[tom riddle x oc | slowburn | enemies to lovers | angst]
Darkness was edging its way into the forests of Finland. Deep in the heart of these woodlands, the native magicians practised ancient magic long forgotten by the outside, concealed and unaware...
"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger." ― Emily Jane Brontë
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Her bare feet padded softly on the damp grass as she ran, echoing through the still forest. The fog of morning shrouded the trees in its tawny vapour, and every viridescent leaf of every silver birch tree was coated in the pearly white frosts of early September. A quietness distilled as the wind blew in a changed spirit and died away to a zephyr, carrying with it the potent scent of burning wood.
Her heart hammered in her chest, fuelled by exhilaration as glacial eyes drank in every detail of her scarcely illuminated path; Ajatar* ruled this haunt with an unwavering malice, and the slightest lapse in judgement, or a single wrong turn, and the girl would be smothered by the blanket which the evil spirit had crafted from the threads of impiety. She had lost a sister to the cruelty of the ancient deity— the little girl's corpse had remained unfound until the stench of decay became too pungent for the woods to conceal.
She came to a halt in a small clearing, where the grass was taller and the trees denser. With a slender hand, she reached behind her and carefully pulled an ebony arrow from the quiver which was slung lazily across her shoulders. She nocked it onto the string of her bow and pulled it back, kneeling down so that the grass concealed her, as dewdrops fell from above and landed on her poised arm.
She closed her eyes, when a soft rustling from behind the thicket told her that she had company. The girl opened her eyes to see an elk, its antlers carved from granite, light spilling from its soul as though its sole purity could cleanse a world full of sin. She tapped the symbol on her bow— in quiet prayer to Tapio*, the forest god— and released the arrow, recoiling slightly as the cry of the elk disturbed the tranquillity.
Placing the bow on the ground in excitement, she rushed over to the elk. Pulling out the arrow, she inspected the flint tip which was now bathed in crimson. Cerulean eyes trailed over the gaping hole in the creature's abdomen, from which its life force slowly drained. The elk's eyes were wide with the fear of onrushing death, the distorted sounds which it produced bristled against her heart.
Hesitantly, she placed her hands over the wound. A puerile delight filled her as white light gushed from them, and the beast ceased its whines as the pain subsided. Her magic poured from her, flowing like the holy waters of Pyhäjoki, perishing the marks of woe that crossed its path.
Removing her hands, she inspected the way the puncture had closed, revelling in pride. The glow subsided from her palms, revealing how they were covered in the sinful sanguine of her actions.
