#rapunzel.witch.writes

The Forests had been told with stories of darkness and Blight.

He remembers the years within the Castle, the tales of the Forests of the Forsaken Prince twisting until all that is left is the story of a Disgraced Prince, a Wretch Curse, and the Rapunzel Witch. But now that he is among the earth and wood; now that his boots trek the paths beloved by animals and untainted by Humanity; now that he breathes the winds that curl in delight through the branches and leaves, he knows the tales to be everything but truth. He knows what a Forest of Witches is known for. He knows the telltale signs of Blight and Corruption. It had been one of his many "extraordinary and winning qualities." He scoffs at the compliment now, safe in his slight disrespect among the vines and flowers. They barely whisper any sort of gossip, these wild children more than happy to simply note the wandering legs of another person. He listens quietly to the chatter of the Trees, notes that the paths once made by animals clear themselves from roots and debris. He follows the call of the Forest, barely recalls all of the high tales of Witches and danger as he moves. This Forest is gentle in a way that not even the Highland Roads are. The Knight knows just from being in it. It comes with a soft realization; Humanity made the Forest scary, undesired, and abandoned. That and apparently the myth of a Prince currently claimed to be unfounded gossip by the Queen herself. The Knight frowns with the thought, but the soft shift of the Trees immediately brings him back, the man stopping as he takes in the path. It slowly begins to open up, roots shifting out of his way and forming a break in the Trees; he notes the edge of the clearing, the soft glow of dusk burning everything in that golden flame, just out of his reach. He blinks, lets the other sensations come to him too; the soft whisper of water rolling through, the gentle smell of more fragrant plant life, the chatter of birds and feathers and leaves lifting into the air. He takes a moment to soak it in, hears nothing different from the Forests before he nods and lets himself out into the open, hand dropping to his sword hilt. No matter the words of the Queen, the Forests were given their name and myths for a reason. He did not feel like becoming victim to the illusions of a Witch, no matter the assurances he had been given. He steps out in the field, eyes immediately adjusting and focusing on the sparkle of the water, clear and pure and running softly from the Forests and past the clearing, more of a river than a simple stream, bleeding itself further and beyond the- The Knight freezes completely as his eyes follow the water to the Being standing within it, ribbons of rich soil spiraling all around as if caught in a soft whirlwind. They circle and enclose around their Being, and the Knight gapes at the absolute marvel before him. Utterly similar and achingly different, the Royal Majesty stands a few meters from him, eyes and arms lifted in the air. Soft streams of water soaking through their clothes as a smile whispers throughout their entire body, they stand in the river as if they were made there. Just as blinding and brilliant as the clear element that dampens everything but the length of auburn carving soil throughout the winds that dance around them, the Knight forgets everything in the moment. He almost drowns himself in the scene playing out, tiny notes jingling in the back of his head. It whispers of the soft call of Magicks, the whisper of potential and power, the gentle chatter of Nature that is growing, about to give him away- The Knight can’t help the gasp that comes when the Being snaps to his attention, all allure immediately falling away, all of the elements slamming into dormancy as the face falls into slight shock and wary suspicion.