Sheath (Technoblade x Reader)

♥ 22 ♥

♡ ♥ You had grown up as a child to a witch, your home located far in a murky biome that was surrounded by lily pads that floated on water. Miles of wilderness separated you and any type of civilization, leaving you surrounded by the many frogs of the swamp.

The witch wasn't your original parent, but you didn't dare ask who was- for it never bothered you to know the truth. Instead, you were raised by the potion-brewing woman who you learned to love, even if she was harsh in her teachings.

You had always wondered why she didn't just kick you out, or worse, kill you. There had been no reason to keep you with her, seeing as she had only referred to you as a pest.

However, you knew she secretly admired you.

Perhaps she was lonely, tired of living in the secluded swamp that had been her only place to reside when cast out from the village. Or maybe she had grown tired of the fear others showed her for knowing magic that others didn't, and instead watched your eyes sparkle with everything she taught you. There were times where you couldn't sleep, so she told you stories of old that put you to rest.

She taught you her knowledge of potions, always making sure you were safe when experimenting- even testing the effects on frogs that lingered in hidden corners of your home. Her teaching allowed you to learn the ability of reading and writing- letting you fumble into the world of books.

One day, she had left to retrieve more materials for a potion, claiming to be back in just a few days. You still remember her embrace, one of the few that you've ever experienced, yet the one you would miss the most.

There was no sign, no last goodbye, for you had no clue she wouldn't return.

For weeks you waited, making sure to keep the house clean just the way she liked it, watering plants and cooking meals just like she did. You went through her books to keep you company, eventually finding stories tucked away in her private library to keep you occupied.

One particular book had caught your attention.

There had been notes upon notes stashed in the book, about a language you did not recognize. But the witches handwriting had deciphered the language, allowing you to study the paper for days.

It took more than words for you to complete the spells written on the pages, for not even the witch could harness the magic within herself. The magic had to have purpose and feeling in each syllable that slipped out of your mouth.

The healing spells hadn't granted you any hope in casting magic until you had used it on a dying plant. The memory of the witch carefully caring for the plants sent a warmth in your heart, unleashing the floodgates for your magic to pour into. The leaves replenished themselves as the magic within you finally burst, healing the plant the witch once loved.

Years of studying and living in the now crumbling home of what once used to be the witches and your home- you burned the books along with the house. You knew staying would only leave you with an unsatisfied life, with only frogs for friends. It was a memory you had to learn to forget, a bittersweet moment in time that would linger with you forever.

The plant you healed sat upon the ash, blooming in goodbye as you walked away.

You took on travelling from village to village afterwards, trying to work in the trade business. However, people had given you dirty looks when you brought potions to the streets- the practice of 'magic' unwelcomed in many villages.

That was where your pick-pocketing career started. If you could not bribe the money from them, you would simply steal from their pouches.

With much trial and error, your nimble fingers had mastered the talent of stealing, most people not even feeling the weight of a few coins slipping from their pouches. It wasn't bountiful, for you could only manage to follow and steal from so many everyday, but you made due with what you had.