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UNNAMED

SUMMARY:

The forest is full of those who have lost their names to the fae, full of even more still who have lost themselves entirely.

Ryomen Sukuna is but one of many.

Few dare to speak of that evil place, fewer deign to attempt traversing it.

You have little other choice.

𖧧.˚⸙‧.⚘˖｡‧᯽‧｡˖⚘.‧⸙˚.𖧧

You are a young witch seeking asylum from the persecution brought by the new order of your kingdom.

𖧧.˚⸙‧.⚘˖｡‧᯽‧｡˖⚘.‧⸙˚.𖧧

jjk fantasy au, fae!sukuna x witch!reader x fae!gojo

ch 1, wc: 7.2k

masterlist

general content warnings for this fic: minors do not interact, dead dove: do not eat, canon-typical violence, murder, cannibalism, dubious consent, noncon, angst, kidnapping, blood, torture, power imbalance, period sex, dacryphilia, yandere, possessive behavior, religious themes, animal death

CRY WOLF

She sits on the edge of the woods, looking directly into the blackness before her. When the edge of dusk breaks, and the relentless day finally gives to the inevitable night, she feels the eyes of a vicious beast upon her.

There was an unusual emptiness in the air as dawn approached, a stillness that couldn’t be explained by the strange lack of wind and the peculiar absence of birdsong alone. Something missing, but not yet missed.

You should have known they were coming for you.

It was denial. Naivety. Misplaced trust and undue fulfillment of the desire to be loved and accepted.

Wishful thinking.

You had wanted to believe better of the people of your village, and it had quickly become your downfall.

You wished that you could think it tragic, but all you felt was disappointment. Disappointment in yourself for believing in the miracle of mercy, and disappointment in everyone else for ever allowing you the room to entertain such an impossible fantasy.

There had been signs of change.

Evil spirits had come with the spring. There were always little, harmless curses that appeared throughout the year, but more malignant beings had become abundant with the first thaw, and their numbers had only increased with the progression of the season.

When things go wrong, people always band together against those who are different. The innocuous, the innocent, even the objectively beneficial–no one is exempt from the scrutiny of the masses when they look for someone to blame.

Your magic was benign if not benevolent, at least with regard to the way you used it. Not that it mattered. You could have wished for all of them to have good fortune for the rest of time, and it still would have ended this way.

It wasn’t your fault that they gave you something they didn't value.

If he had been yours, you would have loved him, would have treasured him. You would have never been able to give him up.

Alas, you made your living as a witch, and it was not your job to decide what should be sacrificed and what should be spared.

The tiny market was busier than usual. Usually, only a small number of villagers milled around between the stalls, but that morning there were at least double the typical amount. The merchants were pleased with the business, if not stretched somewhat thin, though the tension felt throughout the market wasn’t just the thrill of the sale.

“The spices you sold me last month were stale, are you sure they’re fresh this time?”

“Two pieces of silver for a suckling pig? It’s huge, how do I even know it’s the proper age?”

“That woman took the last of the apples, then tried to sell some to me for double what she paid!”

You were content to mind your business, ignoring strangers and acquaintances alike as you shopped for ingredients you couldn’t gather personally for meals and herbal remedies. If someone offered you a bad deal, you simply moved on. If they lacked what you needed, you were content to do without. To move like water was your way; you understood you could not always fight change, but you could often choose to move with it.

Some degree of conflict was only to be expected when so many villagers gathered together, especially given the stress caused by increased patrols in the area.

“Did you hear about the king’s men? They demanded lodging at the old inn, and now we haven’t room for paying travelers.”

The political state of the kingdom was of little concern to you. What good was worrying about the will of such fussy, uppity, ultimately apathetic people? There wasn’t a point to it; anything that those people got around to making a decision about took years to begin affecting the lives of small settlements like the one you called home. That was the nature of the legislature; it generally only impacted the ones who were more directly involved in its creation. Out where you lived, the people governed themselves.

“What business does the king have sending those foot soldiers out this way? There’s nothing worth royal attention here.”

Well, that had been the case until recently.

