It's Britanny bitch.
Dream: 19
George: 21
TW: Mentions of harm and blood, but no self-harm.
George lived in his humble house far from the human civilization, flourishing along the Lichgue Isles coast. He lived in the black forest, in a hut made of thatch, wood, and swamp ferns. George was a mushroom fairee, and was born with magical talent, gifted in the ways of alchemy and restoration. He lived alone in the forest which he enjoyed, brewing potions and traveling to the cities along the coast to heal those in need. The black forest or Smitou Thicket was notorious for being the place to kill yourself, and of campfire horror stories of phantoms searching for the next human to feast on. But phantoms were evolved to avoid witches and fairees because of their powerful magic. No humans ever came to the Smitou Thicket and came out alive... or so they'd say.
George sat brewing an aphrodisiac, for a young man who had been having trouble with his relationship. The boy was humble and innocent, but naive. He could hear phantoms wheezing horrendously outside, his mind flicking to the image of an encounter he had with a phantom. Its nearly featureless face melting and its white soulless eyes piercing through his heart. He pushed the cork into the lip of the bottle and swirled the potion turning it from purple to lilac to pastel pink. Hearts bubbled inside, and just the smell could make someone's face flush. He grabbed his moss-covered, mushroom-infested broom and flew to the city.
Knock knock
"Yeah?!"
The boy shouted.
"It's me arsehole, your love potion is done."
George hissed fixing the cowl that covered his entire head. The boy looked unamused. George shoved the bottle into the surprisingly taller boy's hands and turned to grab his broom.
"Wait! Please-I..can I come with you. This port city has nothing to offer. I've longed for a life of adventure, a life of exploration. They say no man has gone past the black forest. I want to be that man! I've taken sword fighting classes, I've hiked Birmingney Peak over and over!"
The blonde pleaded. George stared unfazed.
"The phantoms will rip off your face before you can even make it to my house."
George teased while picking up his broom.
"My father wants me dead. My mother is gone. My lover sailed away with another man before I could give her the potion. I have nothing left anyway."
The boy begged. George looked at the disheveled cobble road, the moonlight glazed the city in its ethereal glow.
"What's your name?"
George asked.
"Dream."
"Get on the damn broom Dream."
George huffed.
"This looks nice. Enough. For me."
Dream declared. George hit Dream with his broom
"Be thankful, you may never see another man ever again."
George spat. He took off the cowl, revealing his brown and grey-blue eyes, brown hair, and pointed ears.
