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Blue-Flamed Forest

Witch!Dabi x Fem!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Fantasy AU, mentions of religion, medieval AU, witch hunts, restraints (NOT IN SPICY WAY), witch curses, witchcraft (duh)

Synopsis: You're accused of witchcraft after your hair inexplicably and suddenly greys. Sensing that you'll be the next victim in the church's witch hunt, you make a run for it. You barely escape the church's men when you step foot in the forbidden forest. You're grateful for their silly superstition until you realize that the forest is legitimately cursed, as a wall of blue flames materializes at the forest's edge every time you attempt to flee. With no other option, you trek deeper in the forest, hoping to find some other way out.

Author's note: I literally fell down a rabbit hole of medieval history to write this fic. Reader in this fic has silver hair, but it's a plot point. Awkward interpretation of Dabi since he's been alone for awhile. Spicy scenes in part two. I kind of got carried away with the world building/plot... Also go like @shoucolate 's Witch!Touya artwork if you haven't already!!! It's fucking beautiful.

Word Count: 6K

Heavily inspired by this art by the lovely @shoucolate

Masterlist

Link to AO3

Part One

You hear the galloping of the men’s horses echo through the valley. Your breath is becoming ragged and erratic as you desperately attempt to flee from your potential captors. It’s hard to hear what they are shouting over the sound of your breathing and the thrumming of your heart in your ears. Your options are to die or to run. Clearly, you chose the latter.

You can hear the church’s henchmen gaining on you, evident by the horse’s hooves thumping against the grass. With what little stamina you have left, you sprint towards a tree line. You wager it’d be easier to lose them in the forest. You are right, just not in the way you intended. As soon as your body crosses the threshold of the forest, you glance behind yourself. The church’s men yank abruptly on their horse’s reins, rearing them back. There’s a look of horror in their eyes. They dare not near the forest. One of the men looked with uncertainty to who you could only assume was the leader given his comparably adorned horse and garb, along with his domineering aura. The leader can sense his underlings' unspoken request for direction.

“We retreat and report back to the clergy. No use chasing after her, she belongs to the witch’s forest now,” he commands, stating the last sentence with an air of derisiveness. With that, the men steer their horses away from you, leaving you alone in the tree line.

Now safe from potential captors, you lean against the bark of a nearby tree to catch your breath. It feels incredibly relieving to rest your weary body and know that the men likely won’t find you anytime soon. After a few moments, your breathing stabilizes and your adrenaline starts to diminish. Upon calming down, your eyes pick up on how the tree bark is partially singed. Large swaths of the bark are blackened to charcoal. You notice that the nearby trees on the edge of the forest were also damaged by flames. It was as if a fire had only danced upon the forest edge.

How strange. However, you have bigger worries than this natural mystery. With the men no longer on your tail, you could continue fleeing from the church’s influence. All you had to do was figure out where you were and go from there. It’d be best to exit the forest now. Still, there’s a gnawing worry eating away at you. What was in this forest that even those brutes do not dare to encounter? You begin walking out of the forest and toward the hillside. Before you’re able to cross the threshold, a wave of intense heat blasts you back. A wall of blue flames appears between the forest and the hills. Your lungs protest the inhalation of smoke, leaving you sputtering and coughing. You feel the heat still clinging to your skirt, evident by the singed color along the hem. Although your clothes have been touched by flames, by some miracle, your skin is left unscathed. You really are lucky today.

But despite the temporary blessings, you are still hopelessly trapped. If you couldn’t figure out a way past the fire, you truly would belong to the forest. Maybe your best bet would be to traverse deeper in. Surely this wall of fire couldn’t have surrounded the entire forest, right? You reason there had to be a weak spot somewhere along the barrier. Besides, you had already eaten through your rations. Another priority is to find food.

You begin trekking further into the woods, investigating bushes you passed for berries and scanning foliage for fruit. So far, the forest seems barren. The lack of birds chirping makes you question if there were even animals around, that is, until you hear movement from one of the bushes. You tense. Your brain keeps recalling what the men on horses said about this belonging to a witch. Could there be something demonic lurking within that bush? Part of you feels ridiculous for falling prey to superstition, for believing even for a moment that this forest could harbor supernatural creatures and immense danger.

Out of the rustling bushes emerges a black creature. To your relief, it is nothing more than a black cat. A well-cared-for black cat, at that. The feline has glowing blue eyes, reminding you of the blue-hued flames that surround the forest. Its long coat is remarkably shiny and fluffy. It sniffs the air in your direction as it stares you down.