The king was a man of peculiar power with many strong allies and countless like-minded supporters, and as such he rarely needed to exert even a fraction of his full influence to accomplish his goals. He had been in power for so long that no one could even recall a time before his rule, and most of his people were content enough that they didn’t bother trying. There wasn’t a point in speculating ways to fix something that wasn’t broken; the only people who sought to inspire change were obviously those who wanted to seize more power for themselves.

Something had been off lately.

“Those knights have been overstaying their welcome. We have limited resources, you know!”

More knights rode through town than usual, surveying the land and questioning its people. They were particularly curious about the influx of spirits and the subsequent effects, though for all their inquiries about evil spirits, the knights had done little to make a real impact on their numbers. If anything, the activity of the spirits only increased with each new batch of surveyors.

“There’s no point in them being here if all they do is eat our food and flirt with our young people-this last batch only wanted to speak of spirits. They wouldn’t even hear me out about the bandits that came last month—”

It wouldn’t be so bad if you weren’t known to have magic.

The business of the king wasn’t your concern, but the effect on the people around you was. You were already on the fringe of society by the nature of your power and faith; the last thing you needed was to be associated with the increase in ill omens and unholy happenings.

You were standing at the table of a vendor who you were on fairly good terms with, a woman and her husband who you had done work for some years ago when their youngest child had fallen ill. They kept many unusual birds and sold off the meat, feathers, and infertile eggs, often offering you a significant discount even though they had long paid off their outstanding debts. You were examining some extremely small, light pink eggs when someone elbowed you in the shoulder, causing you to nearly drop the delicate items you were holding.

You whipped your head around, actively suppressing the anger that threatened to creep onto your face as you realized just who had bumped into you.

A knight, a particularly sour looking man, with blonde hair, sharp features, and a smug smile. He wore the king’s crest prominently on his chest, emblazoned boldly right where everyone could see it. The bright, red symbol gleamed in the morning sun, its swirl pattern drawing your eye even as you tried to look away.

“Watch yourself, woman.” The man sneered. “You’re lucky you didn’t break those eggs and soil my cloak.”

“She was standing still.” The bird-keeper’s husband scoffed. “You’re the one who ran into her.”

“Who are you to argue with authority, merchant?” The knight snapped. “I’m saying the clumsy thing backed into me, and that’s the end of it.”

You looked between the knight and the couple, unsure how the absurdly minor conflict had begun to boil over so quickly. You were quick to assess a situation such as this, as was necessary in your line of work, and knew there was only one way to easily move forward.

You curtsied, bowing your head far lower than necessary.

“Apologies, sir knight.” You acquiesced shamelessly. “I’ll keep a better eye out in the future.” You curtsied once more, gathering your belongings and skittering away before you could be dragged further into the devolving conversation.

You could hear the merchants chattering as you fled, gossip brewing even after such a short interaction.

“The king’s favor must affect one’s eyes. The wishing witch only agreed with Sir Zenin Naoya to keep peace–”

“She must not want anything to do with the visiting knights–”

“They're too much trouble, I’d have done the same–”

That evening, you made preparations to commune with the stars.

The power you inherited from your mother, and her mother before her, was not a power that was well known. Witches came in many forms, and those who could see spirits were very often not the same to one another. Those who could alter the spiritual world were even fewer and further between than those who could perceive it alone, and the strange abilities of such individuals could be as frightening as they were inspiring.

Your power allowed you to summon the Wishing Well, a mysterious body of water where one could sacrifice an item of perceived value in order to make a wish. The value of the item was roughly congruent to the maximum potential of the wish, but there were objective limits based on the amount of magical energy that you could personally imbue into the item. The amount of magic you possessed was nothing special, but your technique did allow you to store power in multiple items for later use, meaning you could feasibly hold on to valuable items for the purpose of strengthening a future wish.

Your mother was a woman of water, just as you were, a witch who could summon the Wishing Well and exchange fates. Your grandmother, however, was a woman of fire. She was a powerful witch, a person with the ability to bargain with the stars. That woman had been able to accomplish things far beyond your comprehension.

Your grandmother had claimed you stood on the cusp of understanding her magic before she passed on, always pestering you to hone your strength and focus on your connection with the stars. After she died, you finally started listening, though no matter how much you spoke to the stars, they never answered back.

It didn't stop you from trying.

