#But it turned out alright in the end so :] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

countfreakout · 22 days ago

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wod meet cute event with @spookebee!

I had a blast working with @spookebee on this event! writing this really helped me get my game back and finally gave me an excuse to write something set in the world of darkness; and it definitely helped that I got to write about my brujah, alan, going up against @spookebee's brujah, ryker! his piece featured in this post is just one of the many masterpieces he has to offer, and they're currently taking commissions, so make sure to check out his blog! without further ado, here are the finished pieces!

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amazing art by @spookebee:

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writing piece by @countfreakout (~3800 words):

The crowd roared when the first fighter made his way towards the ring.

Cheers and shouts erupted from nearly every direction, regular and first-time viewers alike eager to see what the moustached man had to offer; though even to those aforementioned regulars, this would be the first time they’d ever heard of Alan Harvey. They all watched as he pried his sunglasses from their perch on the crooked bridge of his nose, taking a few good glances around the arena now that his vision was fully unobstructed.

The Black Flag Combat Club was as advertised: nothing special, and a little shabby at that. It was sheer coincidence that had even informed him of its existence. He’d been out scouting for a safe place to squat, hoping to save himself the $100 he’d have otherwise had to spend on an AirBnB. Instead, he’d found a nondescript brick building whose only manner of decoration was the poster on the door and the banner above it, announcing the establishment’s name. The poster hadn’t been particularly eye-catching—it had looked like something designed by someone with no prior knowledge of graphic design on one of those apps plainly titled “Photo Editor”—but they’d already had him at the word “combat.” And their hold on him was cemented once he’d read the text on the paper, boasting the opportunity for seasoned fighters to participate in a match for a cash reward; $500 for participation, and another $1,000 if he happened to win. Which was guaranteed, seeing as he hadn’t yet met a mortal who had stood a chance against his preternatural strength.

The interior looked much the same as the exterior had, which was to say that it was practical. It wasn’t designed to please, just to provide a venue for sparring matches so the owners could presumably rake in some extra cash. And if they could afford to throw $2,000 total at every pair of brawlers, it was probably working.

The arena was small, capable of accommodating maybe two hundred people shoulder-to-shoulder, and was less of an arena than it was a large room with a boxing ring in the middle of it. There were no seats, leaving the space completely empty save for stanchions bolted to the ground, paving a much-needed path for fighters through the tightly-packed mob. Floodlights mounted on the ceiling trusses illuminated the ring, leaving the cramped audience with a clear view of the action. Alan had a feeling that might impede his vision during the match—unaccustomed as he was to bright light—but he supposed a little challenge was always fun.

There wasn’t a bar, or posters plastered on the brick walls, or even shelves, for that matter. Practical felt like the right word, though someone without his prior experience may have called it lousy or under-decorated. All in all, it wouldn’t be televised anytime soon. Still, Alan smiled at the audience as if he was, willing his dormant heart to pump blood through his veins and make him look some semblance of alive.

He tucked his sunglasses into his pocket, slipped his jacket off, and entered the ring.

He’d been right about the brightness of the floodlights. The onslaught initially blinded him, forcing him to squint as the crowd hollered, louder this time around. A few chants of “Ryker! Ryker! Ryker!” managed to make themselves heard over the general cacophony, prompting a grin from the second fighter as he approached the ropes.

The man who appeared in the ring only seconds later wasn’t what Alan had been expecting. Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting. Maybe someone brushing if not breaking six feet tall, sporting a five o’clock shadow, decked out in little else but a tank top and scuffed jeans, like he was. Of course, he’d long learned his lesson about not judging a book by its cover, but the individual in front of him looked more like someone you’d find at a hole-in-the-wall record store and less like someone you’d find in a fight club. Though he figured the two scenes did have a bit of overlap.

Layered black hair framed the man’s angular face, ending just above his shoulders, the colour briefly intercepted by white stripes forming a raccoon tail on his left. His eyes were a deep brown, his skin somewhat lighter. An array of piercings Alan couldn’t name off the top of his head decorated his ears and lips, glinting in the overhead light. Clothing wise, he wore a spiked choker, a beat-up grey hoodie, a studded leather jacket adorned with pins, hand wraps, a studded belt, and a pair of pants that looked like they were actually two separate pairs of pants Frankensteined together; one leg red, black, and white plaid, the other just plain black.

Whoever this guy was, the crowd seemed to favour him. He carried himself with a confidence that suggested this was far from his first rodeo, or maybe even that he had professional training.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the PA system, surprisingly loud.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, for our final matchup of the night! This one’s bound to be exciting, so feast your eyes and show our fighters some hype!

“In the wifebeater is our first fighter, coming all the way from Kingston! Weighing in at 76.1 kilograms with a height of 179 centimetres, he just barely qualifies as a super middleweight! I, for one, think he’ll put up quite a fight, and I’m sure you’re all eager to see what tonight’s guest has to offer! Please welcome Alan ‘Whizgig’ Harvey!

“In the leather jacket is our second fighter, a local talent many of you are already familiar with! Weighing in at 72.6 kilograms with a height of 173 centimetres, he may not look like much, but those who’ve seen him in action know he packs quite a punch! With an astonishing win-loss record of six to none, our undefeated champion is sure to take your breath away with his tactics! You know him, you love him, please welcome Ryker Kessgowasse!”

The crowd had cheered when Alan was introduced, but that was nothing compared to the uproar Ryker’s introduction prompted. Ryker drank the near-deafening noise in avidly, glad to be back in his element.

“As you’re all aware by now, this club doesn’t shy away from a little ferocity. That’s why we only have one golden rule…”

What was probably hundreds of voices all shouted in unison;

“Don’t kick ‘em when they’re down!”

Alan had known this wasn’t a professional club since he’d walked through the door; professional clubs didn’t throw money at whoever showed up itching for a fight. No, this was the kind of place that masqueraded as your regular, law-abiding gym by day, and bared its fangs as your erratic, wayward fighting pit by night. The audience wasn’t here to watch two people take harmless jabs at each other. They were here to see brutal swings and ruthless beatdowns.

They were here to see blood. And that was what they were going to get.

“I won’t keep you folks waiting any longer! Something tells me this one is going to be a close call, so give it up for our fighters and let’s see some action!”

With that, the bell rang, and Ryker crossed the entire ring in a few quick strides, delivering a nasty right hook to Alan’s jaw. Alan took the hit, slipping out of the way as his opponent thrust his knee forward in what would’ve been a jab to his thigh. He backed off to briefly plan his attack as the announcer said something about Ryker coming in hot.

He knew Ryker’s type; rash, relentless, speed over smarts. It wasn’t the first time he’d fought one of them, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. There was no real “trick” he’d discovered to taking them down besides just waiting for them to tire themselves out, though he was sure there was something he just hadn’t picked up on. He had the advantage of sheer size, but that was only useful if he could tank through the barrage ahead of him; and judging by the blow he’d already received, Ryker was no light hitter. Tanking through wouldn’t be his first course of action. So he had to think of something else, and he had to think of it fast.

