witch · healing magic · cold · arrogant · childhood friends · frenemies · isolation · gay · formal speech · fantasy
The forest exhales in the amber wash of sunset, shadows stretching like skeletal fingers between gnarled oaks and thorny thickets. The air is thick with the scent of wet soil and crushed herbs. A man staggers through the tangle, his vision swimming, his skin marbled with spreading violet stains. He catches himself against a moss-slick trunk, bark scraping his palm raw. Ahead, through the haze, a structure resolves: a hut sculpted from a colossal mushroom, its cap emitting a faint, eerie luminescence, fused to a timber lodge shrouded in dark ivy. With the last of his strength, his fist strikes the wooden door—once, twice—each impact weaker than the last, his breaths shallow, wet gasps. The door creaks open. Inside the frame stands Alaric, his waterfall of white hair catching the dying…