“Hello pretty, what’re you doing in a place like this?” You coo at the creature. The cat tilts its head at your voice. The church had instilled many false ideas that all cats were the offspring of the devil and attempted to enact doctrines to restrict felines from the city limits. You never believed such ideas, however, and you held nothing but fondness for the animals, despite not being able to see them often. Slowly, you offer your hand to the cat to allow it to smell you. The cat cautiously creeps closer. Something catches the cat’s attention, as it suddenly becomes alert. Its ears twitch and focus on some sound, yet you hear nothing. As if hypnotized, the cat begins walking away from you and deeper into the forest. Before it gets too far, the cat looks over its shoulder at you and stops, meowing at you. It wants you to follow.

You oblige the feline, curious as to where it is seemingly leading you. The two of you wander through faint trails and hop over bubbling brooks. It seems you are wandering aimlessly until the little creature leads you to a clearing within the forest. The clearing consists of mostly open and raised meadowland but housed a singular, aged tree in the center. The cat hops through the thick grass and tall daisies, something you find endlessly entertaining. It’s cute to see the black cat’s head bobbing amongst the flora. You follow the feline up the hill, thinking that perhaps if you climb the tree, you could get a better view of the surroundings. Maybe you’d even be able to see an opening from there. When you climb up the sloping hill and arrive before the tree, you are able to see low-hanging fruit on its branches. You beam to yourself that luck was on your side. This tree is killing two birds with one stone. With no reason to hesitate, you grip onto a low branch and hoist yourself up. The feline loudly yells at you from the base of the tree, tail swishing in agitation.

“Stay there kitty, you’re too cute to get stuck up here,” you warn the cat. The feline narrows its eyes in response but does not vocalize again. You shift your focus to climbing the branch. Your target is one of the lowest-hanging fruits, dangling close to the edge of the branch. The tree was so old that even its lowest branches were thick and sturdy. It isn’t too nerve-wracking to shimmy toward the end of the limb and pluck the fruit from the branch. You climb back down to safety and rejoin your feline friend at the base of the tree.

You take a moment to further inspect the fruit. It doesn’t look like the native plants of the area. You had seen something like it once when you caught a glimpse of a traveling merchant peddling exotic goods. The fruit back then was colored like red wine and filled with seeds, remarkably similar to the fruit you held in your hands. You unsheath your knife from its gartered holster on your leg, using it to cut a slice into the fruit. A couple of red seeds fell into your lap, but with no one around, you care little for eating etiquette.

With just a few bites, you start feeling satiated, but strange. It’s becoming harder and harder to move your body. Your fingers are already not responding. The world around you seems to blend into one haze. Sleep quickly begins engulfing your entire being. Everything is black, but you hear the distant voice of an unfamiliar man.

You begin to slowly regain consciousness, struggling to shake off the remaining dregs of drowsiness. Your mind feels hazy. It’s hard to remember how you fell asleep or where you were. You open your eyes, blinking a few times to clear the blurry vision. When you try to wipe your eyes, you realize your hands won't move. Your wrists are bound behind you. The blurry vision slowly starts to subside and you take in your surroundings. You’re in the center of a strange room, the shelves mounted in the wall displaying odd items; weathered books with spines in languages you cannot understand, flasks filled with potions of varying colors, glittering crystals shining in the rays of sunlight, and jars of dried herbs. The last thing you remembered was eating that fruit from the lone tree in the clearing, but now you’re in someone’s home? What is going on? Panic started to arise within you, especially when you hear the sound of boots coming closer to you.

“I see you’ve awoken already. You have impressive tolerance,” the man muses. His voice grows closer and closer before he shows himself in front of you. “No matter, you’re not going anywhere anyways.”

He has an unusual appearance. His neck and arms are decorated in thin scrawls of purple ink, each line arranged in symbols you’ve never seen before, letters in a language you do not understand. The ink travels from his neck and onto his jawline before lines of strange lettering connect with his eyes. Even his under eyes are lettered. You’d shudder at the idea of tattooing such a delicate area if you didn’t have bigger concerns. He’s crouched in front of you, gripping your chin, with his painted black nails pressing crescents into your skin. His glowing electric blue eyes study you. He hums in interest before gently lifting a lock of your hair in between his thumb and forefinger of his opposite hand. The juxtaposition between the gentle gesture and the tight grip on your jaw has you uneasy.