A hand gripped his shoulder as another whizzed past his face, missing him by a hair’s breadth when he leaned back to avoid the strike. He immediately realized that doing so had put him in a nonoptimal position, but it was too late. The hand on his shoulder moved to grasp him by the throat, and he was heaved across the ring with alarming strength, ropes straining with the effort of catching his full weight. People howled at the sight, breaking into their chant from before.

“Ryker! Ryker! Ryker!”

He stared at the other man in disbelief, attempting to rationalize how someone ultimately smaller than him could’ve pulled that off in the first place. The last time he’d been hurled across the ring like that, the guy who’d done so had been several weight classes above him. And even then, he’d been like Alan was; cursed to spend his days asleep and his nights hunting for blood.

Ryker liked that look, the disconcertment that always made its way into the eyes of his opponents. It was especially satisfying to see in cocky mortals who underestimated him, to watch their air of superiority falter in the face of an adversary stronger than them.

He’d grown to expect it, just like Alan did. Every fight was a cakewalk, in the ring or outside of it, something the two of them could breeze through as if it were a minor blockade on the road to whatever goal they were chasing in the moment. Unlife had taught them nothing was unachievable; so long as you had the money, power, or fame to coax it into the palm of your hand. But they were still fledglings, new to the game with only the basics on how to play it. And fighting others of their kind wasn’t in the basics.

Alan was the first to notice something was wrong about his opponent. After a feat like that, Ryker should have stopped, panting, heart hammering against his chest. He shouldn’t have thrown Alan a smug look while motioning for him to approach, visibly unaffected despite having thrown a seventy-six kilogram man through the air only seconds ago.

He understood why the crowd had cheered so loud now. The guy was good. Too good.

Suddenly determined to prove himself to the audience, he lunged at Ryker, grappling him to prevent any further assault as he attempted to force his jaw to the side, expecting to meet skin moist with sweat.

But he wasn’t sweating. He was cold.

Dead cold.

Fuck.

He’d gone up against other licks a few times now. None of those experiences had been anything less than agonizing, and he didn’t care to repeat a single one of them; at least, not until he’d learned what to expect. And that was the problem. With mortals, he could almost predict their every move. Sure, some were more skilled than others, but so long as they weren’t armed with flamethrowers or machetes, they were relatively harmless. With vampires, on the other hand, he could never be sure they wouldn’t screw with his head, or vanish out of thin air, or become impossible to move, or grow a whole ass pair of claws.

His momentary hesitation cost him a blow to the side of the head.

And then another. And another. And another.

Before he could even register it, he was down on the ground.

“One!”

The light caught him right in the eyes with a sharp glare.

“Two!”

Over the PA system came a snarky remark about Ryker mopping the floor with him.

“Three!”

Rage threatened to take hold of him, but he reigned it in.

“Four!”

He picked himself up and settled back into a fighting stance.

Caution had gotten him nowhere. Not right then, and not in the past. He’d spent the entire round riding the wave and analyzing Ryker’s moves, forgetting that wasn’t what places like these respected in their fighters. They only respected brute force.

Now that he knew what he was dealing with, he’d show them that and then some. With mortals, he had to maintain a careful balancing act; he reigned himself in just enough not to breach the Masquerade or cripple his opponent, but still took enough advantage of his vampiric strength to end up victorious. It was an ordeal, which was why he didn’t fight as often as he had before his Embrace. But tonight was going to be different. Tonight, he fought against someone on even ground. The next round wouldn’t be a repeat of the first; at least, not for him. He’d show this Ryker guy what it meant to harness the might given to them by unlife.

As round one took its leave—signified by the bell—so too did his wariness.

The two men retreated to opposite corners of the ring, waiting out the break. Neither of them needed it, though Alan, for his part, tried to pretend he did. Not just for the sake of maintaining his mortal facade, but also because he suspected Ryker hadn’t figured out he was going up against one of his own yet. That was an advantage he couldn’t just dump down the drain.

Soon enough, the bell sounded again, and Alan surprised Ryker by hurtling forward in a reckless lunge, not unlike the one he’d received himself at the beginning of round one. The difference between his and Ryker’s attack, however, was that he wasn’t holding back. His fist connected with the punk’s nose, cartilage and bone dislodging themselves as a consequence of the brutal hit. No blood seeped from the injury, but if the audience was disturbed, they didn’t show it. A cacophony of glee filled the room, which only increased in volume as Alan kept going.

A forearm strike to the throat sent Ryker staggering back, leaving him free for only a moment before Alan enveloped him in a crushing bear hug. Bones splintered, a telltale sign of less-than-natural force that was thankfully drowned out by the crowd’s cheering. Despite his newly-broken ribs, Ryker grabbed Alan by the hips, pushed himself away, and delivered a knee strike to the other man’s groin, forcing him to relinquish his hold. Had he been mortal, that move would’ve surely given Ryker an opening, allowing him to put Alan on his ass.

Definitely not his first rodeo.

The pair retreated and circled one another for a moment, that same look of realization slowly working its way onto Ryker’s face. But Alan wouldn’t let him have time to think; or to use the power of his Blood to will his bones back together.

He came in high with an overhead punch, but just as Ryker moved to block it, he used his left arm to grab him in the abdomen with a low uppercut. Ryker soon found himself forced back into the ropes by a series of relentless jabs, doing everything he could to keep up and parry before regaining his footing and spinning away.

The rest of round two continued on in much the same way, roles reversed; Alan now on the offensive while Ryker tried to keep up and defend. Eventually, Ryker did manage to regain some of his earlier aggression, placing the two on even ground just before the bell rang.

Ding, ding, ding!

While the announcer gave a brief recounting of the events of the last two rounds, Alan and Ryker locked eyes, now both in possession of the knowledge that the other was a lick. There was a challenge there, in that moment of eye contact, one that wasn’t hostile, but instead friendly. The two had at last met their match; someone who could keep up with their preternatural abilities in a similar fashion. A common sentiment pervaded the arena: this is fun.

Ryker smiled, baring his fangs, and Alan smiled back in much the same way.

“Now, folks, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for! While the last two rounds may have awarded each fighter with a victory of their own, this third and final round will be the tiebreaker; whoever takes this one will take home the prize money! As a show of your admiration, I’d like you to give our brawlers a huge round of applause!”

There was less actual applause than there was people screaming at the top of their lungs, which was unsurprising. Controlling a crowd that rowdy was practically impossible, unless you were the Toreador Alan had once seen lure an entire neighbourhood into one bar using only her voice. In his experience, the announcement of the final round was always like floodgates being opened. That wasn’t to suggest the audience had been tame for the past two rounds—far from it—but there was always a detectable change in atmosphere when the grand finale hit. People were on the edges of their seats, eager to see if their bets would pay off or sometimes just if their championing idol would retain their streak. It was all held breaths, wide eyes, and slack jaws. Alan had come to appreciate the humanity of it in the years since his untimely demise.

