Small Stories For Lost In Translation

A Fantastical Existence Wasted on the Minds of Commoners

the night radiated a peaceful silence, only to be broken by a melodic voice letting out carefully hushed lines of an unintelligible song.

a blond male strolled his was through a field of tall grass and wildflowers. his fingertips stroked through the grass as he continued his small adventure.

he was enjoying his momentary freedom because he was fully aware that by morning he would be dead. "by what?" you may ask. by hanging of course.

witches and witchcraft were commonly frowned upon because of the belief that it would stir anger in the already existing gods, but no one realized that it was the gods that were controlling the fates of the witches. witches are the only living beings they trusted enough to pray and sacrifice to them, and it only angered the gods more when their cherished children were set to be brutally murdered at the hands of a town full of hatred and no understanding of the true beauty of life.

the hypnotizing charm of the witch wandering in the night was irresistible. the moonlight enhanced the power in his aura, but that would never be enough by morning. by the time sunrise came, his magic would be nothing but a myth. his otherworldly presence left to dissipate into the memories of biased minds and beliefs.

the glamour of his life but a tragic story to be told in a fantastical manor later, past the time of his ghost.