called out to you.

“Do it, woman.” Sukuna urged. “See what awaits you out there.”

The frigid air was shocking to your body, the crunch of snow alien to your ears. You kept running, too afraid to stop, though unsure exactly where to go. Daring to look back, you found that you couldn't see much through the foliage, the edge of the wood dense with summertime thickets.

There was one thing you could make out. Twin stars, burning red-hot through the darkness.

Sukuna was watching you go. 

Letting you go.

The act evoked the very same confusing feeling which you were trying to escape. The sickly, saccharine nature of it wrapped itself around your throat and pooled thick and heavy in your gut, settling beside your unrelenting guilt and poignant agony.

There was something else, a feeling you had not ever expected in the face of your misdeeds.

Precious mercy, wholly undeserved.

In the aftermath, there is nothing left there for her to salvage.

The truth fades away.

no mercy by jigsaw youth

next

It was a strange night. There was a tension in the air, an absolute stillness that made Sukuna restless. It felt as if the forest was holding its breath, like the sky was caving in on itself.

Sukuna did not spend much time looking at the sky. The stars always made him feel odd. That night, it happened by accident. In his unrest, Sukuna looked up for a brief moment, and happened to catch sight of a bright, white-blue light streaking across the sky. It was close, much closer than most stars dared to stray on purpose.

For good reason.

That star must have been captured by a spell whilst sailing low. That, or someone with impeccable aim and no fear of retribution had shot it down. Either way, the star had fallen, and subsequently crash-landed somewhere deep within Sukuna's gardens.

Why the event intrigued him so deeply, Sukuna truly could not be sure, but his urge to investigate was strong regardless of his understanding for the reason. Even knowing he was sure to later regret breaking routine to appease his curiosity, it still felt impossible to ignore the fallen star.

Sukuna followed the trail of blood and starlight into the woods until he reached the crater. The star had destroyed a small grove of plum trees, though Sukuna wasn't particularly concerned with the mess. What irked him was the presence of vermin. Barely a half hour had the star been lying defenseless in its grave, and already starved beasts had gathered to consume it. Those wretches should have known well enough that this part of the forest was well within Sukuna's gardens. Anything here unquestionably belonged to him.

He savored that extermination. Sometimes, Sukuna would kill because it was a job to be done. Other times, it was merely for the excitement of the act, or even because he was hungry.

And then there were times like these, times where he needed to center himself in the violence.

Sukuna needed to be a monster, because that was what he was. That was how he survived, how he prevented himself from becoming lost.

It was only after the slaughter that Sukuna felt enough like himself to properly take in the scene before him. It was cold near the crater, abnormally so. Shards of ice grew from the earth, a thick frost coating the ruined trees at the edges of the site. Sukuna could see his breath with each exhale.

The body of the star was small. They laid in the center of the crater, alive but gravely injured. Their monk's robes were torn, their white hair stained with blood, shining with the evidence of the blow that had knocked them from the sky that night. Their eyes turned to Sukuna, blooming like foolish, hopeful roses doomed to perish under a late frost.

A whisper of a smile snuck onto their face.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

Sukuna did not know why he dragged that young star all the way back to his shrine. He did not take the time to speculate, instead choosing to focus on the task at hand.

It was impressive, the way that the fallen star persisted despite their wounds. They did not resist, nor did they flinch under the immense pressure of Sukuna's murderous aura. They even made an attempt to kneel before him, slurring near-unintelligible nonsense about their master. They allowed Sukuna to treat their numerous injuries, their expression never wavering even as Sukuna carved away the flesh that had become diseased with their fall. The shaft of the cursed arrow that had brought them down had snapped when the star crashed in the garden, leaving only the poisoned tip buried in their skull. It was difficult to retrieve, even for Sukuna, but his steadfast determination made the task possible. Sukuna sucked the poison from the wound, persisting until the star's blood tasted clean.

The star maintained consciousness throughout the procedure, stoic and somber, watching the sky as Sukuna sewed them back together. When it was finished, they finally turned their eyes back to Sukuna, uttered thanks, and promptly fell asleep.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

The star was called Uraume.