This time around, there was a countdown before the bell rang. The announcer began at five, but by the time he’d reached four, every other voice in the building had joined in.

“Three!”

Alan could just barely make out the sound of Ryker’s bones welding back together.

“Two!”

Ryker rolled his shoulders, ignoring the Hunger digging its claws into him.

“One!”

The two men readied themselves for action.

Ding, ding, ding!

In what would be the first time since the beginning of the fight, both brawlers charged each other at once.

The audience fell speechless when they watched the pair land their attacks on each other, Alan punching Ryker in the jaw with enough force to dislodge it completely, Ryker wrapping his hands around Alan’s throat until there was an audible crack. Both were giving it their all now, and the sight was grisly. Assault after assault came that should’ve had both of them on the ground, bleeding, groaning, dying. The only thing more disturbing than the arena’s dead silence was the sight of them tearing each other apart, strike by strike, bone by bone. And every single time, they got right back up. Like it was nothing.

The fighters, on the other hand, were having the time of their unlives. Being able to unleash their full potential was a luxury they seldom came by, let alone under a circumstance where neither party was trying to kill the other.

Eventually, the Hunger started to get to Alan. He’d been so enthralled by the action, he’d forgotten that every healed injury cost him more and more juice. He really should’ve grabbed a drink before diving head-first into a match he’d presumed would be a dull, easy win; but it was too late for that now. Not too keen on frenzying out in front of hundreds of mortals, let alone on one of his own, he slowed his pace marginally and stopped healing his wounds.

But marginally was a big difference when it came to fights like these, and Ryker soon seized the upper hand.

The round was almost over when Alan felt the world start to slip away from him. Neither of them were on the ground yet, and he wasn’t sure how the judges would be able to score something like this, but in any case, the outcome was clear: he would lose. For once in his unlife, that prospect didn’t bother him. Especially when, on the other path, there was torpor. And his experience with torpor wasn’t one he cared to repeat; mostly because sneaking out of the morgue was never fun.

When the next blow came, he let it knock him down.

“One!”

Ryker backed off, abiding by the one rule.

“Two!”

The cool feeling of the mat bit its way through his tank top, soaked with artificial sweat.

“Three!”

At last there was a moment of stillness, one that allowed him time to think.

“Four!”

Events hadn’t unfolded like he expected them to. But he was glad they hadn’t.

“Five!”

“After a beating like that, folks, we’re not sure if he’ll be able to get up!”

“Six!”

He healed the worst of the damage he’d received, reeling his Beast in as he did so.

“Seven!”

What a fight.

“Eight!”

A smile worked its way onto his face.

“Nine!”

Yeah, he’d like it here.

“Ten!”

The round came to a close with a final ring of the bell.

The silence that had permeated the arena shattered all at once, replaced by the ruckus of the first two rounds; somehow amplified to the point that the announcer could barely be heard over it all.

“And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen; we have a winner! While Harvey proved himself to be a worthy adversary, tonight’s fight undoubtedly goes to Kessgowasse! Please show your appreciation for your champion before you head out the door!”

The crowd’s appreciation was shown indeed, as the hundreds of people within it lent their voices to a third chant: “Ryker! Ryker! Ryker!”

The noise trickled out of the building just as the audience members did, and soon enough, the arena was left empty save for the announcer, a few staff members, and, of course, the two fighters.

As he steeled himself for standing up, a pair of worn-out Docs entered his field of vision, shadowed by the presence of the man they belonged to.

“Hey.”

In an attempt to preserve what was left of his dignity, Alan sat up, squinting in an attempt to make out Ryker’s face through the torrent of fluorescent light.

At the very least, Ryker was every bit as roughed up as he was. The entire left side of his face looked like it had been hit by a truck, and his nose was more broken than it had been when the fight started. He may have won, but there was a reason he hadn’t healed himself; and it was very likely the same reason Alan had let himself lose.

The two exchanged a glance much like the one they’d exchanged just before the last round had started, but there was a difference in the one they shared now; something akin to admiration present in each of their gazes. Teeth flashed in a grin just before a hand reached down, palm open, in front of him. Immediately, Alan recognized the gesture.

Sportsmanship.

That was difficult to find in mortals, and nearly impossible to find in those like the two of them. And yet, there it was. Clear as day.

Smiling back, he took the hand offered to him and heaved himself up.

Ryker stuffed his hands into his pockets once Alan got onto his feet, speaking once more.

“Welcome to Montréal.”

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thank you so much to @porcelainseashore, @crownedinmarigolds, and @vampemoqueen for organizing this event!

#wodmeetcute #I still have no idea how boxing works so bear with me #vtm #vtm oc event #vtm ocs #vampire: the masquerade #vampire the masquerade #brujah #brujah ocs #literally never mentioned once that either of them are brujah whoops #world of darkness #writing #my writing #freakoutwrites #digital art #digital illustration #others' art #others' ocs #kinda had to rush the ending but I think it still turned out alright

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shady-tavern · 2 years ago

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Missing Piece

@piperjistic had asked for a forest spirit and while this isn't fully in line with your request, I still hope you'll like it!

Minor warnings ahead for non-graphic violence and a wee bit of body-horror towards the end, though it doesn't happen to the main character. Please be sure to take care of yourself!

*.*.*

For as long as the little girl could remember, it felt like something was missing within her. She could never put a finger on it, but it made her a restless child, picking up and discarding games, struggling with consistently staying interested and some days she just felt very strange.

Like that one stained glass window she had seen when her parents had taken her to a nearby city. All disjointed fragments that still managed to be a picture, but it would never be one entire piece.

The stained glass window at least had been pretty compared to the ugly feeling within her.

"Have you ever felt like something is missing inside you?" she asked her grandma, who came to pick her up many a day while her parents worked.

Things were strange between Gran and her parents, she never talked to them and they never talked to her and she never set foot onto their garden, preferring to wait for the little girl at the gate by the little dirt road.

Gran stilled and when the little girl glanced up at her, her face had gone dark and grim and for the first time in the girl's life, her beloved grandma, a joyful soul who loved her with all her heart, looked just a little bit frightening.

But her hand around the girl's remained gentle and the older woman kept walking at a sedate pace so her short little legs didn't struggle with keeping up.

Everyone always said to the girl that she would grow to be bigger and she couldn't wait for that day to arrive. Gran was silent for so long that the girl thought she was never going to answer.

"You best ask your parents about that," Gran said at last, voice quiet and heavy with something unspoken. Strangely, her voice reminded the girl of a draft horse she had seen, who had been forced to pull a too heavy burden, body straining as it slowly and laboriously set one hoof in front of the other.

"Alright," the girl answered and grinned up at her grandmother, hoping to break up the awful mood her innocent little question had created. "Can we make blueberry cake today?"

