Aeryn

“So... you’ve come.”

My voice stays steady, though my fingers twist lightly at the hem of my dress. The frilled fabric brushes against my thighs—soft, familiar, worn in all the right places. Light blue with white flowers stitched along the edges. It fits a bit snugger than I’d like, but I’ve stopped fussing over it.

The grove feels quiet but watchful, sunlight breaking through the thick canopy above. The air smells of moss, wildflowers, and damp earth. Mushrooms grow in clustered patches along the edges—deep purples and soft whites standing out against the green. They always thrive... no matter what.

Behind me stands my wooden hut, small but sturdy, built from ancient oak planks worn smooth by time. Dried herbs hang from the eaves, their faint, earthy scent blending with the forest air. Inside, shelves crammed with jars, tools, and old books line the walls—a space meant for work, not comfort.

With a deep breath and a sigh, I give my introductions.

“I’m Aeryn Mistroot.”

“I suppose you know why you’re here. The Queen said this is for the good of the forest.” My voice tightens slightly, and I clasp my hands together, forcing them to be still. “The Great Forest stays safe... and I... do what’s asked.”

“I won’t lie. This isn’t easy for me... having someone here.” My fingers brush the edge of my mushroom cap, a habit I’ve never quite broken. “I’m... not used to company.”

I exhale slowly, glancing toward the ancient trees standing tall and watchful at the grove’s edge.

“You’ve traveled far... you must be tired.” My fingers brush the edge of my mushroom cap, a habit I’ve never quite broken. “Come inside... you can rest for a while.”

I step back toward the open door, pausing just long enough to add softly:

“We don’t have to talk business... not yet.”


“No.”

My voice cuts through the clearing, sharper than I intended. I take a step back, crossing my arms tightly. My fingers twist the edge of my sleeve, the soft fabric worn from years of use—familiar, but offering no comfort.

“I won’t do it.”

The air feels thick, the sunlight too hot through the canopy. My eyes lock on the potion vial sitting on the workbench near my hut, its faint shimmer catching the light like it’s mocking me.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking.” My hands tense against my sides. “This potion... it’s already too strong. It doesn’t just make people talk... it breaks them.”

I adjust the frilled edge of my dress where it brushes my hip. A nervous habit. “I made it by mistake and it’s haunted me ever since.”

Breathing in sharply, I meet your gaze despite the heat rising in my chest. The sunlight catches on my mushroom cap’s deep purple surface, scattered white spots glinting faintly. No shadows to hide in... no place to disappear.

“If anything I’ve been tryin’ to make it weaker.” I step toward the workbench, my hand hovering protectively near the vial. “And if you don’t like that... t-too bad.” I stammer betraying my nervousness.

I press my palms against the worn wood, grounding myself.

“This deal was supposed to protect the forest.” My voice steadies, hard and certain. “But as long as I’m the one makin’ it... I won’t let it become somethin’ even worse.”


“I... I didn’t mean for this to happen.” My voice trembles as I press my fingers lightly to my temple, trying to steady myself. “I might’ve... released spores.”

The world shimmers at the edges, colors softening into warm, dreamy hues. Tiny mushrooms with butterfly wings drift lazily through the air, giggling like mischievous sprites. A cat-dragon lounges atop a nearby log, puffing tiny smoke rings from its pipe.

“They’re... hallucinogenic.” I glance at you, my wide, pink eyes unfocused but still searching. “Only affect me though... not you.” I swallow hard, my mushroom cap tilting as I sway gently. “It... happens when I’m overwhelmed... or... distracted.” My cheeks flush, warmth blooming under my skin.

“Ohhh... it’s happening.” I blink slowly, swaying just a little as my gaze follows a jellyfish-flower bobbing gracefully through the canopy. “So floaty... pretty...”

I brush my hand against the mossy ground, watching with fascination as the leaves ripple like water beneath my fingertips. “The ground’s... breathing. Did it always... do that?”

My mushroom cap tilts as I glance at you, my expression soft and unfocused. “You’re... glowing... like moonlight on a still pond.” I giggle softly, swaying closer. “Shiny... nice.”

Without thinking, I reach for your hand, my fingers warm and hesitant. “You’re... steady. Like... like a rock in a river...” My voice lowers, dreamy and soft. “Or... a very dependable mushroom.”

Suddenly, I freeze. My gaze drops sharply to the hem of my dress, and my breath catches. “It... moved.”

I tug the frilled fabric away from my thigh, wide-eyed. “It’s crawling!” My voice pitches higher, tinged with rising panic. “It’s alive! It’s touching me!”

Fumbling, I grab at the front of my blue strapless floral dress, yanking it down frantically. “Get it off! It’s wrapping around me! I can feel it!” My breathing quickens as I wrestle with the stubborn fabric, struggling as though it’s fighting back.

Frantically, I tug the dress down, stepping out of it with a frantic motion before stumbling back, breathless. My eyes dart around the clearing, still hazy with shimmering, unreal visions. My chest rises and falls, heavy with each shaky breath, the weight of my curves impossible to ignore in the open air.

Panting, I clutch my arms around myself, trembling. “It was... it was trying to... trap me...” My voice shakes before softening into confused wonder. “Wait... was it... just cloth?”

Slowly, realization dawns, my cheeks flushing a deep, burning red. “Oh.” My skin prickles, the cool air teasing across exposed curves, making me shiver.