Sukuna took Uraume with him that next evening, bringing that strange star to the very edge of his gardens. Though Sukuna had been willing to keep them for a while longer, Uraume had insisted that they move on as soon as possible.

"The curse has left you forever stained, but whatever remains of the poison will dissipate eventually." Sukuna grunted. He had slowed his pace for Uraume's sake, though there was part of him that wanted to extend the encounter for his own curiosity.

"How fortunate." Uraume said with a small smile. "My luck has been quite good."

"Good luck would have seen you still hanging in the sky." Sukuna said.

"Ah—I suppose luck is relative." Uraume laughed softly. "To some other star, to fall would be a great misfortune. To this winter star, to fall and survive is the greatest blessing that I could have received."

"The injury to your head is perhaps more severe than I believed." Sukuna muttered.

"Perhaps." Uraume agreed. "Still, I have survived, and so I have been blessed with the chance to find my master."

"You think quite highly of a master who could not be bothered to save you themselves." Sukuna scoffed.

Uraume turned their eyes to the darkening sky. "I think he would have, were he not lost."

"Your master is nameless." Sukuna guessed. "But you have not forgotten him."

"Indeed, he is—and indeed, I have not." Uraume confirmed. "That man could not be forgotten so easily."

They walked in silence for a while after that. Sukuna chewed on Uraume's words, finding himself disturbed by the fallen star's loyalty to their indifferent master.

"That master—bring him to me when he is found." Sukuna said suddenly. "I should like to test his worthiness myself."

Uraume didn't seem startled by Sukuna's words. Instead they nodded in agreement. "I feel he would say the same, the two of you should surely meet when he is whole."

When they reached their destination, Uraume hesitated, reaching into the pocket of their robes.

"I had thought to save this for my master." They said slowly. "But I feel that it should be yours."

In Uraume's palm, sat the inert core of a star. Tiny and black, that core hummed, steady and low, calling out to Sukuna enticingly.

"Swallow it—" Uraume urged. "And you will find the correct path is illuminated."

"The correct path?" Sukuna questioned, plucking the core from Uraume's hand and holding it between his thumb and forefinger. It was warmer than he expected, though he wasn't sure exactly what he had thought it might feel like.

Rather than explaining themselves properly, Uraume looked skyward once again. "The stars are a map that would take all of eternity to wear away." They said. "Even when one is snuffed out, many more have long since taken its place."

Cryptic though Uraume's words were, Sukuna still found them oddly enlightening. He watched Uraume disappear into the forest, and swallowed the star's core as his evening meal.

It was always noisy after that night.

The stars were loud, and they had far too much to discuss for beings that spent so little time walking the earth. Personally, Sukuna thought they fought too much and did too little.

What business did they have deciding which people should suffer tragedy and which should be spared? Those stars knew nothing of hunger, loss, or disease, yet they saw fit to inflict it on the ignorant masses with their inaction.

It was disgusting. Inept gods possessing unimaginable cumulative power, all of it squandered for their inability to agree how it should be spent.

For example, someone might criticize the current king of the realm for his lackadaisical approach to ruling, but then someone else would quip ‘A great leader does little and accomplishes much.’. It was an oft-repeated, cyclical argument when discussion turned to that king. Another star would inevitably respond with an equally worn out quote, and the discussion would devolve into petty squabbling soon after.

Sukuna did his best to tune their ignorant nonsense out, though it was rare that he found success.

They were particularly loud on the night that it happened.

Above the incessant chatter, Sukuna heard the witch's cry for help echo across the night sky. Even if her plea had not been so loud, Sukuna would have surely learned of her plight when all discussion turned to her. That faithful woman was in great peril. She suffered, screaming for her gods to save her, all while the stars twinkled apathetic and actionless above, bickering about whether or not they should act.

Sukuna didn't care one way or another what happened to the witch—far be it from him if her pitiful prayers were no longer whispers in his ear each evening. He had been vaguely aware of her, mostly in the way a cat is aware of a moth that is out of reach. Equally annoying, amusing, and inconsequential, that witch was certainly devout, but she remained unclaimed by any of her beloved gods. She was never openly discussed, and so Sukuna had been unaware of the reason for her status until it became relevant.

