in which the witch of the wilds has spent her whole life avoiding the prophecised true king of gondor until he shows up on her doorstep with four hobbits, an elf, a dwarf, a warrior and an old wizard with a sparkle in his eyes and asks her to join t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
you have never seen a girl like this, with crow-like wings where her arms should be and blue black feathers with knife edges. you think even her lips would be sharp to the touch.
( you admit that never before have you craved pain, but for this girl you would change )
you don't approach her. there is war where her feet tread, a battleground spreads like disease as she continues to dance on grass once green.
( you think that if she spoke or sang, her voice would be a wolf's howl )
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It starts in a hut. It starts in the woods. It starts in the ice-cold heart of a woman. She is alone, as she has been for decades, maybe even centuries now. Her only companions are the wind whistling between the trees, the cold seeping through the crack beneath the door as the sun creeps below the mountains in the distance, the foam that clings to edges of the rapidly rushing river behind her hut. She is alone. But an acorn falls from the highest point of the tallest tree she uses for her washing line and she keeps it safe in her pocket. But a jumpy rabbit chews the rotten lettuce she left at the edges of her allotment and she smiles when it meets her eyes through the windows. But a flower blooms on the patch of earth she'd claimed dead only weeks before and she welcomes the new life like an old friend. She is alone but the forest holds her tight every evening, wraps her in moss and leaves like a blanket she can never escape from, kisses her with starlight and spraying water. She is alone. But she never is.