Gran smiled and it was like the sun returning after a dark, scary storm, her face brightening and looking as kind and loving as ever. "Of course, little chestnut." She leaned in, voice dipping into a conspiratorial stage whisper, "My wife picked an entire basket just this morning."

The little girl giggled and soon the two of them reached the end of the village, all talk about missing pieces and resulting, scary expressions forgotten. The blueberry cake was delicious and maybe a bit messy since the girl had tried to help a bit too enthusiastically and the cute little apron Gran had made for her was stained with purple-blue juice on one corner.

Gran's wife, Tanya, arrived just as they had taken the first bite of a still warm slice of cake.

"You baked without me?" she gasped in a mock scandalized voice. "Oh, the betrayal, how it stings!" She dramatically fell onto the kitchen table and the little girl laughed when the two older women broke out into a full blown performance just to ensure she kept laughing.

Gran brought her back home just as the sun set and a strong, steady wind blew in from the forest, bringing with it the smell of spring moss and damp, cool earth.

"If you ever meet any magical beings, be wary," Gran said as she stopped in front of the gate that creaked noisily as soon as it was two thirds of the way open.

She looked down at the girl, her face serious. "One day you might and if you do, they will offer you deals and nothing good ever comes from accepting their offers. They will only bring ruin in exchange for empty promises."

As solemnly as the little girl could, she offered her little pinky. "I promise to be careful," she said and a shadow of a smile crossed Gran's face as they hooked their pinkies around each other gently.

Gran leaned down to kiss the top of her head before she left with a glance towards the house and the girl briefly glanced towards the forest. It was an old forest, not quite as ancient as in other places, but surrounded by plenty of stories and mysteries.

The girl had heard rumors about creatures living in the woods, of magic being alive in ways the mages in the big cities could never hope to replicate. She decided to be very careful whenever she went into the woods to pick berries and mushrooms. She had promised, after all.

She entered her parents' house, neatly putting her boots beside her mother's and when she looked up at her parents, the question tumbled forth without much thought, "Why do I feel like I'm missing something?"

Her mother, who was currently carving leather, stilled so thoroughly she might as well have turned to stone. Her father, in the process of cooking, seemed to freeze in place, the stirring of his ladle abruptly falling silent.

"You're still growing," her mother answered at last, voice quiet and her gaze on her work. "It will pass in given time."

The little girl stared at her, startled silent and with increasing heartbreak as the seconds passed, for she had just learned what her mother sounded like when she lied.

*.*.*

The conversation with her parents stayed with the girl as the months and years passed and she never asked again. Gran said nothing either, but every time she picked the girl up, she now glared at the house.

Gran knew, the girl realized, but either couldn't say why she felt wrong or she didn't want to tell her.

Though, knowing her Gran, she probably couldn't for some reason. Gran had been born a rebel and she said she would die one, encouraging all of the little girl's bad habits, as her parents called them, with no remorse.

"This world will chew you up and spit you out, if you let it," Gran told her when she picked her up from school, her hand warm and gentle. "So don't be afraid to bare your teeth, little chestnut. Stand up for what you believe is right, that is the only way to slowly but surely kill off all things vile and dark."

The girl wasn't sure she entirely understood, but she nodded seriously anyway. Gran always told her everything no one else wanted to, blunt and direct without scaring her or hurting her feelings.

Gran felt strong, like a rushing river that wore down even the largest, toughest of boulders. The girl hoped she could be like her one day.

It was her Gran's teachings that got her in and out of trouble over the years and her words guided the girl into understanding when something was wrong. And how important it was to do something when she discovered evil.

As the village turned into a cute little town and more and more people moved in, drawing towards a hopeful future by their fertile lands and abundant forest, the girl had grown into a headstrong young woman.

Not once, in all that time, had she shaken off the feeling like she was lacking something. Like something was missing that should be there.

Her parents could no longer deny that something was wrong and their increasingly guilty and troubled looks said it all. It showed in the woman's life, that something within her was gone. As soon as someone looked into the little house she had moved into, they saw that no project was ever finished, every hobby dropped just after she had gained a modicum of skill in it.

She bounced from job to job, working for whoever hired her, before losing that job again, sometimes by leaving, sometimes by more talented, more passionate people coming along.

It was that restlessness that caused her to drift far enough from the town, the feeling of wrongness seemingly guiding her step, to cross paths with what she first thought was a traveling kind of circus.

There was a man leading the entire caravan of wagons, pale and primly dressed, clearly a mage considering his robes and pompous behavior as he hailed her down.

"We are no circus, young lady," he said when she asked about his business, but his eyes were cold and his smile about as pleasant as holding a palm full of slugs. "I am Master Egam and this is my curious collection. I intend to thoroughly impress the local lords."

He made a sweeping gesture at the wagons and she peered past him, at covered cages and grim looking soldiers.

Her gaze almost immediately fell back to the mage, however, and something ugly writhed within her chest. She couldn't put a finger on what it was, but it felt like sharp, uneven edges pressed against her ribs from within, accentuating the feeling of wrongness.

"Now, which way to the nearest town? It's growing rather late," Master Egam said, his smile wide and winning and yet it caused something cold to drip down her spine. There was a sudden taste of wet iron and rotting earth on her tongue.

It took her a moment to realize why, for she had never experienced anything like it. He had put magic into his words and it filled her mouth with a nasty taste. "This way, about a mile or so."

"Why don't you guide us?" he asked, patting the coach beside him. When she hesitated and saw a flash of curious danger in his eyes, she offered a bland smile.

"Thank you," she said, climbing up to join him, careful to keep some distance between them.

He stared at her for a moment and she resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. "You seem strangely...familiar," he mused after a moment. "Have I met you before? Or family of yours?" When she looked genuinely surprised, he shook his head. "Right, that is very unlikely. Then again, you country bumpkins all look the same to me."

She was desperate to distract him from her, which was thankfully easy enough to accomplish. All it took was a question about his exploits and soon he regaled her with all the horrifying details. Of the creatures he captured, the magic he had soaked up from them, the power he carried at his fingertips.

He was bragging, yes, but she could tell that every word was the truth. That he had chained a vampire into enduring sunlight at his leisure, that he had plucked all the feathers of a harpy to parade her around naked and that he had a griffin eating out of his hand for his amusement.

That he had caught one the most dangerous beings of all, a forest spirit.

She was deeply relieved when her hometown came into view and then she got to see the effects of his magic first hand. His voice seemed to be made of gold, for all he had to do was speak and people immediately rushed to obey, star-struck expressions and delighted, downright smitten smiles appearing on their faces.

She inched away from Master Egam and ended up by one of the wagons instead. Unable to resist, she tugged a corner of the covering up and peered inside.

Green eyes that shimmered like all the shades of plant life in the forest met hers and broken antlers rose from red and gold hair that tumbled down in long, thick waves. The forest spirit, she realized as she stared at him, wide eyed, his face sun-kissed and freckled and even chained down as he was she could see his innate power and grace.

