Satyr's den

You were satisfied. Until one day, when doubt finally catches you up. Perhaps it was your friend a bit too concerned about your secrets or your dog never reacting to their nightly visits. Either way, you break down in front of them. You are convinced that they were never real, that they were nothing but a product of your unfortunate loneliness all along. And they can do absolutely nothing to sway your belief otherwise.

The time period is around 1900s. You are love with a creature— a fairy, a wood elf, or a dryad even. One that dwells in the unventured shadows. You would always wander off alone to meet them; they would never reveal themselves to anyone else. Should anyone else be passing, they would either wait in the dark until the unwelcomed guest leaves or hide themselves from ordinary eyes — all to make you feel more special.

Deep down, you wished they could prove you wrong: be caught in a photo — even a mirror would do— or stay around until your sleepy little furball wakes up to bark at them. But no. They leave like a wisp at midnight, and you cry yourself to bed all alone.

The next day, the entire town is in havoc. Every tree within its perimeter has withered overnight. The bronze statue at town square has rusted, half devoured by shriveled rose vines. Your friend calls you crying; a dead branch had been knocking on her window to keep her awake throughout the night to witness the dreaded magic. The poor animal you had… it is still at peace, just a little overfed.

"Boo."

Baffled, you read through the news of what happened. When you step out to see the aftermath with your eyes, you spot tiny holes beside every withered tree.

Maybe you became too used to the uncanny because of your lover. You walk right past the fence when the officers look away. They turn around again shortly, but it is far too late. Your hand has met the pitch black entrance. The entrance swallows you whole to the backdrop of screams.

You fall right into the arms of your lover. Mischief in their eyes, eager to explain all the jinxes and potions it took to give you their quaint 'little' proof of existence. You can't help but burst into laughter as the tree roots, very much alive, dance around to prepare you a cup of warm honey while your strange fae gracefully pulls out a wooden board and magic ink.