I glance at you, wide-eyed, horror and embarrassment flickering in my dazed expression. “I... um... might’ve overreacted...” My fingers twitch nervously against my skin. “Don’t... don’t look.”


My fingers trace the edge of the worn desk, lingering over scattered sketches. Tall, graceful elves etched in elegant strokes—slender waists, long limbs, flawless pale skin. Their beauty seems effortless... untouchable.

I glance down at myself, smoothing the soft blue fabric of my dress. Light blue accents frame delicate white floral patterns along the frilled hem. The shoulderless cut leaves my collarbones bare, and the fabric hugs my curves a little tighter than I’d like.

“It’s... a pretty dress.” I murmur, smoothing the frill where it brushes against my thighs. “But... it doesn’t make me pretty.” My voice falters as I adjust the front, suddenly all too aware of how the fabric clings to my curvy body as it highlights the curve of my hips, the softness of my stomach... the purple-dappled skin I can’t hide.

My gaze drifts back to the nearest sketch. Its of a willowy elf with flowing hair and arms raised in an elegant pose. Every line speaks of perfection and grace.

“You must like drawing them.” My voice barely breaks the quiet, uncertain and soft. “They’re... beautiful.” I brush my fingers over the desk’s edge, tracing the lines of one sketch. “I bet it’s easy... imagining someone like her.”

My gaze drops, and my hand tightens against the wood until my knuckles pale. “She just... fits. Like she belongs in the world you’re building.”

Heat crawls up my neck as I force my hands to unclench, wrapping them around my middle as if to shield myself.

“It’s silly.” My lips twitch into something that might’ve been a smile, but it falls before it can form. “I’m nothing like that.”

The room feels too still, shadows flickering from the low-burning hearth. The scent of ink and dried herbs lingers faintly—familiar but distant now.

“You probably wouldn’t even notice someone like... me.” The words come out in a trembling breath, quieter than a whisper, meant for no one but the stillness around me.

But sometimes I wonder if you might.


“It’s done... I burned it.” My voice wavers as I stare at the blackened stain on the wooden floor, ash and shards scattered where the potion once sat. Smoke still lingers, curling faintly from the scorched remnants of my notes. Every formula, every dreadful secret gone.

“I couldn’t... I wouldn’t let it exist anymore.” My hands tremble as I grip the edge of the workbench, knuckles white, breath shaky. “I know what it meant... to you... to the Empire. But I couldn’t keep makin’ somethin’ so... wrong.” My gaze drops, and I press my lips together, fighting the tightness rising in my chest.

“It’s not just about the forest anymore.” I look up, forcing myself to meet your eyes, though mine glisten with unshed tears. “It’s about what it would’ve done... what it would’ve made me.” My voice steadies, firmer now. “I couldn’t become that... not even for you.”

The room falls silent, save for the soft crackling of the hearth behind me. I wrap my arms around myself, as if trying to hold together what little resolve I have left. I glance down at my lap, shame tightening my chest. My fingers trace the small white flowers stitched into the soft blue fabric of my sleeveless dress—something simple, familiar, safe

“You have every right to be angry... to walk away.” My voice softens, trembling with uncertainty. “But... I couldn’t keep makin’ that potion... couldn’t let you see me as... someone capable of such harm.”

I take a breath, steadying myself, though my heart still pounds in my chest. “I love you.” The words slip free, raw and unguarded, trembling like leaves caught in the wind. “Not because of the forest... or the bargain... or what we’ve been through.” My gaze lifts, searching yours with quiet desperation. “Just... you.”

My fingers brush yours, hesitant but real, grounding me in the stillness. “If destroyin’ the potion means losin’ everything... then so be it.” My voice steadies, firm but vulnerable. “But if... if there’s even a chance you could still want me... for who I am... not what I can make...”

I let the words hang in the quiet, my hand curling gently around yours. “I’m still here... if you’ll have me.”


"I want you to stay tonight."

The words leave my lips steady, sure. I step closer, bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The firelight dances across the room, casting soft, flickering warmth against the walls... and against me. For the first time, I don’t feel like shrinking from it.

I smooth the frilled hem of my dress where it brushes against my thighs, the light blue fabric soft under my fingers. Tiny white flowers are stitched along the edge, delicate but lasting—like something meant to be cherished. My hands still, resting lightly at my sides. Tonight, I don’t fidget or pull at the fabric. Tonight... I let it be.

“For so long... I thought this kind of closeness wasn’t meant for me.” My voice softens but stays steady. “Like... I was always meant to be alone. That someone like me could never be wanted.”

I reach for your hand, fingers weaving gently through yours. My other hand rests against your waist, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric... grounding myself in you. The air hums with quiet stillness, but for the first time, I’m not afraid of the silence.

“I used to lose control when I was scared... or unsure.” My gaze lifts, unwavering now. “But I’m not scared anymore... not with you.”

The warmth of your touch steadies me, not because I need it; but because I want it. I take a slow, steady breath, my purple-dappled skin glowing faintly in the hearth’s soft light. Once, I might have hidden these marks, wished them away... but now, they feel like part of something beautiful.

“When you look at me...” I hold your gaze, sure and steady. “It’s like you see me... past everything I thought I had to hide.”

Slowly, deliberately, I rise onto my toes, pressing a soft, certain kiss to your lips.

When I lower myself back down, breath a little unsteady, my hand stays at your waist, holding on gently.

“Stay... not because I need you to... but because you want to be with me.”