The broken antlers disappeared, swiftly replaced by wolf ears as he now bared vicious fangs at her, wicked claws scraping over the iron lining the bottom of his cage as he growled.

"Careful with that one," Master Egam's voice made her jump and drop the tarp. "He's the most dangerous one I ever caught. A nasty piece of work."

"Why do you catch them?" she found herself asking and as she looked up at him, she already knew the answer before he opened his mouth.

"Because I can," he said, his smile as empty as his eyes were cruel. "Because the wild powers in this world need to know that they can and will be tamed. Now run along and don't tell anyone about this."

His magic was iron-rot on her tongue as she nodded, hastily pasting a smile on her face. It felt like fleeing as she turned and hurried away, her heart racing in her chest and the ugly, vile feeling that had scraped around her ribcage finally lessened.

The wrongness within her was as present as ever, a constant companion of subtle misery that dodged her steps, silent only whenever she found joy in things. Joy that was taken from her by its steady, suffocating grip sooner or later.

As soon as she was home, she began to pace, her mind whirring. She had to do something and whatever magic Master Egam possessed, she was somehow immune against it. She might be the only one who could think clearly around him.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm. Master Egam was dangerous and she was just a magic-less young woman who was all wrong inside. If she wasn't careful, she wouldn't have to worry about what was missing for much longer.

It wasn't hard, in the end, to find out that Master Egam was staying in the mayor's house, that he had tossed him and his family out and now treated the most lavish place as his. The mayor and his wife and two children seemed dazed but they didn't question what was being done to them, they just went to stay with their extended family.

The wagons were kept by the mayor's house, blocking most of the street and guarded by the soldiers, which were armed and armored.

She watched them as the last sunlight faded, thinking. Beyond the window she could see the mage and people came to his home, bringing downright decadent food with loving smiles and hazy eyes, leaving again empty handed.

An idea began to take form. A foolish one, most certainly, but it was likely her best chance. While Master Egam was busy feasting and ordering people around, most likely fancying himself a king among peasants, he would be distracted.

On second thought, he was most likely not traveling to impress lords, but to work his way up to becoming the actual king of these lands. Maybe even an emperor, holding court among captured creatures and his magic charming everyone into blind obedience.

So she joined a group of townsfolk who came with carefully made little cakes and desserts and they barely acknowledged her. The soldiers didn't even looked at them, most likely long used to this song and dance.

It was less easy to go unnoticed by Master Egam, but the man was easily distracted by the new offerings, already a good way through half the food he had been given.

No human should have been able to consume so much without bursting, she thought and she wondered if this was the price of his magic. That he not only could eat far too much, but had to.

"Bring this to the beasties," he said, gesturing at a little bucket of bones and food scraps and the young woman took a decisive step towards it, keeping her head down as she grabbed the bucket, stepping outside without being stopped. Her mouth was filled with the taste of iron-rot.

The soldiers didn't pay her any heed now either. They looked bored and hungry as they watched another plate of food being brought in, but they said nothing. She wondered if they could even if they wanted to. If they were similarly charmed as anyone else.

"I need to feed them," she said politely to the nearest soldier, who moved woodenly to stare at her with a slightly hazy gaze. Ah, that answered her question. "I need the key, please. Master Egam's orders."

He handed the key over, because why wouldn't he? When everyone was always so fully under the mage's control, there was no reason to doubt. She went to the forest spirit's cage first, ignoring his low growl as she pushed the tarp up and began to look for the lock.

He fell silent as soon as she slipped the key into it and opened the door.

"I'll get you out," she whispered and his head tipped to the side, his wolf ears flicking as he considered her. And then, ever so slowly without removing those intense eyes from her, he tipped his head back, baring his collared throat.

She crawled into the cage, making sure to pull the door almost-closed behind her, the tarp falling down and leaving her in murky darkness with only her slightly fast breathing and pounding heart. She slowly inched forward, patting the ground, until clawed fingers carefully closed around her hand, guiding it up.

The collar had no lock and she stilled, her heart leaping in her chest. What was she supposed to do now?

"Bleed," the forest spirit said, voice such a horrible rasp that she was half convinced his throat was full of glass shards. "Willing offer."

She wasn't even thinking when she reached out with her free hand, gripping his fingers and pressing her palm against his claws. She felt him jerk in surprise, but the pain was already blooming, blood running down her hand in a hot line. She reached out to press her hand to his collar, smearing as much of her blood on it as possible and the next second the collar clicked open, crashing to the floor with a rattle of chains.

The forest spirit inhaled sharply and then she felt his hands touch her shoulder, careful and helping her shuffle a bit to the side. Freeing the path to the cage door, she realized

"Free the others, please," he whispered, his voice no longer sounding like he was gargling gravel, but instead charming and lovely-sweet. Her mouth was filled with the faint taste of meadow-flowers and cool spring water.

Then he was out of the cage and she scrambled to follow him, catching the door before it could slam shut.

The guards were lying on the ground and she saw the forest spirit springing past the last one he had taking down, vaulting over a confused man with a tart and heading straight into the house, face snarling in rage.

The next cage held the plucked harpy, who hissed a high-pitched shriek at her, but fell similarly silent when the door to the cage was unlocked.

Her collar too opened with blood and then the harpy was out, her feathers re-growing with a burst of magic that was almost painful with its relief. She took flight immediately, though she clearly struggled as she escaped, as did the griffin the young woman freed.

The vampire slunk out of his cage with a look of wild hunger and gratitude before he was gone between one moment and the next. Just in time for all the windows in the house to shatter outward in a massive wave of pressure, the forest spirit crashing to the ground, wheezing and covered in blood.

The young woman was at his side in no time and as she gripped him and saw him in the light of the street lanterns without the distractions of his eyes, she realized just how thin he was. How his limbs shook as he struggled to his feet.

He stumbled, eyes going wide when she dragged him with her, just in time to round the corner before Master Egam came out of the house with magic whipping around him, a howl of rage filling the night as he found all his cages empty, his guards unconscious – or perhaps dead – on the ground.

"What are you doing," the forest spirit hissed, but he seemed unable to free himself from her grip, which told her everything she needed to know. She wasn't weak by any means, but she got the impression that he should be far stronger than she.

"Saving you," she hissed back. "You're in no condition to fight!"

"Return them to me!" she heard Master Egam's voice boom behind her, so loud and rattling it filled the entire town, making people cower and stumble, their gazes going hazy. "And find me the one who did this!"

Her mouth was filled with the taste of iron-rot to the point where she had to gag, but she managed to push on, reaching the little house she had moved into after she could no longer stand the guilty silence of her parents. The moment they were through the door, the forest spirit collapsed to the floor, breathing hard, sweating and bleeding.

"His magic," he said as he stared up at her with wide, bright green eyes that she knew she could get lost in if she allowed it. "It doesn't work on you. Why?"

