#kind of 5+1 if you squint your eyes and tilt your head 45 degrees

[xovera-toz]

Six scenes from the everday life of this Lanternbearer Wirt.

"Withdrawal"

[...]

"Give me back my lantern."

Wirt shot the grumpy shadow a jovial smile. "Hm. I don't think I will."

"You have no use of it," the Beast insisted. Its voice had, slowly, over the days, taken on a pleading edge.

"Really?" Wirt glanced left and right: still dark forest in every direction- except skywards, where the stars painted the night a faint yellow. The lantern was his only source of light. "I haven't noticed."

The Beast snarled in frustration. It had to bear with this insufferable, sarcastic, no good sadistic- "Find one... any other. Not mine."

"Words, my dear fellow, were made to be used and used well." Wirt huffed. "In sentences, you see. And I don't think I see any spare lanterns around here. Do you?"

The Beast left without another word. Boiling inside, surely. Wirt didn't bother to hide his laughter from the empty woods.

[...]

He made sure the Beast's diet was proper and varied, just as the lunch lady used to say: Birch, oak, the occasional fir or willow. Never edelwood; those he avoided with care.

The eldritch creature was not happy.

"Give me oil." It begged.

Begged.

Wirt bet its hands were clasped in prayer under the dark shadowy layers. He felt delighted. "No can do. You need your nutrition." He wagged his index finger for good measure.

The Beast wailed.

[...]

"The forest feels... happier." Lorna told him one afternoon. They were making a small boat of sticks and moss, which they intented to place on the river and chase downstream. "Lighter. More welcoming."

Wirt nodded sagely, tried and failed to keep a serious face. "It's the diet, I tell you. As soon as the oil addiction washes out, it's going to get even better."

[...]

"I'll end you," the Beast threatened. Wirt got the distinct impression it was shaking its fist in his direction. "Suffocate you in a puddle, if I have to."

"You already kinda did." Wirt pointed out. "Not that it improved your situation, I suppose. Now, say- what do we think of wildflowers?"

The Beast fled in horror.

[...]

"It's blooming." Beatrice noted. Yes, she'd noticed- how could she not, when the cursed creature loitered around her house in its self-pity? She told her friend so.

She stabbed the needle into Wirt's torn cape again and again. It penetrated the material with ease, yet her smile seemed sharper than her tool could ever be. "The Beast is fucking blooming," she repeated.

For whatever ungodly reason, Wirt looked proud of himself.

[...]

"Make it stop!" Months ago, it would have been a demand. Now, it was a pathetic cry into Wirt's knees.

The boy stood awkwardly where the Beast had latched onto him. Not losing any of his hesitance, he gave the wooden figure a gentle pat on the head.

That just made the Beast's shoulders (Did it have shoulders? Shoulder-adjacent parts?) shake wilder in frustration.

Maybe he'd reward the lantern with some elderberry branches this time. It seemed to lighten up the creature's mood.