The sky was clear, the moon full and bright, the stars above twinkling with their silvery light. You started your prayers as you always did, thanking the stars for watching over you, and asking for their favor in your endeavors. You explained the wishes you had sought to grant to others that month, and spoke of the problems your village faced. You prayed for protection from those who intended to curse, and promised your continued devotion to them in return.

Suddenly, a brilliant, blue star shot across the inky background, burning a white-hot trail across the night sky as it went. The star disappeared behind the enormous trees that guarded the horizon, its lingering light dissipating some moments later.

You didn’t know what to make of it, but you thanked the stars for their response anyway.

You were starting to think that the shooting star had been an omen.

You couldn’t seem to go anywhere without encountering the knights that had recently taken up semi-permanent residence in the local inn. Visiting the market outside of the usual hours? The knights would make a sudden appearance. Entering the village square to eavesdrop on news? The knights were the ones circulating it. Relaxing in the local tavern? The knights were questioning everyone present.

Determined to not let them bully you out of a drink, you walked with purpose, sitting in the corner and hoping that they would all ignore you and move on. It was working fairly well; you got your chilled cider, and even managed to order a second without catching anyone’s eye. You were nearly ready to leave when your luck finally ran out.

“So, the famous ‘wishing witch’ finally sees fit to bless us with her presence?” The voice of Sir Zenin Naoya rang out over the tavern.

You looked up to see that upsettingly familiar head of shaggy, blonde hair. You had successfully avoided the irksome knight a number of times since your chance encounter at the birdkeeper’s table, but it seemed that had not been enough time for the unpleasant man to forget you.

“Sir Zenin.” You greeted the man with as much politeness as you could muster, though you were sure it wouldn’t matter given the antagonistic way he was approaching you. He stood over your table, blocking your easiest path out and away from him with his body.

“Is it true what they say about you? That you see spirits? That you can ask them to grant a wish?” Naoya asked. The knight reeked of unearned authority and well-honed entitlement; it was clear that he was used to pushing people around and getting whatever he wanted out of it.

“There is some truth to what you have been told.” You answered carefully, increasingly eager to escape the conversation. You fiddled with the silver chain of your necklace anxiously, soothing yourself by pressing your fingers against the small, jagged, deep green stone it held.

“Only some?”

“The magic I make comes with a price, sir.” You reluctantly elaborated, unwilling to offer more information given the great scrutiny magic had been under as of late.

Naoya laughed at that.

“Of that, I have no doubt, witch.” He cackled. “I wonder, how much I would need to offer for you to grant my wish? I doubt your price is very high–I’ve seen you wearing the same, ratty cloak each time you slip away.” He placed a hand over yours, his uncouth suggestion made clear as his thumb stroked over the exposed skin at your wrist. The look on his face made your skin crawl, his shameless, slimy insinuation even more-so.

Your mouth was moving before you could stop yourself saying something regrettable.

“There is no price, nor magic power, Sir Zenin Naoya, that could afford you what you seek.”

You snatched your hand out from underneath the shocked knight’s, standing and pushing past him before running off into the darkening day.

You dreamt of fiery stars falling from the sky that night.

They landed in the fields, taking first the crops, and then next the animals. Burning horses fled, running to escape the site of the disaster, carrying with them the calamity. The flames spread through the village, burning up everything until all was naught but ash.

When the smoke cleared, the Forest of the Forgotten still stood tall on the edges of the ruined civilization, a dark, ominous witness, completely untouched.

It was rare that you dared to venture past the tree line of the forest by which you made your home. You lived on the outskirts of the village, slightly closer to the wilderness than your nearest neighbor, but you weren’t a wild woman by any means.

The Forest of the Forgotten.

The forest was known to be a dangerous place. That wood was full of those who had lost their names to the fae, and full of even more still who had lost themselves entirely. The nameless were generally harmless enough, if only very desperate to be known and understood, but those who had gone completely mad from a fae’s curse were too unpredictable to be considered safe company. Few dared to speak of that evil place, fewer deigned to attempt to traverse it.

It was rumored that deep within that most accursed forest, there was an even more accursed creature that lurked in every shadow; a monster that waited for opportunity to perpetuate the misery and hatred it felt.