“What an unusual hair color for a human so young,” he comments. You whisper a timid ‘yes’ in response, unsure of what else to say. You know it’s odd. You know it’s unnatural how your once h/c strands changed to silver. But you don’t have any explanations for it, it just happened suddenly. The drastic change in your hair is what drew the attention of the church to you. He seemed to study the strand thoughtfully before a dark look flashed on his face. “So unusual it makes me wonder if you even are human.”

You’re instantly taken aback. “What are you even saying? Of course I’m human,” you defend. You desperately felt as if you had to prove your humanity to this stranger. If he were accusing you as a witch, that could mean grave consequences. Burning at a stake or being sunken to the bottom of a well were just some of the dark fates for those accused of witchcraft. You nervously chuckle, “What else is there to be? Witches and demons are just tales.”

The man looks at you, a bit stunned, before genuinely laughing. He releases his hand from your jaw and stands up straight. You wonder in slight horror how this could be entertaining to him. He chuckles a bit more as you stay silent, before giving you a taunting grin. “You poor, innocent fool. What do you think I am?”

“No, that can’t be. You’re lying!” you accuse. How repulsive it was to you, for him to even insinuate such a thing! Really, he must take you for an idiot if he expects you to believe such a tale. The strange white-haired gives you an ominous grin and lifts a hand. You can barely hear him whisper foreign words and your eyes catch a few of the purple runes adorning his body begin to glow. A wisp of blue flame dances in the palm of his hand.

“This change your mind?” He inquires. You’re taken aback, still reeling in shock from what you’ve seen. It’s hard to believe it’s true, but it’s even harder to deny what just happened was outside of human ability. He conjured flames with nothing, even handled such heat in his bare hands. You never really believed the church’s claims of witches lying in plain sight, but you can’t help but think back on what you’ve been told about witches. It scares you a bit to be faced with what appears to be one, based on the tales the church had told.

“What will you do with me?” You ask, your voice unsteady with fear. You’re holding onto your breath, preparing for words depicting your cruel fate, to admonish you for being so foolish as to step into a witch’s forest. Only, the words never come. He merely hums in deep thought.

“If you are really telling the truth, then nothing,” he answers, cryptically. You hear him whisper out an incantation under his breath again. With a snap of his fingers, a blue flame burns away your bindings, leaving nothing behind but ash and the sensation of warmth on your skin. You rub your wrists, thankful to be released, but a bit confused. The temperature of his flames is scalding, you had seen as much along the forest’s edge, and yet, you remain unscathed. Something is awry.

He turns to walk away, before glancing at you from over his shoulder. “There’s an extra room down the hall. You may stay there for now. Follow me.” You can’t help but display your confusion on your face. The white-haired man gives you whiplash from all the switches in his demeanor. First, he was cold and accusatory, and now he’s being accommodating? Why did he go through the trouble of restraining you, only to later allow you to stay in his home? Was he merely testing you? If that’s the case, is he still testing you?

He leads you out of the room and you follow. Silence settles between the two of you while you contemplate your situation. You never arrive at answers, only finding ways to generate even more questions. Nothing makes sense anymore, but you suppose a confusing life is better than being dead. For now, you’ll just have to see where this strange situation takes you.

The two of you make the short walk to the room in question. He opens the door, revealing a modestly sized room. “This room is mostly used for storage, but it should suffice,” he explains. You glance around the room and see what he means. There’s a wooden wardrobe tucked in the corner and chests lining the wall, presumably filled with his various possessions. He turns on his heel to leave you to the room, but stops at the doorway, looking over his shoulder to add, “I think you already know this, but just to be clear, it’d be unwise to fight me. I’m not your enemy, but I can be,” he warns.

You nod in understanding, seemingly satisfying him enough to leave you be. The room is now incredibly quiet, leaving you with some time to reflect on everything that just happened. You were accused of witchcraft, abandoned your job, fleed from the church, accidentally entered a cursed forest, ate a fruit that knocked you out, woke up in another person’s house, discovered that witches are in fact real, and are now staying in a witch’s guest bedroom. You’re alive and unharmed, but still a bit unnerved by the witch’s initial actions. To say this has been a wild day would be an understatement. A wild day that is, thankfully, coming to a close.

