𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒔.
Maev Barebone never meant to get entangled with humans and their (seemingly) silly fights, but when her neighbor-turned-friend in Bucharest is arrested for a crime he didn't comm...
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THE WITCH WAS neither here nor there. She was somewhere, somewhere void of light and sound and smell, her only company vague thoughts that barely made sense. She didn't know how long she'd been stuck in this limbo and the harder she tried to remember the less she could recall.
Bits and pieces floated around in her mind, flashes of a life she once had but no longer was able to live, a life that was stolen by a single snap. Snippets of broken conversations and stormy eyes and wind brushing against her cheek— or was it fingers? She couldn't remember.
She didn't remember much anymore.
For instance, she didn't remember her name. She knew she had one, she knew she'd once listened to it fall off the lips of a man like her name was his salvation, like she was an answer to an unspoken prayer. But every time she came close to remembering the letters will fall apart and she was left to struggle to piece together the remains.
Frustration was all too familiar as yet another memory pierced through the haze that had descended upon her, the edges smeared and the colors watery.
There was a man, there was almost always a man if she was being honest, and there was the feel of her body melding with the ground, an unyielding weight on top of her, a weight that comforted and soothed her raging soul, and warmth blooming in her chest and the scent of night mixing with the scent of sweat and the man's name lingering in her mouth as she pressed her lips to his and—
Gone. It was gone without warning and anger boiled in her body, and she knew that anger wasn't a new emotion, but rather one she felt quite often. Whether it was from her previous life or from her confinement in this hell she didn't know.
An eerie silence was broken by the sudden chirping of birds and leaves rustled softly. Dust started to rise around the world, slowly drawing lost souls from a fractured place, bodies being pieced back together. Okoye stood still, watching with strange mixture of hope and fear as her fallen comrades started to reappear.
They had succeeded.
The general was suddenly sprinting, hurtling herself towards that wretched forest that she hadn't stepped foot in for over five years, emotions heightened and limbs shaking. She came to a halt, her hand rising to her mouth, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes at the sight of T'Challa Udaku. He seemed frozen in time, his body a monochrome of ashy brown, before the dust peeled away, leaving behind a very alive, very real T'Challa.
