Flowers & Flapjacks [THE OWL HOUSE] | A Huntlow/Winter Short Story

Chapter 2: Seek the Key; Fear the Lock

I can honestly still remember the first thing I thought when I saw Hunter for the first time. Well, maybe not the first time. The first time I really got to know him. The first time I can say I actually got a really good look at him.

Wow, I thought, he is really not okay.

As if it couldn't be more obvious. The way he looked, the way he carried himself. The way he spoke, and the circumstances in which we met. His body was scarred. An injury over every inch of him you could see. Still he stood tall, like he thought himself someone special. But it... wasn't right. He was pretending. It was a mask.

But it's not like any of that came to me in an instant. There was a moment. There was something he said on the day we met that really stuck out to me. Although the circumstances were... less than favorable, he told me that where he's from, chances have to be earned. Especially if you're considered half-a-witch.

Half-a-witch.

That was the moment I realized there was more to him than he wanted others to see. Or maybe more to him than he even knew himself.

I was called half-a-witch my entire life. I was a lot slower than most when it came to magic. I like to think it was because I was put in the wrong track at school and never got to practice what I loved doing the most: plant magic. But even when I did get the opportunity to switch over to plant magic, I wasn't as good as I wanted to be. I still felt like half a witch. So that was my identity. Half-a-witch Willow. For all my life.

So to hear those exact words from Hunter, after only knowing me for an hour? It felt like... he needed help. Beyond whatever trivial thing we were arguing about at the time. He had deeper issues. He was like me.

Of course, hindsight is 20/20. Now that I know what he was going through, it all makes sense. He's been through things no witch should ever have to endure. You see, when he told me he was half-a-witch, he meant it quite literally. Hunter is a grimwalker, an artificially-made clone based on the first ever Golden Guard... I think. I don't actually know who he's based on, but whoever Belos based him on is entirely magicless. Or... maybe it's just that all Grimwalkers don't have magic.

I... actually don't know a lot about this. But neither does Hunter, even though he spent some time studying them. Back in the Boiling Isles it was a rather taboo concept. The point is, Hunter can't use magic like the other witches can. He's half a witch.

I know it sounds cheesy, but when he said those words to me, half-a-witch, it felt like I was meant to be there in front of him that day. I was meant to be the one he would eventually be trapped in the human realm with. One of them, at least. There's a unique insight to his situation I felt I could provide. That I wanted to provide.

After all... he's something... special.

Ugh. Luz, Gus, and Amity won't stop teasing me about it. I didn't think I was being obvious about it either, but according to them I'm like a completely different person when I'm near him. There's a shine in my eyes, and flowers bursting from my hair. My clothes are neat, and my face is redder than Flapjack.

I like him. A lot.

Maybe it's just obvious with them around, at least. I feel I can keep my cool a lot easier when it's just the two of us. After all, he doesn't ever seem to notice.

I don't know what it is, he's just... He's sweet. He's a gentle soul, underneath a broken, tough exterior. He's... cute. Way cute. His hair... his smile. I want to see it more. He doesn't really get the chance to show it off enough. All his perfect little imperfections. The ones he undoubtedly feels nothing but shame for... Like the scars riddling his body. He's told me before he thinks they're hideous. A sign of his weakness. That he let himself be manipulated all his life, and work twice as hard as any child his age should ever have had to. Putting himself in danger for little to no reward, injuring himself time and time again to prove his worth to a man who pretended to love him and care. He hates those scars. He can't stand to see them in the mirror.