The light inside the room begins to dim as the sun sets. You find yourself growing weary, desiring to prepare for bed. Only, you realize you don’t have any of your belongings, and therefore, no nightclothes. The witch must have taken your cloth bag as a precaution against you harming him. Since your reflection, you realize it was likely he initially saw you as a threat, and as such, thought to ensure you wouldn’t use something in your pack to harm him. Maybe you could explain this and ask for it back?

Deciding it’s worth the attempt, you pad down the halls in search of him. You notice how all the candles in his home are lit with his blue fire. Clearly, this was a trademark of his. You search around his home until you notice the door to what you assume is his study is ajar, with glowing blue light illuminating the room. Given how brightly lit the room is, you wager he’s in there.

You’re about to announce yourself and walk into his office when you hear him already speaking. There is no one in his home but you, who would he be speaking to? Your curiosity gets the best of you and you hover closer, peering through the ajar door. The witch sits in front of a table, with many books opened and littering his desk. His black cat, the one you saw earlier before your impromptu slumber, hops up on the desk and interrupts his readings.

“You were much too trusting with that silver-haired stranger, Coal,” you overheard the witch whisper to his cat, the same fluffy feline that accompanied you through the forest. Despite chastising him, the witch was speaking to his pet with gentleness. The thought of this scary witch acting so tenderly to his animals put a small smile on your face. Perhaps witches were not all cruel as the church led others to believe.

His cat protested with a loud meow in response, to which the witch replied, “That doesn’t matter, had it been another witch, you could have been hurt.” It was as if he could understand his pet. He shoos his feline off of the desk, and says, “Now leave me be, I have to figure this out.”

The witch seems rather stressed as he pours over his texts. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating. You decide against disturbing him, not wanting to add to his stress for your own sake. Besides, he said that the room was once for storage, perhaps there are some clothes you may wear in there. You quietly leave from your spot in the hallway and make your way to the room. The first place you look is the wardrobe and to your delight, you find it filled with clothes. However, as you search through, you take notice of how high quality all of the clothes are. It’s bizarre, you think, for a witch in the woods to have clothes made from fine silks, velvets, and cotton. Nonetheless, you keep looking through, hoping to find something suitable for nightwear, only to stumble across an article of clothing that takes you by surprise.

In the closet, tucked and stashed far out of sight, hangs a remarkable cloak, unlike any you’ve ever seen before. On the rare occasions a noble requested your seamstress services, their clothing felt nowhere near this luxurious and wasn’t made of such rare materials. The craftsmanship is truly impeccable, far beyond what even the wealthiest of nobles would wear. Thick white fur embellishes the opening of the cloak, joining with the deep blue velvet that makes up the rest of the garment. Its lavishness clearly suited for royalty. Your fingers trace the fabric, until making contact with a metal clasp. You gently push aside the folds of velvet, allowing you to inspect the buckle. It appears to be a coat of arms, one that you’ve never seen before. Although you’re unsure of what family the crest belonged to, there are two things you were certain of; one, the clasp was made of high-quality silver, and two, this cloak once belonged to a very distinguished family. But where most crests included a lion or horned horse, this one depicted a phoenix. You abruptly retract your hand from the cloth upon remembering a particular tale.

You remembered hearing stories of a long-lost prosperous kingdom, ruled by a red-haired fiery tyrant. This kingdom from long ago was notorious for its power, always leaving behind desecrated battlefields that proudly displayed a phoenix flag, the nation’s symbol. The ruler, King Enji, was known for his cold demeanor and the strength of his knights. Despite his rumored cruelty, the kingdom prospered nonetheless. You always found it ironic, how the nation symbolized by a phoenix fell apart after a fire, unable to rise out of its own ashes. Almost nothing remained of the once glorious kingdom, save for rumors and legends. A devastating fire destroyed all traces of the castle, taking the life of King Enji with it. Legends diverge from that point on, with some reporting that two of his sons perished. Other variations depict the youngest son surviving while the eldest lived, and vice versa.

There was always one particular iteration of the legend that stood out to you the most, never failing to elicit a chill down your spine. This cursed legend claimed that the fire was no ordinary one, rather, it was magical in origin. The flames that leveled King Enji’s castle to ashes burned an unearthly blue hue and reached temperatures far beyond that of human blacksmith forges. Elders that whispered this tale claimed the forsaken, eldest prince wielded such flames and cursed the family in retaliation for his exile. The eldest prince was said to be physically frail, a trait that King Enji believed tarnished the family name, and as such, was sent away from the castle. His claim to the throne was given to the youngest, most favored son.

