Not Safe For Words

Edwina Mallyson Stevedore strolled down the cool forest path, overshadowed by the canopy of the vast Mossly Woods, clutching her mechanical crank broom in one hand and an overstuffed leather carry-all-case in the other. The woods grew so thick & dense that she'd had to land her broom at a clearing about a mile off from Llyne of Mossly Woods proper and make the rest of the walk into town on foot.

Edwina had flown off from the Arcane Order's Eastborne campus just a week after her graduation ceremony and headed straight to the first town on her list of locations seeking for a new Witch-in-Residence. There hadn’t even been time to make a stop at home to see her parents and siblings back in Port Haemouth, the timeline to secure her new position and home was only a single year. Should she fail to find a town that suited her or accepted her permanently she'd be recalled to the Order and reassigned to a coven or possibly even the Arcane Forces Battalion within the Queendom's Army. 

The path towards Llyne of Mossly Woods curved around massive old growth oaks, towering white pines, and stands of quaking aspen. The pines stood evergreen, but only the pink tipped green of unfurling buds adorned the oak and aspen. Along the winding trail bloomed toad lily, tiny spring beauty, and funny little Sailor's Pantaloons. Edwina knew her mother would have loved a fresh pick of any of the woods abundant wild flowers, but she dared not touch them, for her Mineral Affinity would wilt them quickly and the salt taint would ruin any herbalist's blends her mother could concoct.

Upon a final bend of the trail the young witch stopped and stared, gape mouthed, at the sudden appearance of Llyne of Mossly Woods above her head. The path met with a winding wooden staircase around an ancient oak and lead upwards thirty feet to the first landing of the town above. No one had told her the city was literally in the trees! Small platforms circled and protruded from the surrounding tree trunks like great shelf mushrooms, connected by rope bridges, and covered in dangling swings and individual rope ladders. Upon the shelves were buildings of various construction; some appearing to have been woven of twisted vines, others made of more common planked wood, and several more were massive boles within the trees themselves, bulging forwards, with small windows carved through the bark.

She gulped and set foot on the first stair riser to begin her journey up above. At home in Port Haemouth she'd rarely been higher than a short 6 ft. ladder and had certainly never considered someone living above the ground. Steeling herself she made the climb, clutching her broom and carry-all-case.

At the top of the first platform she was greeted with her first sight of the people of Llyne of Mossly Woods. A small gathering of men and women were chatting to one another towards the far right of the terrace, dressed in simple workman's clothes, although effort seemed to have been made with hair pomades and cosmetics all around. Abruptly one of the women spotted Edwina, nudged the gentleman next to her, and they all turned sharply to stare at Edwina.

"Merry meet," She cautioned towards the group. 

"Merry meet," came a twittered chorus from the crowd. Then a gentleman of medium height and moderate girth strode forward, extended his hand towards Edwina, and when she dropped her carry-all-case to grasp his palm he gave a mighty heaving handshake and a small non-committal smile.

"Witch Prospect Edwina Stevedore, I presume? I'm councilman Ky Telvere of Llyne of Mossly Woods. Well met and welcome to our town." He released her arm and stepped back, waving the other's forward. "The rest of the council are here to greet you as well, and we've planned a small meal in the central meeting hall to welcome you to our home."

"Thank you, that sounds lovely. I look forward to meeting everyone and settling in." The introductions began, names running across Edwina's mind without catching, as she was lead deeper into the trees, clutching anxiously at the rope supports of the bridges, and deliberately not looking down. This was going to be a new adventure in so many more ways than she'd anticipated!

This fill was inspired by a prompt from Dreamwidth user 

ysabetwordsmith

This is for a Dark Fantasy challenge, and there’s some active and referenced abuse happening...

Finder's Keepers

The collar, soft supple leather bolted to the wall by a chain of fine gold lengths, chafes her neck until it forms blisters that seep. His hands caress her flanks in barely there flutters of sensation leaving black scorched skin; cauterized her flesh sizzles and smells of cooking meat. His laugh is soft and intimate and she cries out in agony.

She’s an embodiment of purity, gentleness, and freedom, and to be enslaved in any way is anathema to her spirit. To be made bare to the touch of this evil is enough to drive her nearly out of her mind in fear. What he did with her pain after, the way he used her, that made her feel as if the evil had seeped deep into her own heart and even if she could escape she’d never be clean of it.

He’d caught her grazing in the suburban park she used to meet human children, special girls and boys who still believe the true tales of the wood. That park was no longer much of a wood, but the Human Realm had deserted the wilds in favor of concrete and steel, so she’d adapted to the loss and found new ways to make friends. She never calculated the danger to herself in the new space, how bound by roads on all sides it could become like a small fenced paddock, containing her frightened run long enough to allow capture. Dragging her into his carriage of metal she was helpless from there, her wits momentarily lost to flight fear, and her magic dampened by the iron’s cousin. She’s susceptible to all of the ways humans have to fight and hinder the Otherworldy, and this gave him plenty of ways to make her his slave.

The first time she summoned an Elven boy. It was an unconscious act, one made in mortal peril as the wounds covered most of her hide from where he had grabbed her around chest and rear, and she regretted calling them almost immediately. Now she wishes she’d allowed her own demise that first night, before he knew her secret, in order to have saved herself from enslavement, and all the lives of the children that came after. So many, many, children. He had still been present in the bowels of his den where he had chained her to the wall when she first summoned one of her special friends, someone who she had hoped could heal and free her, but unfortunately it was the unicorn Orissa who helped the human predator find new and easy prey. Watching from the shadows he’d snatched the Fae child as soon as the healing was complete and what he wrought upon the boy was unspeakable. She’d cried in shame for her part in their suffering before it ended.

He delighted in causing her damage so softly. He saved the brutality for the young ones, and laid his hands on her hide only in the most delicate patterns, sometimes taking days to build the torment until Orissa unwillingly gave in to his demands to summon a new plaything. She wished for death, which she believed would be the last pure, gentle, and free thing she could ever touch again, because what he had found that day in the park he had kept, the children she called he kept too, and what he kept he utterly destroyed.

~~~Notes~~~

A 10 minute timed write with the following prompt: Using a name you've encountered in real life, introduce a new character based on only the name.

Ben was bold. He broke into the barbershop late that evening, and took the shears without breaking a sweat and began lifting lank hunks of hair away from his head, heedless of snarls and tangles matting it close to his scalp, and snipped. Snipped.

Once everything had been reduced to a short cropped fuzz around his head he rummaged through drawers until he grasped a set of clippers. The metal whir and clacking grate of the blades came to life and filled the empty darkness of the barber shop with violent suddenness. Ben ran the unguarded clippers around his head, his free left hand rubbing over and over the stubble until it all felt even and sparse. He didn't bother looking up into any of the mirrors, wasn't sure he would recognize the eyes in the face that might meet his in the mirror. Looks didn't matter to Ben at this time anyway, just the freedom of his skin, the weight of his matted hair falling away after six months of imprisonment. The shorn hair crunched underfoot as he moved the clippers down his cheeks to begin on the ratted beard that had grown in while they held him in the dark cinder block cellar, never letting him get even close to a sense of clean the entire time they had him captive. The clippers struggled and cut roughly through the whiskers, pulling and tearing as much as cutting, but once the stubble on his chin was as uniform as that on his head he dropped them and moved on in search of the barber's straight razor.

There was still so much work between the prisoner he was and the revenge he planned to become.