"No idea," she murmured back. "Come, we have to hide you."

She had managed to empty out a large storage chest and squeezed him inside despite his protest just in time for her neighbors to come knocking.

"No one is here, I came looking," she said, heart pounding and blood still dripping from her hand as she gestured at the hastily strewn about contents of her chest. "I made sure they weren't hiding."

"Come help search," her neighbors murmured, gazes hazy and she followed them outside, hoping that the spirit stayed where he was, that he wouldn't be found.

She searched with the others until they were all ready to collapse and only then did Master Egam order them to rest with such fury that the cobblestone cracked around him. He had long since roused his guards – most of which were still alive – and had sent them out to the forest to capture those that had run for the woods.

"They can't go far," she heard him mutter to himself as he turned around to head back into the house. "Not with the state I left them all in."

He wasn't wrong.

When the young woman returned home, she found the forest spirit still in the storage chest, asleep and looking utterly exhausted. She dropped into her bed and slept until hunger forced her awake.

The smell of cooking food woke the spirit as well and she stared in astonished surprise as he ate at an alarmingly fast rate. Half her pantry was gone by the time he curled up in front of the hearth and went straight back to sleep. She dropped a thick blanket on him and arranged pillows to hide him from the outside and sat down, thinking.

Master Egam was powerful and she had no idea if she could hide the spirit until he regained his strength, especially if he needed that much food every day. And even then there was no guarantee that he'd be powerful enough to defeat the mage. But, she reasoned, he might be able to escape, which was just as good in her opinion.

She dozed off and woke feeling warm, blinking blearily to realize the blanket was now draped over her, the pillows carefully arranged to leave her in a little nest. Only the floor beneath her was a little hard. Peering around, alarm searing through her, worrying that something had happened, she relaxed as soon as she saw the spirit.

He stood with his back to her, looking at all the half finished projects she had lying around, not having the heart to put them away, even though she already knew she'd never finish them. That this was it and her love for a new hobby she had found was instead curdling into quiet, miserable grief.

"Thank you," he said before turning towards her. He already looked far better than yesterday, less gaunt and shaky on his feet. His injuries were gone as well, leaving only a somewhat tattered, stained shirt and worn, knee-length pants over hale and whole skin behind.

He tipped his head and the way the light of a lit candle reflected in his eyes reminded her of the way animal eyes would look when a lantern swept past them in the dark. "What do you want in return for your help?"

She paused after sitting up, then shrugged. "I don't want anything." Gran had been very firm about deals with magic creatures, that they brought ruin more often than not, her voice harsh and bitter as she had said it. As if there was more to her words than mere warnings.

Besides, the young woman had grown up on stories about daring knights, wise mages and courageous princesses and princes. She had always wanted to be like them, to do good with her own two hands whenever possible. Had secretly dreamed about one day saving someone as she had grown up.

It had been far more scary and harrowing than in her imagination, but she'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.

"You want nothing," the spirit repeated, sounding like he didn't believe her. "Everyone wants something, help is never freely given. Especially not from my kind and especially not when you saved my life. Do not take that kind of thing lightly."

"All I want is for you to be safe," she said. "Don't get hurt again, promise me that."

The forest spirit inhaled sharply, pupils blowing wide until only a small ring of green remained and she felt a warm shiver go through the air. Like something powerful had just exhaled a blessing.

He said nothing for a long moment, before he dipped his head, suddenly looking regal as the wolf ears melted away and antlers appeared that looked far more intact than last night. "Very well."

He joined her by the hearth, dropping down to one knee and offered his hand. "Let me see your wound."

She held out her hand and felt a tingle of magic, could taste soft, gentle meadow flowers and refreshing water as relief took away the lingering pain. Her palm was unmarred, not even a scar remaining.

"You have no idea what you just gave me, do you?" he asked quietly when she looked at him, his gaze so very captivating it looked like the entirety of the forest had gathered in his eyes.

She offered a small, crooked smile. "I've never been around magic," she said, all too aware that he was still holding her hand, skin warm like sunshine. "You can hide here until you've recovered."

He tipped his head to the side. "You would welcome me even now, knowing who is looking for me?"

"You're safe here," she answered. "He can't charm me and you need time to recover. Just make sure no one sees you."

"What do you desire for your help in return?" he asked. "And don't say nothing again."

She thought of the wrongness within her and wondered if magic could fix it. Then she remembered Gran's warnings about deals and ruin and bit back a sigh.

"I'll think about something," she said, though she didn't intend to. Once the spirit was strong enough, he would either fight or leave, but either way she doubted she would ever see him again.

He didn't look happy about that, but accepted her answer graciously enough. Getting to her feet, the young woman waved him with her to the kitchen corner. If he was eating her out of house and home he could help her cook.

When it became clear he was actually the better cook, since she hadn't been able to learn too much before her wrongness had kicked in, she happily left him to it and grabbed her money, sneaking out.

The entire town was walking around in a strange sort of haze, half of them still searching and the other half catering to the mage.

She saw people bring more food to the mayor's house, along with other things. Jewels and prized possessions, feathers the harpy had and griffin had lost and one or two held squeaking bats in their gloved hands, as though hoping they might be the escaped vampire.

No one looked twice at her when she bought as much food as she could at the market and she bit back bitter worry when she saw Gran and Granny Tanya bring blueberry cake to the mage with happy smiles.

Only her parents didn't seem to be out and about. Strange.

She brought the food back home and the forest spirit noticeably relaxed once she was back, thanking her quietly before falling quiet again. The young woman, however, could only stand the silence for so long before she began to ask questions.

Before long she knew that the forest spirit had gotten captured in his sleep, that his home was to the north and that he could sense the power of the nearby forest.

They both fell asleep in front of the hearth and by the second day, the young woman dragged her bedding out into the living room and made a proper place to rest for the two of them.

The forest spirit was in a better mood today and she realized that under all the tense grimness he was rather playful and enjoyed teasing and, most of all, making her laugh. She noticed as the days passed how he regained his strength, the gauntness disappearing faster than it would have for a regular person.

They kept busy in the small house in different ways. She watched him finish some of her craft projects and taught him to dance, he conjured sprigs of flowers for them to 'pretty up the place with' as he said and he let her brush out and braid his hair after long baths, the bath water never cooling until they were well and truly done.

Every night they curled up on the hearth together and it was then, as he looked at her, hair a healthy, shining red and gold and fox ears perked to listen better, that the truth spilled out.

How wrong inside she felt and he frowned at her in what she recognized as worry.

"May I?" he asked, holding out his hand and she put hers into his without a moment's hesitation. His face went soft and gentle in a way that ached somewhere around her tender heart as he held her hand with care.

Then he closed her eyes and she could taste meadow flowers and cold water and his frown deepened.

"I - you must talk to your parents," he said and as soon as the words were out, his head reared back a bit, ears pinning flat to his head as he blinked, looking startled and irritated. "Oh, how nasty."

