Chapter Text
Have you ever heard the story of The Witch and The Fae?
This tale begins where most ends, on a death bed. A witch lays there, pale and weak, slightly delirious from drowsiness. Her blue eyes were half-lidded, her palms sweaty, and her once pristine brown curls were tangled and frizzy.
She did not have much time left. She knew it, and her family, huddled around her hospital bed for a final goodbye, knew it too. The woman's son, so young in age, merely four, sobbed into her chest, allowing himself to be held in his mother’s arms one last time. Her husband, a wizard whose hands used to grip his wand like a blade, clutched her own clammy ones with such tenderness. His tongue, which used to chant dark spells, instead whispered soft nothings into her ear while he pushed damp hair from her forehead.
Her final moments were spent with her family.
Her last breath was shared with them.
At least, her last breath was supposed to be shared with them.
Instead, it was shared with another, in the dead of night, when her family finally left her bedside. At the hour where mystery flirts with moonlight and dreams come out to dance, a man leaped through her window. Enchanting, ethereal, and up to no good.
What’s to be expected?
He was a Fae after all.
Apparently, he had been watching her for quite some time. And the longer he watched, the more enthralled he became. Her life was exquisitely tragic, full of misfortune, from the beginning to her near end.
And to a Fae? That wasn’t just addicting, it was intoxicating.
And so, in her final moments, the Fae stole her away, never to be seen again.
Some believe that she died before she got to the Fae world, others believe that she left willingly, that the Fae offered her a deal, so sweet, she couldn’t resist it. And some believe that the Fae wasn’t there at all, that he was actually Death itself, simply in another form. There are many different interpretations.
But why does it matter?
It is nothing but a story.