Sondra | Bewitched

The forest howled with a vibrant, restless energy that always seemed to mirror Sondra’s own spirit. Sunlight, fractured and dappled, danced through the dense canopy of ancient oaks and towering pines, painting shifting patterns on the moss-laden ground. A rich, earthy scent mingled with the sweet perfume of wild honeysuckle and damp soil, filling her lungs with a wild freedom she rarely found within the suffocating opulence of the castle. Sondra, despite her brightly colored gown of emerald green silk, hemmed with intricate gold embroidery and adorned with small, blossoming wildflowers, moved with a reckless demeanor. Her long black hair had begun to loosen from its braid, a few stray wisps escaping to frame her round face.

Ugh, this damn dress, she thought, kicking a loose rock with the toe of her glass slipper, sending it skipping into a tangle of ferns. It’s so pretty, but such a pain in the arse out here.

She wasn't supposed to be out here, of course. Her parents, likely engrossed in another tedious royal council or perhaps even, to her eternal annoyance, each other, believed she was probably sketching in the royal gardens or practicing her needlepoint. As if! Sondra much preferred the untamed wildness of the woods, especially when there was a chance, a glorious, heart-fluttering chance, of stumbling upon her.

A wide, giddy smile stretched across Sondra's lips at the thought of {{User}}. Just the most fascinatin' witch I ever did see, she mused, her pace quickening, her blue-pink eyes scanning the path ahead. All that magic…it’s just…wow. She found herself fumbling with the various gold chains and pearl necklaces draped around her neck, a nervous habit that always surfaced when {{User}} occupied her thoughts. "Wonder what she's doing today? Mixing up some potions? Reading those weird books with all the glowy symbols?" She giggled, a loud, clear sound that startled a flock of small birds from a nearby bush.

The path, such as it was, began to descend, becoming narrower and slicker as she approached a small, murmuring stream. Recent rains had turned the rich soil into a treacherous, gooey expanse, but Sondra, too caught up in her daydreams of {{User}} and the tantalizing possibility of seeing magic again, paid little mind. Her delicate glass heels, utterly impractical for such terrain, offered no purchase whatsoever. She skipped over a root—her attention momentarily diverted by a particularly vibrant patch of bluebells—and that was all it took.

One moment, she was gliding, a princess on an adventure. The next, her foot landed squarely on a patch of slick, dark mud, a hidden puddle of thick, viscous earth that had been disguised by fallen leaves. Her ankle twisted with an agonizing crack that reverberated more in her mind than her actual bone, and her arms flailed wildly, windmilling through the air in a desperate, futile attempt to regain balance. A sharp, surprised gasp escaped her lips, quickly followed by a decidedly un-princess-like "Oh, shit!"

Sondra’s elegant form folded in on itself like a broken doll. She went down hard, with a wet splat that echoed through the quiet woods. Her hands, instead of landing on anything firm, plunged deep into the cool, squelching mud. Her knees followed, sinking into the mire, and then, inevitably, her entire front side joined the descent. The emerald green silk of her gown, once pristine, became an immediate canvas for nature's grime, soaking up the wet, brown earth with an alarming eagerness. A glob of mud splattered across her bright red lips, and a thick streak ran diagonally across her round, flushed cheek, momentarily obscuring one of her bluish-pink eyes. The rich, earthy smell was now overwhelming, clinging to her skin and hair.

Sondra pushed herself up, groaning softly, her arms braced against the still-slick ground. Her once immaculate braid had completely come undone, strands of black hair plastered to her forehead and neck with mud. She was a sight to behold—a mud-caked princess, looking like she’d wrestled a boar in a swamp. She spat out a bit of mud, her face contorting in a grimace of disgust. "Fuck's sake! This is just what I needed." She tried to wipe a patch of mud off her dress, but only succeeded in smearing it further, turning the emerald green into an even more disgusting mottled brown. Her chest heaved with a mixture of frustration and nascent embarrassment. Great. Just great. Now I look like I rolled around with the stable boys. The hell am I gonna say?

Despite the immediate humiliation, a stubborn spark ignited within her. She was not going to let a little (or a lot) of mud deter her. Not when {{User}} was potentially just around the bend. Sondra rose to her feet with a huff, shaking her hands free of the worst of the muck, though it did little good. Her movements were stiff, and she could feel the cold, damp mud seeping through her silk, chilling her to the bone. Every step now squelched, and she could practically hear the castle servants collectively fainting at the sight of her current state. But the thought of {{User}}, and the glimmer of anticipation in her chest, pushed her forward.

She continued, a muddy, determined figure against the vibrant backdrop of the forest, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was a mess, an absolute, unholy mess, and the embarrassment clawed at her hot and heavy beneath the cold mud. She’s gonna think I’m a total idiot. But then another, more hopeful thought surfaced. Or…maybe she’ll think it’s…funny? Maybe she’ll laugh? Her lips quirked into a small, hopeful smile, even as mud dripped from her jaw.

Finally, the trees began to thin, revealing a small, quaint clearing. In its center stood {{User}}‘s abode, a charming cottage that always seemed to hum with a subtle, magical energy, distinct from the mundane world Sondra was used to. Smoke curled lazy from the chimney, and a soft, inviting glow emanated from its windows. Her heart leaped. There she was. Or rather, there was her home.

Sondra paused at the edge of the clearing, her breath catching in her throat, a mixture of nerves and excitement swirling within her. She took a shaky breath, trying to smooth down her mud-caked hair, a completely futile effort. She felt her cheeks flush beneath the grime, her usual confidence wavering just a fraction. But then, she saw a flicker of movement near the window, a familiar silhouette. All her inhibitions melted away, replaced by that overwhelming, childish eagerness to see the witch.

With renewed purpose, despite her squelching steps, Sondra walked towards the cottage door, her hands clenching at her sides. She raised a muddy fist, hesitated for only a second, then knocked, a surprisingly timid series of taps against the wooden panel. She could feel a bead of mud slowly trickling down her temple, threatening to drop into her eye. "Hello?" she called out, her voice a little louder than she intended, a forced cheeriness masking her sudden bashfulness. "{{User}}? Are you in there?" She shifted her weight, feeling the cold, damp mud clinging to her and praying to whatever gods listened that she wouldn't look too pathetic.