She is faithful, but she lacks designation.

The witch surely has one, she only lacks the ability to give it.

Perhaps if she were a little less powerful…

Sukuna barked out a laugh.

How typical. The stars didn't like the idea of taking on a holy woman that they wouldn't be able to control completely. As it was impossible for the witch to relinquish her name, she would be able to retain agency, and the stars would struggle to act against her once the promise was made.

Suddenly, Sukuna felt her eye on him. It was profoundly familiar, and in that moment, Sukuna wondered if perhaps he had been unintentionally turning his ear toward her each night.

Looking at Sukuna alone, that holy woman promised herself wholly to the crimson star. The wishing witch's promise was strangely enticing. She would give everything of herself, and all that she wanted in return was a savior in her time of need. Though Sukuna truly had no use for a pious holy woman, his brief encounter with the fallen star Uraume had left him wanting for company. If he was being honest, Sukuna didn't really think it over. One moment he was free, and the next he felt the promise snap into place, a spiritual collar fitted snugly around his neck.

The feeling wasn't uncomfortable. By the time Sukuna left his clearing to seek that holy woman, he was fully accustomed to the sensation, and he had already convinced himself that it wasn't so serious as it had first seemed.

The noise worsened almost immediately.

A fallen star has claimed her—

What a waste—

I knew we should have accepted that holy woman—

She had too much potential to rebel—

Sukuna watched as you drank greedily from the Spring of Sight, somewhat impressed by your instinct. He hadn't needed to do a thing; you wandered to that magical spring all on your own. He felt a little flare of sadistic pleasure when he realized that you had overindulged, though the thought of you daring to perish before Sukuna could decide if you were worthless or not irritated him.

You looked a vision on your knees for him. You took him in through bleary eyes, your every emotion playing out unbridled on your pretty face. Sukuna could tell that you understood your position, that despite your over-consumption of the holy water you were still able to see him for what he was. The sound of your fear excited him, your acts of defiance despite that terror even more so.

Troublesome though you were quickly proving to be, Sukuna didn't find himself put off by your resistance to his authority. He liked that you refused to meekly submit. Not because he didn't want you to yield, but because it meant he got the pleasure of making you. It was a perfect arrangement for someone like him.

You fought him hard, harder than Sukuna had thought would be possible for someone in your state. That would have been a good sign, but he quickly began to fear that you might accidentally exhaust yourself in your fervor. The very last thing Sukuna expected was to have stardust thrown directly in his face. Ineffective as the substance was to someone like him, it still burned like hell to cry starlight.

The pain, combined fact that you were willing to go so far to escape something for which you had begged, enraged him.

The star's commentary was unhelpful. Not only did they question your ability to survive the rights, they openly wondered about Sukuna's ability to properly tame you as well.

Infuriated as Sukuna was, it wouldn't do to help prove those imbecilic stars right.

He could tell that those stars had been wrong about you. Seeing truth to such a degree was overwhelming, but it wouldn't kill someone like you. It wouldn't be long before you recovered; Sukuna could feel that you were already tanking the worst of the symptoms with little effort. While the struggle you endured was yours alone, Sukuna was still resolved to do what he could. Under sparse fragments of moonlight, Sukuna dragged you into his shrine, put you to sleep, and settled in to keep watch.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

When Sukuna's holy woman did survive, the chatter mercifully waned, reduced to a single, lingering sentiment echoing through the night sky. 

That woman would have been less trouble if she died.

As it turned out, those noisy stars were sometimes right.

The holy woman was trouble. A mistake. Your presence had complicated everything. Sukuna was hardly certain what to do with you, and uncertainty was a dangerous creature for an unnamed to go up against.

Equally so, the stars had been wrong.

You brought Sukuna an unusual focus. He felt sharper under the promise between you, felt more real under your observation. Your tangibility was unlike anything Sukuna had ever felt, and the knowledge that he alone could possess you excited him.