On the fateful day of the fire, the eldest prince returned to the castle. Over the course of the Prince’s lonely exile, drastic changes had occurred in his body, for his once vibrant, red hair grew stark white. What’s more, he gained the ability to wield magic, manifesting in the manipulation of blue flames. It was implied that the eldest prince became a witch, or, was born one all along. Whatever the case was, his apparent state horrified King Enji. Before the king could order the guards to execute his son, the prince enacted his revenge, burning his father to death, alongside the castle. The elders said the prince escaped and warned that he may still be roaming the land, to this day. You had figured this version of the story served to scare curious youths from wandering past the city’s limits, claiming that their carelessness would end in their demise at the hands of the white-haired witch.

You’re not sure what any of this means. Why did this witch have a cloak that appears to have belonged to the royalty of the fabled kingdom? Better yet, whose cloak was it? Judging by what you’ve heard of the King with his hulking figure and immense wealth, it certainly couldn’t have belonged to him. The cloak was much too small and not lavish enough for a king. No, it must have belonged to one of the princes. But, which one?

The questions you have only result in grim answers. Thievery or murder would be the only ways the witch could have obtained a prince’s clothes. You’re starting to think it’s time for you to make your leave. Given the witch’s blue flames and the stashed away cloak, you fear he may have killed the Prince and stolen his goods. He said he didn’t know what to do with you, but you don’t want to wait for him to decide your fate. Should you linger, a dark fate may await you. Perhaps you should inquire about how to leave, pretend you’ll stay longer, and then slip unnoticed in the dead of night. It sounded as good a plan as any, and with nothing else to lose, maybe it’ll work out for you. You decide to bring up the matter in the morning. With that decision made, you strip down to your chemise and retire to bed.

Your sleep could only be described as fitful, at best. Endless tossing and turning kept you awake, mind racing with questions and imagining grim scenarios. You awake to the morning sun, feeling poorly rested. The light shining through the windows only brings you anxiety, reminding you that the time for confrontation is nearing. When you hear stirring in other regions of the house, you don your clothes for the day and with great trepidation, exit the room. You find him in his kitchen, joined by his loyal black cat, preparing food. He momentarily acknowledges your presence with a passing glance, before looking away.

“I do appreciate the, um, hospitality, but I do wonder, how would I leave here when it is time?” You ask, breaking the silence. He abruptly stops trimming the vegetables, putting down the knife and looking at you with a serious expression.

“You know you cannot leave here, right?”

“But why not?”

“Judging by your singed clothes and boots, you saw the flames, no?”

“Well yes, but… if you control fire, then can’t you will the flames away?”

“It is a curse, one of many I placed in this forest,” he explains, assuming that would be explanation enough.

“If it is a curse, why can’t you just break it?” You debate. He responds with a sigh of exasperation.

“You don’t understand. The curse prevents all who enter from leaving, so others can’t find me and destroy my forest. That fruit you ate was also cursed, it puts humans into an eternal sleep with just one bite,” he explains. Your hope dwindles with every word. “No one else has ever survived either my flames or eating that fruit. Do you understand what that means?” You shake your head.

“You are not human. I don’t quite know what you are, but it seems you haven’t the faintest clue either,” he iterates with certainty. “Which means even if I wanted to break the curse, you’d only leave to later end up hunted.”

You feel tears prick at your lash line, threatening to overflow at any moment. The church was right. You are a monster. Your lower lip trembles at the revelation. Everything seems to come crashing down all at once; the sadness you felt abandoning your shop, the fear you experienced while running from the church, the confusion you feel in the witch’s presence, all of it unloading from your soul and out of your eyes. The tears freely fall, much to the witch’s surprise.

“I… realize I’m not the nicest guy and staying here with me is unpleasant, but, I hate seeing you cry,” he says, softly and somberly. He’s trying to apologize, in his own way. His hand gingerly brushes away the tears from your cheek, an act of softness you’ve not yet seen from him. He speaks again, attempting to reassure you, “Nothing bad will happen to you. This is the safest place for you now.”

Your lip still quivers. A bitter thought crosses your mind, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s truly being genuine with you. You wonder if the former prince was led to believe the same and if the witch used that false sense of security to cut him down then. Your voice is wobbly as you accuse, “Do you tell the others who have wandered in the same thing?”