She stared at him, wide-eyed and for the first time got the feeling that something was very, very wrong in a different way than she had thought.

"I'll go now," she whispered and he nodded, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze before she got to her feet.

Her parents looked worried and tense when they opened the door, relaxing a bit when they saw it was her, only for the tension to snap back into their frames. She realized immediately that they knew why she was here.

That there was a reason why she and they alone weren't slaves to the magic-charm of a mad mage. That they did know why she felt like a piece was missing.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked, sharp and hard in a way she had never spoken with them and they stepped aside to let her in.

They stood around the living room awkwardly until her father broke first, guilty and defensive and shoulders hunched, the silence around them heavy and thick and oppressive like summer heat without a cooling breeze.

"We didn't know," he said, almost pleading as he looked at his daughter. "When we met that...that man on our travels. We didn't know."

Something hot was wrapping around her heart and throat and a bad feeling unfolded in her gut, wriggling to get comfortable like a cat in a beam of sunlight. "Tell me the truth. Now. You owe me that much at least."

"We asked for a good life," her mother whispered, staring down at the ground, arms wrapped around herself and her head bent, shoulders tense. "We asked for nothing unreasonable, because being greedy only curses you. We asked for a good, warm, house, for enough money to buy what we desired until our deaths and to lead healthy, long and safe lives. We wanted the sort of fortune that would ensure we would have everything we desired until the day we died."

The heaviness in the air seemed to press down harder, like a thick blanket over sticky, sweaty skin, trapping heat and impossible to shake, no matter how desperately she wanted to get rid of it.

"What was the price?" the young woman asked, her tongue almost numb in her mouth. Though, she already knew. Could feel it in the marrow of her bones, could feel it in the stained glass shape of her soul, all disjointed and wrong and missing missing missing. Always missing something.

"You were but a babe," her father answered before she could ask again. "We didn't think...when he asked for a piece of you, something that wouldn't hurt you if he took it, we thought, well, if you grew up without it...you wouldn't know what you were missing."

Her heart shouldn't break, she thought, as pain and anger and grief greedily dug into her chest and belly. It shouldn't break when she didn't even feel all that surprised to hear what they were saying.

She thought of her life filled with things she couldn't finish, couldn't dedicate herself to no matter how deeply she loved, like her hands were too restless, desperately trying to find something to fill the void within her. All the friendships she had lost over the years, the disappointed people she had worked with and most of all, how miserable she had been.

She thought about feeling wrong and disjointed and like a stained glass window made by a clumsy apprentice and with the intent to make other people whisper and point and laugh instead of impressing them.

Weird, strange, not-fitting-in. Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, had sung through her veins for as long as she could remember and she had walked through life feeling like a part of her was gone, but unable to voice it. Unable to even name what was missing.

Thinking that, maybe, this was just her lot in life. That nothing could be done about it and she had tried to do her best with the hand she had been dealt by fate.

And all this time, her parents had just...traded that part of her away. For small comforts. For a future they could have made themselves with their own hands had they cared to try. For a life bartered and paid for by someone else, so they wouldn't have to shoulder the burden.

And then they had lied to her about it, had left her thinking that nothing could be done to make her feel better. That this was normal.

"Who?" she asked numbly and she blinked, realizing she was halfway to the door. When she looked at her parents, hot, angry hatred crawled up her throat like a wave of lava at seeing their wounded, self-pitying faces. "Who did you allow to hurt me?"

"Master Egam," her father whispered, his voice barely audible in the heavy, suffocating silence. "We can't let him see us or he might remember."

She was out the door before he could finish speaking, heart breaking and racing and she wasn't surprised at all, even though she thought she should be. So that was why his magic wasn't working on her – and her parents, if part of their deal was to remain healthy and unharmed at all times. Just what had Egam taken from her to make a deal that protected them no matter what?

She didn't remember the path home, but the moment the door fell closed behind her, she looked at the forest spirit and all the breath rushed back into her lungs. He was waiting with a plate of cookies he had baked that afternoon and his gaze was so gentle and understanding it made the wounded part of her tremble.

He opened his arms, a silent invitation and for a moment there was so much awful anguish in her, she didn't know what to do. Had no idea how to react if someone touched her, if it would drain the pain and anger or make it spill over, ugly and messy and raw. Like a wound that had had years and years and years to grow until it had spread and festered.

Then she moved and let him catch her and cradle her close as she broke down, crying as bitterly and hard as she had never cried before. He held her tightly as she shook apart, her head tucked under his chin and she cried and cried until she felt empty inside. Empty and wrong.

"They gave a piece of me to Egam," she whispered, voice thick and scratchy and he stilled. She tightened her grip on the shirt she had gotten him during one of her trips to the market, where food had started to grow scarce. "In exchange for a good, comfortable life."

He cupped the back of her head and kept holding her, offering no empty platitudes and no 'I'm sorry's, for which she was grateful. She didn't want sorrys. She was...she was too damn fucking furious for that, she realized, now that the pain had momentarily drained away.

"I want it back," she said, biting the words out like they were bones snapping between her teeth. "I want it back and I want this monster gone."

He hugged her tighter and she felt his smile press against her temple, sharp and dangerous and fanged and not the least bit afraid of her rage. Not the least bit judgmental the way others had reacted to her anger over the years.

"Let's shred him," he whispered against her hair, soft lips brushing forehead. "Let's get back what he stole from us."

*.*.*

It hadn't taken too long to prepare. The forest spirit had recovered fully and there wasn't anything in town that could help them against a mage, but in the end, they didn't need much anyway.

They didn't need fancy things or mage slayers. Not when the mage in question would give them the weapons they needed, born out of his own greed and hubris.

Born out of a deal he had made with her parents and Gran really was right, deals only ever brought ruin. Because she and the part Egam had taken from her were about to become his.

The forest spirit gave her hand a squeeze and they exchanged one more look as they got ready behind her house, his eyes fierce and so trusting it briefly stole her breath away.

"When this is over, travel with me," he said, out of nowhere. "I want to show you my home. The brooks and meadows and mountains and lake."

She smiled back, a warmth that had nothing to do with the burning rage spreading through her, smoothing down her edges and settling around her heart like a protective blanket.

"Gladly," she answered quietly, then her smile turned a bit crooked. "What, you aren't going to ask for anything in exchange, leaf boy?"

He laughed softly and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. "You're too precious for deals," he said quietly and she could taste his magic, sweet and cool and it almost brought tears to her eyes, though she couldn't quite say why.

"Let's go," she said instead and he reached up to gather his hair, pulling it aside to allow her to put the pilfered chain from the wagon around his neck. They had scratched out all the symbols on the inside of the iron, destroying the enchantment that would block his magic.

With a bit of glue it would stay shut for now and he caught her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles until they stopped shaking. They both took a deep breath and stepped onto the street, a glamor settling over his skin, making him look gaunt and injured once more. He limped, casting her one last wink before people noticed them.

