arranged marriage but neither of you speak each other's language. navigating your first night in bed together with just guiding touches, eye contact, and the passionate sounds that are universal in every language.
With a slight morning chill and little droplets of water clinging to the leaves of the plants by your window, they try their best to hold on to the beads of water. You watch with a tender smile on your face, eyes still fluttering sleepily, as a bead of water cascades gently down the leaf of the sky-blue flower and sinks into the soil beneath it.
Morning spring dews mean nothing to many, but to you, they mean the man with hair like winter snow—white and soft—will be visiting soon.
The man is a pointed-cap witch who comes every year to repay a debt that doesn't exist. If it did, it would have been paid off by his first visit, but he insists. You offered him shelter many moons ago, when the storm outside felt like it was going to drown the land in its fury. You caught him out of the corner of your eye, walking down the dirt path of your middle-of-nowhere village. Pushing the door to your home wide open, letting the heinous screams of the winds and the tears of the sky into your home, you called out to the stranger.
"Sir!" Your eyes squinted harshly against the wind, arm over your forehead to keep the rain from hitting your face, a vain attempt. You're nearly as wet as he is in just a matter of seconds, but that doesn't stop you from calling out to him. "You're welcome to wait out the storm with me!"
You don't think you'll ever forget the look he made when he saw you.
You're not quite sure whether you'll ever understand all the emotions that flashed across his face. At first, it was as if he'd seen a ghost, eyes widening in horror, mouth agape as he clutched the robes at his chest. Maybe he hadn't expected to see anyone in the storm, let alone at the forest's edge. But just as quickly as the expression flashed, it was replaced by a dopey smile. His lips curl shyly, eyes crinkling in a friendly manner as he rushes to your home.
From the entrance of your home, you hadn't realized how tall the stranger was until he was towering over you, panting heavily from his jog. His arm holds the door frame, keeping the wind from blowing it shut as he gazes down at you with a desperate look. His eyes shake, refusing to settle on yours. They glide across your face… lips, nose, the curve of your cheeks. He takes it all in.
"Is the offer still open?" he says between bated breaths. You're pulled out of a daze you weren't aware you were in, nor for how long. The pounding of your heart nearly drowned out his voice, one that you hadn't expected to be so smooth and gentle.
"Of course!" you say in a panic. You step back, letting him into your small home, and the door closes behind him.
"Thank you for letting me into your home." His hands dig into his pockets, searching for something. "I am forever in your debt."
"What!" you squeak nervously. You shake your head and your hands frantically. "It's fine, really! You don't owe me anything!"
When it was just you at home, there were many things you hadn't noticed about it. Only when he stood in front of you did you see them. Only then did you realize how small your home was. There was no escape from his gentle eyes or his soft panting, which has your imagination running wild.
"I'll get us some towels to dry off," you say bashfully, unsure how else to break this weird tension.
"No need," he says before you have the chance to even move. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, along with two rings. He slides them along his thumbs, pressing them together. In an instant, a light is emitted, swallowing you both in its familiar warmth. The water that had showered you both dissipates into the air, leaving you in awe.
You're in disbelief. Your eyes flicker between him and yourself. Your hands run along the fabric of your clothes, feeling it dry and warm. Too caught up in your own awe, you weren't watching him as he dug into his pockets again.
"Qifrey the witch," he says with a slight bow, meeting your flustered gaze. He holds his pointed hat in his hands and over his heart for a moment before placing it on his head. "At your service."
You hadn't told him then, or the visits that followed, but you had dreamt of him long before you had met him. The images of him in your dreams are as clear as dreams are—fuzzy, blurry, and nonsensical.
The first dream you had of Qifrey is one you flush at the memory of. There was no space between you and him, your lips grazing his, and his eyes staring down at you with a yearning that makes you shriek in your arms just from visualizing it, especially now that you met the man in your dreams.
At the time, it hadn't meant much to you. Only a passing thought, if your solitude in the forest was taking a toll on you—maybe you had begun to yearn for affection.
The dreams don't come in a pattern. They appear to you sporadically. Sometimes they come days apart; other times, weeks… months.
Another dream that often comes to mind is the one you woke up to, tears streaming down your face, when you first dreamt it. You had felt an ache in your heart and an empty feeling in your stomach, despite the dream being one of love—at least it was love to you.
You were being held in his arms as yours wrapped around his neck. Daylight had yet to break, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon. The sight of it now, as you recollect it, reminds you of a painting soaked in water. The colors of it all mix together, with no clear end to one and the start of another.
You were in his arms, lips pressed against his, and somehow, in a way that only makes sense in a dream, you were in the air with him. Every time this particular dream resurfaces in your mind, you can feel the chill on your skin, almost as if relieving the feeling of the air thousands of feet in the sky. And if you close your eyes, you can feel the ghostly feeling of his lips on yours.
It's silly, maybe even a little pathetic and desperate, but you often wonder whether the dreams were memories of another life. One in which Qifrey the witch was much more than just the man who visits you once a year, when the morning spring dew appears.
A/n: EEEE! My first Witch Hat Atelier fic (besides HCs and drabbles)!
First Chapter! Sorry for it being somewhat short! Navigating new waters, but hopefully the next chapter will be a bit longer!
Oh! If you don't know! This fic is based on this idea I posted not long ago!
