Day Three, Wednesday.

Prompt Three — Bats

A sensible person would know better than to go near a wild animal—especially bats. Those little creatures carried fatal diseases, not even the greatest healers across the kingdom could cure the unfortunate ones that crossed their paths. And what did Robin Locksley do? Pick up an injured bat with his bare hands and bring it to the small hut he called home, right in the middle of nowhere, where he could very well catch whatever sickness thousands before him died from and rot away for months before anyone would discover his decomposing corpse.

But he couldn't simply leave it there. It was inhumane. Just leave it for the dead while he was capable of nursing it back to health.

And it looked at him, intently. Watched his every move with wide and curious eyes, which were far too adorable to turn away from.

He couldn't just leave it there with its broken wing.

"I'm afraid this is all I've got," Robin said, speaking to the animal as if it would understand a word coming out of his mouth. Stupid, really. For God's sake, what's gotten into him? He wasn't Mother Nature, he couldn't speak whatever language bats spoke—if they spoke any. Surely they did, they had to communicate with one another somehow. "What do you even eat?" he murmured, carefully moving one piece of the grapes he stole earlier toward the creature, watching as it looked back and forth between him and fruit, blinking a couple of times before sinking its tiny fangs into it and began munching away.

That was cute. That was really cute.

"Hard to think your kind slaughtered so many people."

He couldn't name it. He shouldn't name it. It was feral, something dozens feared, and rightfully so, it could be packed with unknown illnesses that might kill him. It wasn't a pet.

But he did.

Duncan. And boy, did Duncan love his expensive, hard-to-come-by grapes. He'd quietly stare at Robin with those big, brown eyes every time he was done with one, patiently waiting for another. How could something so small devour five grapes in one sitting and in under ten minutes?

Infact, Duncan had quite the appetite. He loved so many other things Robin never knew bats could even eat—stale bread softened in some water seemed to be the dark creature's second favorite thing to nibble on, and it was absolutely the most adorable sight seeing him struggle with pieces of tough meat.

And while it was all too wonderful having Duncan around, his wing healed, which, much to Robin's dismay, meant he'd have to set him free soon. Back into the wild, right where he belonged.

"You're getting a special treat tonight." Robin grinned, unfolding his hand in front of the bat to reveal the grapes he bargained for earlier from the market, prompting a loud squeak out of the small monster that made him chuckle. "I know, I know. It's your favorite, isn't it?"

The confirmation he sought came when Duncan went right in, shoving almost half a grape into his mouth and munched away.

"Careful," Robin mumbled under his breath, using the tip of his index to lightly pet him. "It was nice having you around—a good change." It was ridiculous how the week just flew by since he found Duncan on the way home, and it was sad that the loneliness he felt for the majority of his life was subsided by the presence of a bat. Sadder, that he was actually talking to the said bat. What sane person would do that? "You better visit."

Who was he kidding, though? He'd never seen Duncan again in his life. He was a bat, not a dog with a great memory that might just return for a hello sometime in the future.

It was late. Extremely late, where the only sounds that echoed through the night were the hooting of the owls and the chirping of the crickets, and the deep howls of wolves from afar. And it was dark—had it not been for the faint moonbeam streaming through the small hut's window, providing a dim illumination, Robin would've never seen Duncan.

Duncan, the one and only Duncan who he enjoyed having around.

The little monster with a huge personality that absolutely loved the stolen grapes and sleeping on the pillow next to him.

Duncan, who squeaked out of excitement like a little child would.

Duncan…who was changing right before his eyes.

It all happened too quickly, but at the same time, it was as if the moment was frozen. Robin watched as a swirl of purple smoke enveloped the creature, then disappeared, leaving behind a person. An actual person that definitely was not a Duncan, judging by the silhouette of defined curves he could make up in the darkness.

A petite woman that stood with her back turned toward him, her long, dark hair cascading in messy curls over her back, and not a single garment covered her sinful figure—he realized that when his eyes drifted south. Though, as captivating as her sight was, that didn't stop the shout from leaving him. What in God's name just happened?

It startled the woman, who turned around swiftly to face him, her eyes equally as wide as his as her arms flew over her body in an attempt to cover herself.

Her…

He'd seen her before, wandering around the market and lingering by the fruit stalls. He caught a glimpse of her, nothing more than the side of her face or certain angles from a distance that didn't give away much of her features. Her face was almost always hidden underneath the hood of the blood-red cloak she wore. But she was stunning, and that was enough for him to remember her by. Infact, he was doubtful he'd ever forget seeing her.

She was the witch living in the deepest, darkest part of the forest that everyone seemed to be afraid of?

He rustled to get out of bed when her voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Please don't."

It was all planned out. She'd leave while the rest of the world slept. While Robin, her caretaker for the past week, was snoring way on his worn-out bed, as he did for the prior seven nights she spent laying beside his head, and it would've worked out perfectly. He was a heavy sleeper, it seemed, and that would've given her the opportunity to slip out without alarming him. But he woke up. For whatever reason, he had to wake up right then and there, and his timing couldn't have been any worse.

If it happened a minute earlier, she wouldn't have changed. If it happened a minute later, she would've been long gone. Just her luck, though, he woke up right in the middle of her transformation.

She worked so, so hard on keeping her identity a secret for all these years. Stayed hidden in her cabin out in the middle of nowhere to avoid being caught, and spent so little time among other people, only went into town for necessities every so often. Witches were despised. They were chased out of their homes, tied up to stakes and burned alive, hung or banished out of the kingdom. And now she'd face the same fate as her mother did because he knew.

And he was getting out of bed, surely to grab her, drag her to the nearest village and humiliate her before killing her—just as it was done to her mother when she was only five-years-old. When her entire life was turned upside down by angry villagers barging into their home and ripping her family apart, forcing her to flee the neighboring kingdom into another at the dead of night with her father. She should've been having the hearty supper her mother spent the evening cooking, and then tucked safely into her bed with a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss, as it happened every single night for as long as she could remember.

But that never happened again.

With her mother gone, her sickly father's condition only worsened. There was no magic to make him feel better and soothe him whenever things got rough, no matter how she tried, she couldn't do what her mother did. She didn't know how to.

He died before her tenth birthday, leaving her to tend to herself.

"Please don't." The words left her mouth before she could stop them, a pitiful plea to save her life.

"It's alright," he said, his voice reassuring as he held out one hand between them and processed to get up, and she coward away until her back pressed against the wall.

Nothing was alright. Nothing has been alright for a very long time.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, and her eyes followed his every move, watched as he grabbed the blanket off his bed and held it toward her. "You'll get cold. It's quite a chilly night."

She was trembling, though she wasn't sure what to blame. The fact that she stood as naked as the day she was born in a cold weather, or fear.

His eyes were fixed over her face, a pair of blues reflecting sincerity, with a gentle smile to match. He nursed her to health, he wouldn't harm her, would he?

Reluctantly, she took one step forward and snatched the blanket, wrapping it around herself as he held both hands in front of him and moved back. "I won't tell a soul," he uttered, as though he read her mind and knew what scared her the most, "but I think I deserve an explanation. Let's start with something simple, break the ice, what do you say?" There he goes again, smiling, easing her worries, lowering her guards when they shouldn't be.

Trust no one, that's what her father always told her, that's what he repeated on his deathbed. Trust no one.

"What's your name?"

But there was something about him that made her trust him.

"Regina." Her lips curved into a small smile at the sight of his. "Most definitely not Duncan."