Even knowing that, you had always felt drawn to those woods. Each warning you heard fed a growing enticement, a powerful enamorment with that forbidden place and its many secrets. Your grandmother had scolded you many times for even nearing the edges in search of shade-loving herbs, and had once beaten you bloody for setting a single foot beyond the perceived border. She was adamant about you avoiding those woods, so much so that even after her passing you had heeded her wishes.

That was, until you had need for things you knew could only be obtained in that mysterious place.

Your grandmother was a highly superstitious woman, and for good reason. The names of her entire family had been stolen by a powerful, trickster fae, a petty show of revenge for some minor insult. Only your grandmother survived the incidents that followed, though she didn’t make it out unscathed. She only remembered that she’d had a loving family; she couldn’t recall a single other thing about them, and she felt that was much worse than losing them entirely.

That was why you had never been given a name.

Well, you had certainly been given one at birth, but the knowledge of what exactly your name was had lived and died with your grandmother. It was a simple trick, one that you might have appreciated for its genius were it not something that happened to you. You were effectively immune to being unnamed, but your identity suffered for it all the same, though as an adult it no longer bothered you the way it had when you were a child.

Now, you found it empowered you, giving you the necessary bravery to walk the tree line along its more dangerous edge.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

You stepped carefully over the narrow trail that wound along the safe side of the forest, avoiding the twisting vines that reached into the path. There was abundant honeysuckle that grew along the edge of the trees this time of year, their innumerous white, fragrant blooms overwhelming in their perfume. The afternoon sun barely penetrated the thick, springtime foliage. Come summer, almost no sunlight would make it through the overgrown canopy, and the leafier brush would give to foreboding, thorny, berry-laden brambles until early fall.

You were accustomed to the strange things that happened when you crossed the floral border.

There was always temptation present in some way or another, illusions designed to lure you further away from the light of the sun.

Dead birds that looked to still be breathing when you watched them from the corner of your eye. Plants that seemed to grow impossibly fast, their thin tendrils curling around your ankles and up your calves when you stayed in one place for too long. Voices crying out in a language you could never quite place, and soft laughter from somewhere in front of you whenever you looked back over your shoulder for the speaker.

On this venture, the most notable oddity was a number of glittering stones. They were scattered all around, increasing in size and allure as you walked, trails of precious-looking rocks leading deeper and deeper into the trees, calling to you with their inexplicable shine. You knew better than to fall for such an obvious trap, though it didn't stop you from imagining pocketing one.

You had readied yourself that morning for this journey, taking special herbs for protection and mental fortitude. What you needed wasn’t very far into the forest, but one only had to cross the border to encounter trouble. You made haste, fingers toying with the chain of your necklace as you headed to your destination.

There were some paths that were always present. They were ancient and stubborn, unchanging in their route and landmarks, though you had some suspicion it was more about where they led than how one got there. This particular trail was one you had walked more times than you could count. It led to a special spring, one that produced crystal clear water with magical properties. When you were small, your grandmother had claimed the water to be tears of the moon goddess, though she had later revealed the spring’s location shortly before her passing.

Your monthly adventure to the spring was one that made you feel closer with your grandmother. You would imagine her making the same hike through the Forest of the Forgotten, thinking of how she might have combated the strange happenings or awed at the impossible wonders that she encountered. It made you feel loved, knowing that she had selflessly put herself in so much danger, that she had stood up to her fears with such unfettered bravery, all so that she could bring you the special water needed for your nightly, ritual anointment.

You reached the small spring without trouble, squatting down amongst the thin, moonflower-covered trees that surrounded it, retrieving the special container you brought with you. The enchanted vessel was the only thing fit to hold the spring’s pure water, an ornate thing made of fae-glass and silver. The round vial was wrapped in thin, protective strips of silver. The valuable metal had been molded to imitate the moonflower plants that surrounded the spring, the fine craftsmanship so life-like that you often wondered how a person could have ever managed to part with something so painstakingly created.

Humming quietly to yourself, you dipped the vessel beneath the surface of the spring, filling it to the brim. Once the small bottle was full, you sealed it with a fresh cork and stowed it in the pocket of your dress. You then dipped a cupped hand into the spring, beginning your prayer to the stars as your grandmother had taught you.

You thanked them for their nightly vigil, and promised in turn to continue your own duties, renewing your vow of unerring devotion to the stars.