Immediately, he retracts his hand from your face, as if he had been burned by your words. The walls he had placed come back up, as his voice is much colder when he responds to you. “What do you mean?”

“You have the possessions of dead men in your home,” you assert.

“What are you referring to?” He eyes you with caution, guarded against your next allegation.

“The cloak, in the closet. It belonged to a royal prince, did it not? Given he’s not around, I wager he’s not alive.” He sighs at your accusation and runs his hands through his hair out of stress.

“I suppose there’s no point in hiding it now,” He reasons aloud. You swallow thickly, nervous at his next admission. “It’s true that the unlucky souls who have wandered in my forest and eaten that cursed fruit have died, and it’s true I may have… helped myself to their things. But, that is not the original purpose of the tree.”

“So do tell, what is the purpose then?”

“The curse is too strong for normal humans, but for witches, it’s a mild sedative. Due to my past, I have… difficulty sleeping,” he admits. “Besides, that cloak does not belong to a dead prince, it was once mine.”

“You were a prince?” You ask, incredulously.

“Yes, I was King Enji’s son,” he clarifies.

“So the tales are true, the Todoroki Dynasty really did exist,” you whisper in awe. He lets out a light-hearted and soft chuckle, clearly amused by your amazement.

“And you were unsure before?” He teases.

“All that remains of the kingdom are tales. Many do not believe in such legends,” you explain.

“I suppose it is the nature of humans, to forget such distant things. It has been a long time,” he muses. “But to answer your question, yes, the kingdom did exist. It seems my father’s legacy died with him, on the day I burned him.” The gears start turning in your head.

“So, does this mean you were the eldest prince? Prince Touya?”

“You are correct,” he answers. One legend said that the King’s murderer was the eldest prince, it seems that one rang true. “Though considering there’s no longer a kingdom I belong to, wouldn’t it be more fitting for you to just call me Touya?”

“R-right, I suppose that is true,” you agree. It feels a bit intimate to call him by his first name, without any titles, especially considering you now know of his lineage. Despite that, it’s nice to finally know his name. However, there was a nagging question in your mind. “But wait, if you are the Prince then why do you look so…”

“So strange?” He says, attempting to finish your sentence. You can only imagine he’s referring to his tattoos and snow-white hair.

“Young. Why do you look so young?” You clarify, “Your kingdom existed long ago, yet you look to be in your twenties. Why is that?”

“Witches live a long time,” he reveals. “I’ve lost count of the years.”

“I see…” you trail off, absorbing all the information.

“Is that everything you wanted to ask?” He questions. You nod in response. “And do you still wish to leave?”

“I’m not sure anymore. I suppose staying here wouldn’t be terrible considering I have nothing left to go back to,” you answer, your voice taking on a wistful tone. You feel a bit safer here, knowing what you know now. There’s still this sense of melancholy, as you miss your old life. But alas, there is nothing to be done. You’ll just have to adapt to your current situation.

Nearly a week has passed since that tense conversation, and you find yourself establishing a routine with Touya. You’ve taken on some light, daily duties of your own accord, just to keep your mind focused and prevent boredom. Not that you think you’d ever suffer from boredom with Touya’s strange antics. He appears to be serious in figuring out what you are. None of his methods are uncomfortable or unpleasant, just mildly entertaining or odd. For instance, he gave you a silver bracelet and told you to wear it, only to immediately and feverishly write something down in his journal. You took a peek and saw the words ‘definitely not a werewolf’ on the page. Truthfully, you weren’t sure whether you should be scared upon realizing werewolves existed, insulted from him even assuming you turned into a hairy beast upon full moons, or relieved that one less condition has been ruled out. Other than moments like that, your time with Touya hasn’t been unpleasant. Living with him felt natural, all else considered. Though, you were beginning to feel cabin-fever.

Your desire to be outdoors is especially distracting today. Although you and Touya are still getting acquainted with one another, he’s able to discern that something is on your mind. He notices today that your gaze often lingers on the windows. In those moments, he steals plenty of glances at you, relishing in the opportunity to admire you. You’re pretty, he thinks. More gorgeous than the high nobles his father had proposed he marries. He remembers how, much to his father’s dismay, he was uninterested in them. You had a way about you that captures his full attention. If there’s anyone he has to live alongside in his cursed forest, he’s secretly glad it’s you. Your smile and insights deserve to be protected. He won’t let you live on the run like he once did.