It felt like war, but better. It was soft and warm and exhilarating, like the heart of a worthy enemy cradled in his hand.

It made Sukuna wonder what it would feel like to kill you. To wrap his hands around your throat and snuff out the bright starfire behind your eyes. To consume you wholly and leave absolutely nothing behind in order to ensure you became one.

He feared it as much as he fantasized about it. The understanding that the star-crossed connection between you and himself was unique and irreplaceable was the only thing that reliably quieted his violent urges and stilled his restless hands. Sukuna often felt as if he was watching himself interact with you from the outside.

A beast in need of muzzling and prey in need of better instincts.

Vex him though you did, Sukuna found that his usual, unrelenting ire became muted when it came to you. It could have been due to your amusing displays of willfulness, but Sukuna had suspicions that it ran deeper than that. The bond you now shared probably affected him more profoundly because of his status, and conversely you were left less swayed because he could not hold you by name.

The result was something precious. Something fragile.

Something that was his alone.

Sukuna was quickly reminded what made a true, worthy enemy.

The smug, white-haired fiend approached Sukuna while he was collecting river clay for the very first meal he would be presenting to his woman. He stood on the bank opposite to Sukuna, his pristine, cream robe fluttering in the breeze.That scarred, fae man woke something old and aching in Sukuna, a bleeding wound that ripped itself open over and over no matter how much it tried to heal. Sukuna didn't need to be told, this was something he could feel.

That fae had been the one to take Sukuna's name.

The fae man only laughed when Sukuna attempted to engage him, his eerily familiar battle scars shimmering in the starlight as he effortlessly evaded each of Sukuna's attacks.

"Though I am sure it would satisfy you to earn your name so violently, I come with a more feasible opportunity." The fae man claimed, his azure eyes dancing with amusement as he dodged yet another of Sukuna's blows.

"For what purpose would you offer me my name?" Sukuna questioned, sending another barrage of attacks toward the man.

"You see, I possess not one, but two names of interest. I wish to relinquish both, in a way." The fae man explained, jumping up over Sukuna to sit on a tree branch. "Though I would not do this for nothing."

Intrigued, Sukuna couldn't help but pause his onslaught.

"Tell me what it is you seek." He demanded.

"You have come into a witch, yes? A holy woman of the stars?" The fae man smiled. "Her name lies with me. I want the rest of her as well."

"You lie." Sukuna snarled. "That woman's name belongs to no one."

"I suppose that is the hard truth of the matter." The fae man sighed. "But still, I possess that name nonetheless."

Sukuna didn't even consider it.

"No." He said decidedly.

"No?"

"No."

The fae man's smile melted.

"Surely you misunderstand." He insisted. "I am offering you your name in exchange for one woman."

Sukuna readied his next strike, calling upon his bow of fire. He aimed it directly at the fae man, a threat and a promise in the draw.

"I will not be swindled in my own garden." Sukuna snapped.

"You value this woman that much?" The fae man raised a brow.

"She is useful." Sukuna said simply.

The fae man's smile returned, the corners of his mouth curling into a wicked grin.

"Indeed."

Try though he did, Sukuna was still unable to wound that fae man as he retreated.

Sukuna returned to camp, feeling shaken by the encounter, but ultimately relieved when he found his woman safe by the fire.

Sukuna could feel his attachment to you growing, a foreign emotion he grappled with each night. He could hear your prayers more clearly than before, as if you were speaking them directly to him. No matter how he tried to ignore you each night when you settled in to pray, he would still inevitably end up listening in on your private moment with the stars.

You were so sincere in your devotion, dutiful and steadfast in your faith, a holy woman who was more than worthy of the stars' attention.

The idea of you offering your prayers to them made him jealous. Sukuna found himself envious of the stars who had been able to hear you all this time, and angry at the thought of them trying to listen to you now. The racket had faded to inaudible whispers after he acquired you, so Sukuna couldn't tell if they were able to hear you or not. It frustrated him, not knowing if he would be forced to share you with those ungrateful beings.