The water was pleasantly cool to the touch, refreshing to your weary spirit even before you had the chance to drink. You appreciated the sparkle of the pure, white stones that lined the bottom of the shallow pool as you pulled back from the water, carefully lifting your hand to your lips. You drained all of the liquid from your palm, licking your hand and fingers clean of the precious fluid.

The delicious, clean taste was something you were long used to after many years of ritual ingestion, but the feeling of invigoration was addictive in a way you weren’t sure you could ever overcome. You felt the magic pouring down your throat and pooling in your belly, felt it radiating throughout your body and purifying you from within.

You felt content then, and decided that this was a fine opportunity to meditate by the spring, as you sometimes did on these occasions. Dipping your fingers back into the water, you gathered just enough moisture to wet the skin above your heart. You glanced up as you stood, looking for your preferred sitting rock, only to find that you were no longer alone.

Across the small pool, lounging in the bough of a tree, was perhaps the most beautiful, ethereal man you had ever seen.

Hair whiter than fresh snow on a winter morning, eyes of crystal blue, and a form that spoke of danger and violence as much as it did power and grace. He wore a fine robe, a cream garment that hung open, exposing his bare, muscled chest. His dark, sirwal pants were of similar fabric, the loose cloth on each leg bound tightly at the ankle. He wore no shoes.

As he shifted in the low light, you could see the shine of old, faint scars littering his pale skin. He was watching you closely, a small, mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You bowed your head so quickly that your vision spun.

“Apologies.” You spoke softly, unable to make your voice louder without it threatening to shake. “I did not intend to disturb you.”

You kept your eyes on the still surface of the spring, willing your feet to stay planted, though every fiber of your being was actively screaming for you to run. You were still feeling the effects of water strongly, the strange energy pulsing under your skin. You glanced up to see that the man had leapt down from the tree, and was now rounding the spring, approaching you with an unhurried gait. He was of towering height, as tall as some of the largest knights you had ever encountered, and somewhat lean in his obvious strength.

“You’ve not disturbed me. If anything, it is this interloper who disturbs you, water-drinker.” The fae man’s voice was smooth and rich, a sound you found soothing, even considering the circumstances. “I only came to take in the beauty of this place. On this occasion, I have found that the spring is more lovely than ever.”

You chanced a quick look at the stranger. He was standing only a few paces away, looking down at you with mirth dancing in his eyes.

“It seems then, that we have met only in passing.” You concluded firmly, taking a shy step backward.

“A shame.” He pouted. Thick, white lashes fluttered around disappointed eyes, his brow creasing slightly as he watched you prepare to flee. “Perhaps next time, we might exchange names, wishing witch.”

You took another step back before turning toward the path that would bring you far away from this place.

“Perhaps.” You lied.

You ran the whole way home.

You knew they were coming before they even arrived.

Great need for your magic brought with it a certain feeling to which you had grown sensitive, and so you knew hours beforehand that someone would be visiting.

It was how you always had tea ready when such guests made an appearance.

The rancher who oversaw the many herds of horses that lived near the village sat in your tiny kitchen, sipping from your provided, shoddily painted, clay mug. He was a skeptic, someone who believed in what he could see and hear, not someone who had faith in powers beyond explanation. For things to be bad enough that he would personally come to see you—the situation could only be described as dire.

“I’m sure you didn’t come to have tea.” You prompted. “How can I help you?”

“Horses are sick.” The rancher grumbled, staring into his tea. “Wife said we need a witch.”

You were already vaguely aware of what was happening, having heard about the rancher’s troubles through rumor.

A sickness had come with the rains, and many members of the most prominent herd were afflicted. The keepers feared that the illness would soon spread and begin affecting more of the horses, and so in hopes of preventing further calamity, they were pressed by community members to turn to you.

“I can try to wish them well.” You hesitated. “But a heavy price must be paid.”

“I know of your ways, wishing witch.” The rancher replied gruffly.

You weren’t offended by the thinly veiled hostility; it was common for those you assisted to be callous and unappreciative.

The man pointed out your open window, directing your attention toward his offering.

A black colt, young and spry, stronger than most at only a day old. He was a beautiful animal, one that held great promise and greater value to his keepers. He pranced around outside your cottage, exploring the newness of this world, totally unaware of his inevitable fate.

