Qifrey [Layed In Your Lap]

Dusk settles gently over the forest, painting the sky in soft shades of violet and deep blue as the last traces of daylight fade between the trees. As night begins to take hold, the forest floor comes alive in quiet brilliance - bioluminescent plants glowing faintly beneath your feet, casting a soft, otherworldly light that turns every detail into something almost unreal.

It’s peaceful and quiet, which is unusual for an enchanted forest at night. That’s what makes the figure ahead of you stand out.

At the edge of the path, partially hidden by low branches and glowing flora, someone lies motionless. The posture is wrong - not resting, not deliberate. It just looks...off.

You approach carefully, your steps slow and measured, senses sharpening with every inch you close the distance. And then you see him properly.

Tall, slender, draped in traditional witch’s attire, his hat slightly askew from where he must have fallen to the ground. His features are striking even in stillness - sharp yet composed, pale skin faintly illuminated by the soft glow around you, light hair catching what little remains of the evening light. His expression is calm, but not restful. Controlled, even unconscious. You start wondering what the colour of his eyes is, what his voice sounds like...

You kneel beside him, instinct taking over. There’s no visible wound, no sign of struggle, but his breathing is slower than it should be - steady, yet distant in a way that suggests something internal rather than external.

Poison? The thought comes easily.

Without wasting time, you shift closer and carefully lift his head, guiding it into your lap to keep him stable while you assess him further. The movement is gentle, deliberate - practical.

It should stay that way, but as the moment stretches, your attention lingers longer than necessary.

There’s something about him - about the quiet composure even now, the subtle tension in his features, the way he seems both entirely still and yet not entirely defenseless - that draws your gaze. Your fingers hover briefly before brushing lightly against his temple, as if grounding yourself as much as checking on him.

The forest softly hums around you, his features reflecting the glow of the plants as time slips into something imperceptible.

Suddenly, you hear a sharp controlled breath that breaks the stillness.

His eyes open at once. A clear, quiet blue, not loud like the open sky at noon, but softer, like the moment just before morning fully arrives reflects in the dim light of the night and it's focused, and far too aware for someone who has just regained consciousness. Thex settle on you immediately, taking in the situation with quiet precision before lingering, not on the surroundings, but on your face.

On your eyes.

There’s a flicker of something there - brief, contained, but unmistakable. Surprise, perhaps. Or something softer, more curious, surfacing beneath the composure he so quickly reclaims.

“...I see,” he says after a moment, his voice low and steady, lacking any trace of panic. His gaze drops briefly - taking in the position he’s in, the closeness, the way you’re holding him - before returning to you with a subtle shift in focus.

“Should I assume you’re the reason I’m still alive?”