It was a poison to his mind, but the toxicity was something Sukuna actively savored. He looked forward to the feeling, an excitement unlike anything he could remember ever experiencing. His life before you was one of practicality. Now it was full of desire. What used to be an evening meal had become an act of returned devotion, what had been a simple survey of his lands had become securing the safety of his woman. Even the keeping of the fire had turned into something more meaningful.

Soft feelings did not come naturally to Sukuna. Being gentle took great effort, effort that used to go toward the recovery of his personhood.

Plans had begun to form in his mind, new ideas about how to become himself again. Though he could not remember the details, Sukuna was sure that he had been a great and powerful man. To regain that would surely be enough to quell the ache in his chest.

Vex him though you did, Sukuna didn't regret refusing to give you up. If anything, he was grateful that you had attracted the attention of that fae who held his name. Where before Sukuna had no real clues about how he might regain that designation, now he could see a way forward.

It was almost as if in you that Sukuna had found a muse for his motivation to be renamed.

You were displeased with having him as the monster who held you captive…but what if Sukuna were instead a man who could rescue you from the beasts that would see you burned?

Nameless fae though he was, Sukuna still knew of the kingdom's war on magic. It was hard to not be aware, especially when so many witches had fled to the Forest of the Forgotten. He spared them, not out of pity, but because it was a waste of his time to end them. The forest would take them soon enough, just as it would have taken you without his intervention.

Besides, there were plenty of more important issues within Sukuna's gardens. There had been an increased presence of trespassing nameless after he acquired you. Most of them weren't inherently harmful, but there were a few that he actively sought to eliminate. It wouldn't be a problem as long as you stayed within the safety of the shrine's clearing, but it would only take a single, clever pest to ruin everything.

It was all Sukuna could think about when it finally came time to fulfill a duty that would take him far away from you. Finding that the keeper of the spring was none other than the fae man who held his name had been taxing, but not nearly as much as coming back to the lingering scent of an unnamed and the sharp smell of his woman in distress.

You were upfront about what had happened, which was comforting. More pleasing, however, was your thankfulness. Communing with that green witch was never pleasant, and owing her a debt was the last thing Sukuna wanted. The genuine warmth that your simple gratitude brought over him made it all worth it, even with everything it had cost him.

Of course, he didn't do all that he did for you for nothing.

Sukuna took his payment in blood.

The satisfaction Sukuna felt in watching you realize he had been consuming your blood was only outweighed by the act itself. He relished the taste of you, of taking some of you into himself without having to cause you any real harm.

If he really concentrated, he could feel the act tying the two of you together tighter and tighter with each indulgence.

Truthfully, Sukuna bore no confusion when it came to the relationship between himself and his woman.

It might have been foolish, but even as much as you were his and he was yours, Sukuna couldn't help but want more. It was in his nature to seek all that you had to give, to find the very limits of what you were capable of and drag you to them. You were decidedly his, under the law of the stars that much was true, and though he lacked your name, there was no doubt that he still held your soul by the wisps at its edge.

And that being the case, for what reason should he not take you as his bride? What rule was there against such a coupling? Though the stars surely protested the union, they had nothing of value to say on the matter. The only point they had presented was the futility of a fallen star pursuing a powerful heir in such a way.

It wasn't like Sukuna's goals included the creation of another star cursed to fall.

The matter would have long been settled if you would just comply. At first, Sukuna had been sure he wouldn't mind taking you completely, with or without your consent. He had certainly considered it the very first night you were his, an urge born of lust and violent cruelty. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing, even as a means to assert himself over you. However, the thought had caught and lingered. A whisper in his mind, it was an ever-present, pernicious belief that he should have you any way that he liked. That whisper had only grown louder and more insistent. It had gotten to the point that the thought drowned out what was left of the noise that the stars made, though Sukuna didn't find the new racket any more preferable.

It had all come to a head when he caught you with the unnamed woman. Naive as you were, Sukuna had been willing to forgive you, but then you had decided to keep pushing. Sukuna was already on edge, so when you decided to stand against him, he briefly lost his hold on himself.

“You know what? You're right. The nameless are unpredictable and dangerous.”