The townsfolk paid attention to her for the first time in nearly a month as she went to the mage's house. Word must have traveled ahead, for Master Egam was already awaiting them and the mayor's house was saturated with iron-rot. She could see a few hints here and there of the chaos that must've reigned before he had gotten things cleaned up to welcome them, sitting on a padded chair like it was a throne.

"Bring him to me, girl," he said, beckoning and his smile benevolent and his eyes glittering like cold glass shards. His hunger was deep enough to cut and she bit back a shiver at the disgust that crept beneath her skin the closer she came to him.

"My prized possession," Egam murmured, already ignoring her and his magic grew thicker in the air, almost making her gag. The forest spirit pretended to fight, snarling as he was dragged forward, looking like he was too weak to resist. "And you put him back in his proper attire too, good girl."

He absentmindedly patted her on the head and she made herself smile at him, empty and dazzled, like the other townsfolk, swallowing down bile. The spirit had told her that Egam had stolen a piece of his magic too, forcefully instead of willingly, but it was in his hands all the same.

It was time to get back what belonged to them.

She handed over the chain, his gaze on the forest spirit like he wanted to devour him whole. Like the monsters and villains in her stories growing up, greedy and cruel and insatiable.

Egam moved past her, already discarding her as unimportant. As under his control. As just another 'country bumpkin'. He was the powerful mage after all and, as he had said, he already had one of the most powerful beings under his control.

A powerless girl might as well be dirt under his boots.

That was the exact reason he didn't see her nick her hand on a small knife hidden in her pocket. Why he didn't see her smile at the forest spirit over his shoulder before reaching out.

He didn't look at her and therefore couldn't react in time when she stepped to his side and reached up, pressing her bloody hand over his heart at the same time that the forest spirit lunged forward.

The mage did react, aiming his magic at the bigger, perceived threat, like they had suspected. And just like they had hoped, his magic slid off of the forest spirit harmlessly, for when the young woman had saved his life and he had offered her compensation of the same magnitude, she had asked for him to be safe.

The forest spirit was unhindered, pressing bloody palms to the mage's chest, right over his heart, sharp, sharp teeth bared and he snarled, "I undo the deal."

"I undo the deal," she spoke simultaneously with him, the words the forest spirit had taught her, steady and patient as each one was nothing but pain in her throat. Because she wasn't supposed to say those words, but then again, parents weren't supposed to give away what didn't belong to them either, so she had a right to this.

A right to undo what had been done to her, as long as she could get through the pain that tried to keep her from speaking. Pain that was worse than any wrongness had ever been, any loneliness and pain and grief and self-loathing for not being like all the other people.

For never getting to keep doing the things she loved, forever searching for something she hadn't known she'd have to buy back with blood and pain.

It was the worst pain she had ever endured, but it wasn't stronger than the rage in her veins, the taste of iron-rot on her tongue and the sun-warm hand that took her free, unharmed one, grounding and strong. The look of startled anger on the mage's face swiftly morphing into fear was everything in this moment.

"I undo the deal made made without my voice, without my consent, without my agreement. I undo it as it was made, in pain and blood and betrayal," they spoke in perfect unison, their only chance to both get back what had been taken from them.

Their only chance to catch him so by surprise that he did feel betrayed, that he was as helpless as they had been, asleep and a babe respectively.

The moment the last word left her mouth, a sudden relief gripped her throat, releasing the burning agony that had torn through it and at the same time, she felt something warm and big spread through her chest.

The wrongness disappeared in an instant, the feeling of missing turning into wholeness so filling and great she almost stumbled back, her skin tingling and euphoria singing through her so brightly she had to sob. Because that wasn't just a missing piece, a sliver of soul that he had taken and that was now returned to her.

Magic, he had taken magic from her. It glittered like stars in the dark in her veins, spilled through her mind like bright sunlight on shimmering waves and wrapped around her with a desperation like it had longed to return to her as relentlessly as she had wanted it to return to her.

Egam was screaming as he stumbled back and they let him, watched him trip and spill to the ground as he writhed, clawing at his chest where blood smeared, hot and red and the forest spirit gripped her hand tighter.

His magic was heavy in the air, making her taste rivers and entire fields full of flowers and even from the corner of her eye she could see how much more vibrant he was now, the glamor dropped. Captivating and downright otherworldly, beautiful and mesmerizing.

"What have you done!" Egam shrieked but his words no longer tasted of iron-rot in the air and she blinked, realizing the power of his voice had been stolen from someone else. As she watched him seemingly shrink down, magic leaving him, her breath caught.

Oh. Her magic had been the first he had stolen. Her magic was what had bolstered all of his and now that it was gone, everything he was unraveled until it left behind a pitiful little man, with eyes so mean and cruel he should belong in a story, not in real life.

"I promised you I would be your end," the forest spirit said and his voice was filled with magic. The sort of magic that had previously been used by Egam to charm everyone. "I think your hunger and greed are better suited in a different shape and form. In something that grows, don't you?"

And Egam tried to scramble to his feet and run, but the magic of the forest spirit was so thick in the air it her own magic sing in return, bright and sparking and the fury was still a living, roiling wave of heat within her. She reached out without much thought, letting her magic wrap around the forest spirit's, who threw his head back and laughed.

He laughed as Egam screamed in a pitch no human throat should be capable of. He laughed as the screams cut off and branches broke out of his back, his skin turning to bark and the mage grew and grew and stretched and the young woman found herself pulled out the house as floorboards and walls, doors and furniture and remains of windows were devoured.

She watched as a tree grew and grew and grew until the trunk was as wide as the house had been and it reached high into the sky, the canopy so thick and wide it sheltered the entire town under its boughs.

And her magic was singing and singing and singing and she felt so hale and whole she felt like she was floating. The forest spirit turned towards her, grinning and took her injured hand, pressing a kiss to the cut, smearing blood over his lips as he healed it.

"We're free now," he whispered, eyes so very green and then she was laughing and crying and pulling him forward and he followed her, pressing kisses that tasted like fading copper and brightly like flowers and cold water to her lips.

They were free. Free and whole at last and she felt like she was truly breathing for the first time since she could remember. Deep breaths that seemed to fill her entire body, her magic twining with his as it surrounded them, forest and sky and her tears were wiped away with gentle, gentle hands.

"We are," she whispered, sinking her hands into his hair until she had threaded starlight through it. "Let me introduce you to Gran and Granny Tanya and then I want to see your home."

He laughed and picked her up and twirled her in a circle and she found herself laughing as well, flowers blooming to form a crown on her head.

Where previously a quiet sort of misery had loomed in her future, saturating all coming days, she now couldn't wait to see what the rest of her life looked like.

Bright, she thought as she held his face in her hands, their foreheads gently pressing together. Her future was bight and free and full of love and she was still laughing and crying, happy beyond words. And her magic, finally, finally returned to her, sang and shone and at long last, she felt nothing but right inside.

*.*.*

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