Mystical
Whispers echoed that there were a lone witch who lived near the seashore, surrounding herself with curses and thorns. It was said she will heal the sicks and destroy the curses—for a price.
The said price, some may find, isn't enough.
Witchcraft/Alternative Present(?) AU, ConKagKal. Semi short-chaptered slow romance story, enabled by a good friend of mine, Demi/YoursAlways. Not beta'd.
Chapter 1: Say a Prayer
Blood roared in his ears and red smoke blurred his unfocused gaze further from the great blue. Only one thing was on his mind.
Survive.
With a powerful slap of his fins, he propelled his speckled body and rippled through the brilliantly blue water. Pebbles and sharp stones grazed against his belly but his skin, though spotted with scratches and flesh sores, was left unblemished by such trivial objects. No, as the white sunlight filtering through the surface spoiled his sorry state, there were much more dangerous things that could've easily punctured his toughened body.
Something splintered from his side and torn a great bark from his large mouth. Yet another arrow dangling from his flesh, its head digging into his skin and refusing to let go, adding to a worrisome count he kept on his battered body. A stray thought that had his ill-natured side faintly amused that he might've resembled a swellfish from his home territory.
His latest injury dyed the river further, tailing him and unashamedly unveiling his location to the dogging Hunter. Gritting his jagged teeth he kept on, refusing to surrender to the imposing Reaper just yet. Fatigue was catching up to him—and fast.
For the first time in his entire adulthood, he prayed to any entity above—to save him.
"Please, please…" he begged, his words warbled throughout the crashing water. Blackness encroached his reddened vision, "I'll beg even the Sea Witch!"
Time slowed, his fatigue drifted him to the surface, as weight tugged his eyes to fall close. Something—no, a creature, howled.
He remembered nothing else.
Softness followed, his dreams kind. There were no lust to skin him for his flesh and bones. It was an eternity there.
But, he never wanted to live in a simple eternity of nothingness and softness. He was meant to be one with the water and slumber underneath the warmth of sunlight—with his family of a lovely mate and children. That was the dream he desired. A happy family.
A family he hadn't yet made or gained.
So, he fought. He protested against the eternity. He begged himself to wake up.
And wake up he did.
He couldn't see anything—not at first. There were clouds in front of his eyes, blurring the colors and shapes together into one indistinguishable blob. But, he could feel the new world he's living in.
His fingers dug in and found what felt like dry fabric, not course but not silky either. It was comfortable enough. Soft—just like the eternity he was in.
Wait.
Fingers?
Panic cleared his gaze and he saw brown panes of woods—a ceiling. He dropped his eyes and walls followed. There were little decorations.
He jumped up, his back flying from the softness beneath him. Slapping his hands everywhere, he couldn't find his precious cloak—nor could his eyes find anything pale and speckled. "No, no no…" He didn't want this!
Being trapped—!
It was hard to breathe now, his heart stabbing its way out. A dismay cry escaped his chapped lips ungracefully, "No!"
He had no coordination in his body, the reason not yet clear to him, and fell from the mattress. Drawing the blanket tightly around his waist, he slapped it aside. Slapping his hands onto the rough grains of the floor and fisting over the wood, not caring about splinters in his palms, he struggled finding his surely bare feet.
He stiffened at the sound of something thudding and strangled a whimper at the soft and too-sweet voice that followed—his capturer, "Oh, dear!" He didn't dare look up when a pair of sleek—albeit aged and a touch muddy, boots thudded in front of his bowed head on the floor he'd earlier scarred, "Please don't panic—you'll only worsen your injuries and,"
His eyes widened when a familiar sensation draped across his back, "I was only cleaning your sealskin, I swear! Now, breathe. Breathe slow, good selkie—and you're naked. Okay." The voice shuttered with embarrassment. His cloak pooled over his body, its size extensive but familiar.
Yanking his precious cloak over his shoulders he shivered—though whether out of fear or relief, he was not sure. At the insistent press of fingertips—not fingers as it appeared the person was wise to keep distance, he remembered her pleads and wheezed in deep. The organ inside his chest slowed, cooling the inflammations from his earlier panic attack. At the lady's gentle encouragements he took his time breathing and clinging on his sealskin, treasuring even the rough bark of his dry skin on the inside.
When his head was finally clear of its battering words and his jaw feeling lighter from tensions, he rose his head. At first he saw knees—a simple navy blue skirt, really, that bloomed across the floor—had she been kneeling this entire time? He moved his eyes upward, the lady was wearing a pale-colored cardigan (that had seen better days), and lost his words from his throat when he met her dark eyes.