The rancher offered to slaughter him for you.

“Hurts more if we have to do it ourselves.” The rancher shrugged. “We already lost his mom this morning. Mare who lost her own foal rejected him. It's either watch him starve, or this.”

You looked at the man before you critically. You knew these keepers to be empathetic people, people who were truly bonded with their charges. If you understood the situation for what it seemed to be, it was a fair trade for an unfair circumstance.

“He'll do.” You concluded.

The creature looked pathetic when they brought him inside. Small and sad, the tiny thing looked like it could have been sleeping were it not for his lifeless eyes.

You performed the ritual mechanically, distancing yourself emotionally from the transaction to prevent contaminating it with your own sorrows. When you summoned the well, you barely felt a thing as you laid the foal into the black water. When his big, shiny eyes opened to look back at you in accusation, you stayed strong, and only stroked the fluff of his mane as he went under.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

The moon was absent that night, her ghostly shadow all that remained in the night sky.

You were asking the stars for help again, settling your debts of devotion as best you could given the star’s perpetual silence.

“Forgive me, stars above, I ask for something selfish again.” You prayed. “I fear that my power is not great enough to save those who seek my assistance. I ask that you shine on them, and grant mercy to those I cannot save.”

You hadn’t been able to get the image of the tiny horse out of your mind. As the day had dragged on, you had begun to worry that the well had rejected the offering, something that would spell devastation for your village.

“Lend me strength that I lack, see me fit to wield your light against evil.”

The nature of the sacrifice made by the sufferers had seemed sufficient to you, and so you could only conclude that failure would be due to a lack of magical power on your part. You had a stock of valuables in your cottage that you had already infused with power, but the three items you had used to supplement the wish seemed to only be a waste in the end.

“Know I seek only to do good, hear my prayer to be righteous.”

Your encounter in the Forest of the Forgotten had shaken you. You nearly lost your way coming back home, and that night you had stammered through your devotionals with unusual confusion. Even several days after the encounter, you often still found yourself in a daze, your mind running over the words of the fae man again and again.

“Protect this woman who wishes for others, speak guidance into the ear of the one who listens intently.”

The stars didn’t answer.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

On your journey back to your cottage, you tripped and fell, catching yourself on your hands and knees. You heard the fabric of your skirt ripping, felt the skin of your knees burning. You groaned, the ache blooming in your wrists one that would surely cause you pain in the coming days. As you rolled to sit and recover, you noticed the tail of a black snake curled across the path.

At first, there was nothing about the little beast that alarmed you; a snake was a common sight this close to the forest. However, on closer inspection, you realized there was something wrong.

The snake had twin heads, and they were fighting.

A shudder rocked your spine as you took the creature and its struggle in. It was thin, likely unable to eat properly due to its condition. Its shining, obsidian scales were bloodied at the fork in its neck. Both heads hissed their anger, attacking one another in turn. One head was clearly winning; it was bullying the other head with punishing bites, grabbing and twisting its twin with vicious, merciless fury.

Horrified, you said a quick prayer for the two-headed snake, scrambling to your feet and gathering your skirt as you looked around for a stick that could help you intervene.

Before you could so much as locate a twig, the snake disappeared, leaving not even a drop of blood behind.

You'd have been dead if you weren't so set on mending your skirt before the next day.

You smelled the smoke before you saw the light of the fire, the sound of the retreating riders far too distant for you to properly hear.

They had set fire to your little cottage, the old, thatched roof catching easily despite the recent wet weather. You darted around your home, gathering your most precious belongings and stashing them in the pockets of your apron. The fire was spreading quickly; you knew you weren’t going to be able to save much more, and you ran to the door thanking the stars that you were able to do anything at all.

You pushed at the old, sturdy, wooden door, only to find that it was stuck fast, and likely blocked from the outside. You ran to the window, finding it similarly barred. Smoke was filling the cottage, and you knew that you had precious little time with how the air had begun to choke you.

Thinking quickly, you broke the chain on your mother's necklace. It was overkill, an offering that you had been saving for a situation even more dire.

But you couldn’t ever encounter that sort of fate if your journey ended here, could you?

