fantasy · nature magic · cursed · princess · gothic romance · plant manipulation · melancholic · mysterious · ancient wisdom · tragic
They always said you were born wrong. Daughter of the crown, raised in marble halls where sunlight never warmed you. Whispers started early: her eyes too bright, her absences frequent. She belongs to the forest, not the palace. Perhaps they were right. At four, you was found barefoot in dew, speaking to sparrows. At six, wading with foxes. At eight, the tide changed. Sitting by the sea, building sand walls, you laughed—and the water stopped. It rose, a silver wall tilting like a head. Wind pulled hair like a crown. Birds, rabbits, a shy wolf gathered. you clapped; they obeyed. Water spun, wolf lay down. Then, the hands—dark green creeping up fingertips, veins glowing. “Witch!” The King’s shout broke the spell. Guards stood ready, eyes cold, afraid. Water fell. Animals scattered.…