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The witch-in-the-mountain, they of many faces, the one who became a dragon.
They used to have a name, but that was burned out of them long ago.
An aesthetic moodboard for one of my OCs, the witch-in-the-mountain. It you’d like to read their stories they can be found here, here, and here. Or just click of the “shifterwitch” tag on this post.
if you kiss a frog u become a frog can i kiss my boyfriend to become a boy
Theres something so incredibly romantic about the prince whisking you away from the ball to show you his favorite spot in the castle. A quiet balcony overlooking a star filled pond. A bench in a secret garden, walled in by blooming hedges. A vine covered square, full of mirrors. A location that houses his most alone moments, quiet and precious breaths unmonitored, where he doesn’t have to be a prince.
Here, in this world, he can bow before you and fix your slipper. Just a man who loves you. And glass reflecting the moonlight.
When people mention the witch of the woods, it’s in hushed tones. It’s a dangerous secret traded amongst the working girls. A whisper passed through the silent communities.
There is a witch in the wood. She can help you get rid of an unwanted pregnancy. She can give you poisons for your abusive husband. She can make curses for racists. Violent delights. Carnal ends.
No one seems to trade the secrets she practices that are peaceful. She can change your appearance and gender. She can give you potions for a better harvest. She can teach you how to have better sex. She can help you get a child. She can protect your home from spirits or racist neighbors. She sells teas and soaps and hair oils and satchels and chimes. She will braid your hair and read your cards and fix your hem and listen. Most importantly listen.
I am the witch of the wood. My cottage is surrounded by flowers all year long and warded against most things. There are baby cows out back and cats that come and go. Friendly ducks in the pond and small dragon who lives inside. Visitors offer tales and chickens and seeds and baked meals. The bring money or clothes or books and we trade services.
But the violent things are free.
Hello everyone! My name is Fable. It’s nice to meet you!
Yes this is actually me, the person behind the blog.
They/them/she/her Royal highness
“Let go”
It was a whisper. A scream. A command. A plea.
“Let me go”
He was not stopping her physically. He could not hold her back. Wind whipped her hair around her face. But he was holding on too tight emotionally.
She was never smooth ivory skin and painted smiles and proper dinners. She was blubber and hair and screaming wind and crashing waves. She was lightning and the chorus of every woman who sang before her, arms outstretched and mouths full of power.
“I cannot stay.”
“I know. I love you” he said.
And he did.
To love the sea is to never tame it. To experience the joy it gives and mourn what it takes away. To revel in the adventure of the journey. Water will slip through your fingers and return to the sea.
He smiled. She sighed. Sea salt tears.
“The tide will always return.” A promise.
“There is a cost, you see,” the witch-in-the-mountain said. They were tall and long haired today, but previous customers spoke about how that changed, constantly. “Or perhaps you will see it as a benefit?”
The knight was not afraid. He was ready. He was excited. “I’d do it no matter the cost” His armor clinked as he adjusted his posture. He was tired of the way he was treated amongst the other knights, tired of how his body was developing as he aged, just tired. If this witch-of-many-faces could change their gender constantly, he knew they could change his the one time over.
He grabbed the hilt of his sword for comfort as he braced himself for the cost. Was it Money? Memories? Would it be something he couldn’t live without? To give up his knighthood would be hard, but anything was worth it. This was the most important change. He could live with anything else.
“I know, dearie, I was the same way.” They smiled. “I can make others finally see you as a man. I can also alter your body if you wish it so. However I cannot sever your tie to the moon. Do you know what a lycanthrope is?”
“You mean i get to be a werewolf too??”
Witch-in-the-mountain, they were called. Interesting that the witches were never given names. Witch-next-door. Witch-of-the-wood. Sea-witch. Interesting. However they didn’t mind. If people knew their name, hiding would be difficult. Not too difficult seeing as they were also witch-of-many-faces. Transformation-witch. Witch-of-shapes. No customer saw the same face twice.
And they liked to keep it that way.
Until the dilemma of their lover.
They had met him on a trip to town. Provisions. People watching. And performances. They could not resist seeing the art of other people, songs and dance and stagecraft and acting. They could be physically self sufficient on the mountain. But the trees can’t tell stories like bards.
So they sat through as many performances as they could find, sparing any change they could for the artists. At one such bard’s retelling of an old myth of a man asking Poseidon for a man’s body and also being awarded impenetrable skin, they noticed someone in the corner. This someone was trying desperately to blend in, fade away, but the witch was a master of disguise and knew when to spot someone who... wasn’t.
“You know, if you’re attempting to disappear, steal someone else’s shoes,” they said approaching the stranger, “palace boots stick out like a sore thumb.”
Blushed cheeks over a stubbled jaw. “That noticeable huh?”
“Yes, but don’t worry I’m not here to snitch”
“Why are you here then?” Grumped the man with tan skin and dark curly hair.
“To watch a bard. To hear a story i wouldn’t normally get to hear” they paused. “Something I think you understand?” They tilted their today-ginger head to the side.
He huffed a laugh, “intimately.”
“Well now that the bard is finished i have a proposition for you.” He quirked an eyebrow. “You buy me a drink and I’ll tell you a story, full of magic and wonder. And I’ll buy you a drink. If you tell me a story of adventure. And if we finish our drinks and you want another story, well I’ll be happy to talk all night.”
“Deal” he said with a smirk “but you don’t look like you’ve seen a day of adventure in your life.”
“You’d be surprised, Mr.... what do they call you?”
“Avir- just Avi.”
They realized in this moment that a certain prince was named Aviraj. However they’ve always respected the chosen names folks give. They were as real as any other.
“Pleasure, just Avi”
“What do they call you?”
And the witch-in-the-mountain smiled.