You performed the ritual to summon the well with haste, readying yourself to give up the only thing that remained of the woman you had never met, tears forming in your eyes as you let the nature of your sacrifice wash over you.

The well did not come.

You squeezed the necklace in your hand, shaking in frustration and fear. You released a shattered scream, coughing up useless, dirty air as you staggered back toward the door, slamming your fists against the wood, sore wrists protesting as you desperately pounded against the unyielding barrier.

The ceiling above you was beginning to creak and groan, supporting logs threatening to give as they burned. Suddenly, a small section of the roof caved in, flaming thatching falling to the floor, scattering embers that caught quickly on the contents of your cottage. The sweltering heat was overwhelming, the thinning air even more so, and you were beginning to panic as you realized that you were probably going to die, trapped alone in your home.

The space left behind by the cave-in was consumed in flame. Through it, you could barely make out the sky, which was lightening with the coming sun, but blackened by the thick smoke that was billowing out through the hole as more and more of the cottage was consumed.

You could see a single, enormous, red star, somehow burning brighter than the flames destroying your home. Its strong light fought against the sun and smoke, shining down onto you. You didn’t even realize you had crawled dangerously close to the burning mass of dried reeds on your floor, the star beckoning you in a way you didn’t consciously understand. It was a star you didn’t recognize, one that was possibly only a mirage created by your desperation.

There wasn’t any harm in trying.

You knew it was truly selfish to ask the stars for something that was only for your own benefit, but your addled mind found the prospect of punishment from the heavens more appealing than immediately burning to death.

Unable to find your voice, you realized that the air was much too toxic to breathe deeply enough to properly speak anymore anyway, so you focused on the red star as best you could, and simply wished.

Please, please, please, I swear that I will give myself to you completely––just allow me to survive this trial.

Time seemed to slow as you wished on that crimson star. You could feel the shift in everything around you, the exchanging of fates; the taste of the tides of destiny was one that you could never forget.

You looked around, seeing that there was a clear path to the door, which miraculously swung wide open.

You took the opportunity without another thought, making for the open door, grabbing your work boots on your way out. You stumbled away from the burning cottage, taking advantage of your training to immediately let go of any and everything that you were leaving behind in the flames. You had saved what you could, and that was far more than enough under the circumstances.

Refusing to look back, you tugged on your work boots, thankful that you hadn’t bothered to remove your stockings before settling in to mend your still-torn skirt. You weren’t sure what you were going to do, nor where you could even go after such an obviously deliberate attack, but you had a feeling that most of your previous options weren’t the best idea.

You had very nearly made it to the path that led to the main road when you spotted him, a shadow standing watch over your tragedy.

Sir Zenin Naoya.

He first looked shocked to see you, but then Naoya looked thrilled. A sickening grin spread across his face, a terrifying expression that stopped you in your tracks.

“Thank the heavens–” Naoya called. “I thought surely you would have perished in flames so disastrous, witch.”

You knew his words to be deceptive. There was no chance that he had only come to investigate the fire; Naoya was there to ensure that it took you.

Naoya began to approach, putting on an air of concern as he neared. Your eyes darted from side to side, looking for possible escape routes, only to find that there were no good options. To one side, there was the road to town, where you would surely face more of the same. To the other, there was the Forest of the Forgotten, where you would likely face horrors beyond comprehension.

Steadying your breathing, you made peace with your circumstances, and decided it was best to just work one moment to the next until you were safe enough to think properly. You waited until the knight was nearly on you, trembling as if you were a weak, helpless fawn, looking up at him with innocent doe eyes.

“Poor thing–” Naoya cooed mockingly. “I’m sure you’re unspeakably grateful for a knight’s assistance. Don’t worry, I can already think of a few ways that you could repay me—”

Naoya didn’t have the chance to finish his thought. You slammed your knee into his groin, then kicked your heel into the knight's own knee before running away as fast as your legs would carry you.

You heard Naoya hiss behind you, followed by the sound of thunderous, disturbingly fast steps pursuing you. The earth under your feet was soft, giving slightly as you pushed against it to propel yourself forward. Your lungs were still struggling after breathing in so much smoke, and your nerves were fried from the stress of your ordeals.