In truth, his reaction was partially indignation, and partially inability to resist the fire in you. You put so much effort into dampening that fire, repressing the part of you that didn't want to unconditionally submit to him.

“You would do best to hold your tongue, witch.”

Despite his words, Sukuna wanted more than anything for you to keep going. He wanted to keep pushing until there was nothing left of the walls you used to keep the flames within you burning low. He wanted you stripped bare and vulnerable before him, wanted you to fall apart completely over and over again.

So, Sukuna took the excuse you were giving him. Dragging you to the shrine, he savored the feeling of your fury as he threw you down and pressed his lips to yours.

"I had thought better of this, but it seems I have put it off for too long.”

Seeing you laid out in his nest, Sukuna realized that he had put it off for too long. Now that he had you where he so desperately wanted you, Sukuna was finding it difficult to restrain himself. The sound of your mewls and gasps was driving him crazy, the sight of your naked body even more so. The smell of your arousal alone was enough to convince him that he should keep going, but it was the feeling of you coming apart on his fingers that caused the last remaining threads of his control to snap.

But you refused him. Your protest had been firm, your words deliberate. You voiced fear, and Sukuna realized the last thing he wanted was for you to fear this. Stubborn as he was, Sukuna's urge to take you on his altar had already given life to the need for you to also desire him so severely.

In the aftermath, Sukuna could only conclude that you needed more. More proof of his strength, his devotion, and his worthiness. More time, care, and attention. More food, gifts, and pleasure.

Sukuna was sure he could give all of that to you, could prove to you that he was worthy of being yours, even if you could not yet call him by name.

Sukuna sensed your plan to betray him long before you began to enact it. It was a familiar feeling, one that he was sure he had felt before, though he couldn't recall ever having reason.

"You are distracted, woman." Sukuna muttered. "Lift your arms."

"Sorry." You said, raising your arms slightly so that Sukuna could wrap the black rope around your waist.

"What preoccupies you?" Sukuna asked.

Your hesitation was all the answer he needed.

"I am—tired." You said softly. "I have been exhausted lately."

"Ah—am I keeping you up too late?" Sukuna smirked, trying to take the information in stride. "Should I allow you to sleep in after I have you?"

You scoffed. "There isn't a night where you abstain. I scarcely believe you would let me lie around every morning."

Sukuna tightened the knot he was tying, pulling you closer with a tug. He looked down at you, trying to enjoy the way that your breath caught when your eyes met.

"Do not make assumptions, woman." Sukuna hummed. "I would take no issue with allowing you a fraction of the morning to recover."

Your huff of amusement did little to soothe the ache in his chest.

"You enjoy our trysts too much." You said.

Sukuna slid his fingers behind the knot of ropes centered under your breasts, gripping it tightly.

"Should I remind you how much you enjoy our nights together?" Sukuna purred. "There is no real need to go out into the forest today—" He pulled you against his chest. "—and my woman says she could use a little extra time in my bed."

You looked up at him with lidded eyes, a flicker of doubt crossing your expression.

Sukuna felt something crack in his chest when you shook your head.

"That is not necessary." You said. "Finish your work, and I will take care to finish my own."

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

Your intent became clear as you conspicuously wandered his herb garden.

Sukuna wasn't unaware of the properties of the flowers you gathered, but even if he had been, the manner in which you handled them was significantly different to other plants.

Your selection of white moonflower was almost poetic. Were it not for the fact that you intended to use it to poison him, Sukuna might have thought it romantic.

After spending the evening dwelling on it; however, Sukuna did actually began to find it disturbingly attractive.

The fact that you would be so bold as to plan his murder right before his eyes was exactly the sort of fire he wanted to draw out of you. Though it was far from what he wanted, it was hard to not feel a sick sort of pride in his woman.

Sukuna spent that evening meal considering what might be an appropriate punishment. He knew it was unlikely that he would actually be able to go through with causing you significant harm, but he wasn't above threatening it. Just imagining how you would cry and beg for his forgiveness made his cocks hard, and the thought of you potentially offering yourself up to appease him wasn't helping.

He would refuse you, of course, but only because it would undoubtedly make you even more desperate. If you were lucky, Sukuna might see fit to let you please him.