Whatever is on your mind, he wants to show that your arrangement is not only out of convenience, but also one of trust. He wants to help you sort out what’s bothering you, he’s just not sure how. Maybe a bit of fresh air would do you some good?

“Come with me,” he says, interrupting your trance. You peel your eyes away from the window to look at him. “If you are to stay here, you should become familiar with the forest. I’ll show you.” He offers you his tattooed hand, to which you hesitantly take. Touya leads you outside of the house. After taking a good few steps, you glance over your shoulder so that you may fully see the house and your surroundings, only to see the house is gone. No trace of it remains, as if it vanished in thin air.

“Huh? Where did it go?” He chuckles at your bewilderment. It’s endearing to him how you do not yet understand magic.

“It’s still there, just hidden with a spell,” he assures through a smile. You tilt your head in confusion, wondering why such a thing is necessary. He seems to pick up on this, and explains, “I don’t usually like ‘visitors’ barging into my home.” You understand the reasoning. If you hadn’t eaten that fruit and instead wandered around the forest, you’re certain you’d barge into his house demanding answers. You suppose you can’t blame him, as you’ve discussed how he was treated by others prior to him settling in the woods.

He guides you along, helping you by the hand over particularly rough terrain or over slippery creek stones. You nearly stumble into him, at times, but he’s ever patient with you. Though, that’s not to say he doesn’t tease you about it. The encounters make you flush, both out of embarrassment and from being so close to him. You’re never left to dwell on it for long, as he strings you along from place to place, pointing out things he deems important. He’s in the middle of guiding you to the next point of interest when you stop in your tracks.

Your ears pick up on some rustling in the bushes. The sound makes you halt, bringing the attention of Touya. You tug on his sleeve and gesture to the brush. “Should we be concerned?” You ask. He shakes his head.

“It’s probably some sort of animal,” he reasons. “It’s not all barren here, animals do occasionally wander in, after all.”

On cue, a scraggly-looking cat pushes through the shrubbery. Its fur is flying every which way, with little leaves nestled into tufts of fur. You feel pity towards the feline and release your grip on Touya’s sleeve to approach the animal. “Aw, poor thing. You look terrible,” you soothe. The cat’s tail swishes, almost in agitation. You turn to Touya, and plead, “Can I take her back with us? Look at how ragged she is, the poor thing needs some rest.”

‘I’m not ragged! I’m just having a bad fur day from chasing after YOU this whole time. I mean really, you couldn’t have stayed in one place?’ The cat counters.

You tilt your head in confusion. Surely you are mistaken, you must be hallucinating, there’s no other explanation. Cats cannot talk. And yet, here you are, questioning such a fact. Your mind tunes out all of Touya’s words as you focus on the scene unfolding.

‘Really? The silent treatment? After I come all this way, you don’t even speak to me? Some witch you are,’ the cat taunts. You turn your head to Touya, hoping to find him reacting to the cat’s words, only to find his expression incredibly neutral.

“Can you not hear her?” You ask Touya, nervousness clear in your voice. Have you lost your mind?

“She’s just meowing. Why, do you hear something different?”

“Yes, she speaks,” you affirm. “You really cannot hear it?”

“This certainly explains things,” he states pensively.

“Explains what? What does this mean?” You frantically ask him.

“Relax. My darling, you are a witch,” he assures. “And this seems to be your familiar. Really, I should have guessed sooner.”

“But how did she find me?”

“They always do, familiars have a way about them, even I do not fully understand it,” he explains. There’s a nostalgic tone in his voice, clearly reminiscing on his own past. Your brows are still furrowed, lost in your thoughts and attempting to absorb the revelation. He seems to pick up on this and places his hand on your shoulder, reassuringly, and says, “It was long ago, but I once felt what you are feeling. It’s confusing at first, but I’m here, I can teach you. Your familiar will also help. You’re not alone in this.”

‘Can we skip the touchy-feely and get to the witchcraft already?’ The cat complains. You scoop the cat up and hold her in front of you.

“We’ll start once you learn some manners,” you scold. Touya earnestly laughs.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there?” He laughs. You pull your familiar closer to your chest, smoothing over her fur. You offer Touya a genuine smile and he smiles back. He can’t but admire you in this moment, with the sun hitting your face, looking legitimately happy.

He’s glad to have met you.

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