“Filthy bitch–”

You wondered if the stars would grant you one more favor, if they would see fit to curse the knight who threatened one of their actors. You pushed your body, muscles protesting as you forced them forward. You were being herded toward the forest, a barrier that Naoya likely felt was more sure than any blocked door or barred window.

“Best keep running, wishing witch. You won’t like what I am going to do when I catch you–”

That place, commonly known to be a death sentence, was quickly becoming your only option. If you didn’t end up a victim of the nameless wretches or the fae themselves, you were likely to fall prey to one of the many beasts residing in that haunted place.

Still, at least your corpse would feed more than the egos of your would-be murderers.

“I was going to be nice, but now I think I’ll just have my fun and then burn you myself.”

You saw it as you neared the edge of the woods. A little, black horse. Furious and proud, the tiny colt slipped through the trees, kicking up starlight as he wove through the flowery brush. He snorted at you as he ran off, melting away into the shadows.

The overpowering smell of flowers was suddenly the most enticing thing you had ever encountered. Your vision narrowed, the light of the morning sun disappearing almost entirely as you stared into the blackness of the Forest of the Forgotten. You felt a strong wind against your back, an otherworldly push that sent you forward faster than you were naturally capable. Somewhere behind you, Naoya was still shouting, but you couldn’t hear it over the roaring sound of hooves on the forest floor.

You flew over the border, crashing through the honeysuckle and into the absolute darkness beyond.

⸙‧.⚘˖᯽˖⚘.‧⸙

You collapsed at the edge of the water.

The path was one you followed by pure instinct, your feet bringing you along that same, safe route you so often traveled. The spring was unimaginably soothing in its stillness after everything that had happened. The quiet might have been unnerving were it not so welcome, the promise that the only thing that would disturb you now would be something you had no hope of fighting anyway.

You laid on the bank, dipping one hand below the surface, feeling the smooth stones present at the bottom with your fingertips. When you finally felt strong enough to sit up, you drank.

Taking far more than you had ever dared, you gulped the water down greedily, letting the power flow through you until you were feeling well again.

Legs shaking, you stood carefully.

Behind you, something tutted.

“Too much–”

You managed to face your opponent before your legs gave out on you, your scraped knees unceremoniously hitting the ground just prior to your ass meeting your heels. You looked up at your impending fate, blinking slowly as your vision blurred.

A monster. No, a man.

You were seeing double. The enormous man before you looked to have four arms, making him appear much more monstrous than human. You couldn’t suppress the whimper that clawed its way up your raw throat. The man was a giant, heavily muscled and wildly intimidating in his aura. He was bare-chested and covered in thick, dark, tattooed lines. He wore pants not dissimilar to the last man that had found you at the spring, though this man wore his loose at the ankle. He exuded a certain, unique sadism, a feeling that far exceeded mundane cruelty. His defined form heavily reminded you of a deadly predator, and you got the sense that much like a bear, he wouldn’t bother to kill you before eating you.

“Already broken.” The man spat. “Pathetic.”

He lifted an arm, pressing one huge hand against your cheek. For a moment, you were deluded enough to imagine that the gesture might be a caress, but then the man applied pressure, pushing you over with ease. You caught yourself with your forearm before your face could crash against the ground, glaring up defiantly as best someone who could hardly straight see was able.

The fiendish brute looked to be smiling.

There was definitely something wrong with you, your swimming vision aside. You were hallucinating heavily, seeing extra body parts appear on the man standing above you. He looked to have four, terrifying, red eyes now, each of them trained on your shuddering body, practically burning holes into you with their stare. Extra mouths had appeared on various parts of his body, popping up in strange places like his hands. It even seemed like there was a mouth on his torso, a gargantuan maw with horrifying, sharp teeth that gleamed in the early morning sun. The mouths laughed at your plight, sporting mocking smiles as he assessed you.

You huffed, scowling as you tried to right yourself, using your arms to push back against gravity so you could face him with a modicum of dignity.

Suddenly, a foot kicked your arms out from under you, causing you to fall forward, your forehead hitting the damp earth beneath you.

“I see you have not been shown the proper way to kneel.” The monster growled.

A hand came to rest on the back of your head, pushing your face down until you were essentially kissing the dirt.

“I look forward to teaching you.”

Neither yields.

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