Sukuna knew that no poison would succeed in felling him. The idea of your shock amused him, the confusion you were sure to feel at his inevitable survival driving him to play along. He watched as you nervously observed him drinking the toxic tea, suppressing a knowing smile as you asked to step away and pray. Though it was certainly beneath him, he still found humor in the theater of pretending the poison had taken him.

Laying on the ground, Sukuna was considering exactly how he would begin to show you the monster he could be, when your prayer floated into his ear.

It was a desperate prayer, a confession to the stars.

Stars above, I come to confess my wickedness.

This faithful one has been selfish once again.

This evildoer seeks no mercy.

This traitor deserves no forgiveness.

I only ask to take on his pain.

Your plea made Sukuna reconsider his plans. He had never considered your motivation, not really. If he had made any assumption, it was that you hated him for what he was, and that you sought to be free of him. Now, as you begged for a peaceful end for him, as you admitted your guilt and regret, Sukuna finally wondered what it might be like to be you.

Sukuna knew that he wasn't an easy man to love. His condition made his less appealing traits more extreme, and the truth of the matter was that he had not known how to love you properly in the first place. He had just done whatever felt right to him, which often arguably ended up being the wrong thing to do. Even Sukuna was able to admit that sometimes simply trying wasn't good enough. He should have done more, should have made an effort to find out what you needed from him, should have done something to pull you away from the edge when he felt you approaching it.

He knew that letting you go wasn't an option, but even as you left his clearing, Sukuna couldn't bring himself to force you to stay.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

Sukuna could be as possessive as any other animal, but his affection was not so easy to earn.

If it weren't for the fact that he had intimate knowledge of the sort of magic you possessed, Sukuna would have thought that you had intentionally bewitched him.

The pain that had settled in his chest only became worse as he watched you run from him, a sharp ache that grew until it was nearly debilitating. The pain became so severe as you crossed the tree line that Sukuna thought he might have collapsed entirely if you hadn't looked back at him.

Staggering back to his shrine, Sukuna did actually collapse. He didn't even make it inside, dropping to kneel in the doorway. On his hands and knees, Sukuna braced himself, an increasingly familiar wave of pain rolling over him. A pressure built inside him, pushing through his lungs and up into his throat.

Sukuna heaved once, and immediately hacked up a bushel's worth of flower petals. It didn't stop, a steady flow of petals making their way out as Sukuna desperately coughed in an attempt to keep his airway clear. He couldn't manage to breathe properly, not when the pain had become so severe, not when his neck was being squeezed by the collar he had so willingly donned.

He was on his side, wheezing as he manually pulled flowers out of his mouth, when he noticed a pair of familiar presences looming over him.

"Your master is weaker than I remember him being, Uraume." The white-haired fae man said, leaning over Sukuna. "Are you sure it will be worth it to save him?"

"Undoubtedly." Uraume said. "You hold half of his strength in your hand, Satoru. The rest is lying in the snow."

"I will give it up when the time is right." Satoru mused, finally looking Sukuna in the eye. "So try to survive until then, Sukuna."

The only reason you were able to make it back to the spring was because the colt knew the way. Try though you did, the path had become obscured, and it was only by that animal's instinct that you were able to return without being forced to leave the forest entirely.

Satoru was lounging by the Spring of Sight, trailing his fingers through the water. He perked up instantly when he noticed you, a huge grin splitting across his face.

"My witch returns!" Satoru crowed, jumping to his feet. "I expected you days ago; I thought surely Maki had either killed or kept you."

"No such luck." You sighed. "She has agreed to work with you, although her acceptance came at a personal price."

"It is no secret that she seeks revenge." Satoru waved a hand. "Fret not, I will ensure you have opportunity to accomplish your task."

Satoru began talking excitedly about his plans, most of which you did not care to understand. That fae man had a tendency to ramble, and as you sat by the spring in an attempt to politely listen, you ultimately ended up drifting off.

The control he so desperately clings to shatters, revealing the illusion. Too late, he realizes he is nothing without her.

monster by the burned

next