She was probably the loveliest one he'd ever seen.
He'd been surrounded by beautiful people from his birthhome, but the simplicity of this woman was something he didn't dare to describe. She smiled and her gaze warmed, though her cheeks were tinged a slight pink and kept her eyes pinned to his face, "I'm really sorry about taking your sealskin away from you, it was filthy and I wanted to clean it the best I could." When he swallowed thickly to wet his throat, she laughed still with an apologetic weight, "I didn't expect you'd wake up so soon after receiving so many wounds though," she gestured to the bandages riddled across his body, the biggest happened to be the one wrapped around his stomach—she still kept her eyes upward, refusing to gaze down to the man's most private body part, "it was never my intention to harm you," she paused and shook her head with a sigh, as if she remembered a detail, "nor to keep you."
Chewing on the insides of his mouth he shifted his attention away at the taste of guilt, "I—I am sorry, I hadn't—"
"Don't be," she interrupted, warmth returning in her voice, and rolled to her feet mindful of her dress—and her eyes still, "now then, you should rest—please." The lady floated her fingers over his shoulder, not touching the sealskin, and pressed her other hand on his chest, "I've healed what I could, but some more grievous wounds needed to have the nature to take its course." Without much forces she insisted him to return to his feet and to his bed—at which he easily abided.
A white fire struck, rubbing his side almost raw when he moved just a tad too much. Upon it he barked and nearly toppled over himself into the mattress, wincing and cupping his stomach, "What is—?" He pinned an elbow into his bed and only then did he register hints of red across the crinkled sheet below, "How badly…?" He blinked at a hand compressing his thick shoulder and later an arm that roped across his chest.
"Are you—" She shook her head and frowned at his unfinished questions, "No, you will be. You were at the Death's door when you've arrived, whoever attacked you left you quite a big hole in," with gentleness she drifted her arm down and palmed over his right side, "here. I've managed the bloodloss, your kind takes transfusion quite well, but you were and are still in a bad shape." The lady gave another press toward the bed, "Don't worry, you will recover before long, but you need to rest. I'll have a nice bowl of porridge for you in just a minute."
He tucked his bottom lip in when she manipulated his weakened body into a proper position on his bed—though he tightly gripped his cloak. Something she barely batted her eyes at and merely adjusted it so to cover his body (his loins specifically) as a blanket, "W-why are you doing this? If…if not to keep me as a…pet?"
At that she blinked, "…You called for me to help you." A slow smile curled her lips and she chuckled into her loose fist at his wide eyed expression, "You should thank my…" she sighed with a slight annoyance, "companion when you see him. He's the reason why we were able to get you here so quickly."
'She's…the Sea Witch?' She hardly looked like one. She was petite, youthful, without a hint of malice in her veins. Not a descriptor he normally heard for a witch. Perhaps he was wrong—he had been quite vague as of which entity he was begging to beyond the Sea Witch. Still, he should be grateful he survived and was spared from being one of the Hunter's many trophies. He nodded, "I'll do that—thank you."
She eyed him for a moment, unnerving him a tad, before she chuckled again and tugged her cardigan closer for comfort, "Don't worry about it, just focus on the healing and then you'll be home-free."
"…?" Did she not want a reward? "What's about the paym—"
"Oh, for the love of the goddess, no." Annoyance darkened her face, "I don't need anything, really. Just, please," her expression gave away to a maternal look, "focus on yourself for the time being and let me take care of you until then." When she saw his dubious face she blew air, "If you're being insistent, we can talk about this silly thing later, once you're better. That alright?"
"That's fair." He agreed, saddling his head on the pillow—he rather liked how firm the pillow is. Just who was this woman, he wondered, as the question repeated in his mind.
"Great!" She patted her thighs, "I'll bring you the bowl. Just give me a minut—"
"I've realized—" he craned his head and spotted her at the door, "I never introduced myself. My name is Kaldur'ahm of the Atlantean Greyfin—or selkies you surface-dwellers called us as. What is yours, missus?"
Gripping the door she paused, before she shook her head with a brilliant smile, "Call me whatever you like." Before Kaldur'ahm could protest, she hurried, "If you'll excuse me, the porridge is going to burn if I let it sit a minute longer." The lady was gone, leaving Kaldur'ahm breathless.
"…Are you truly the vicious Sea Witch?" He pondered aloud.
A/N: Will probably be updated very randomly, since I'm writing (winging) it. Beyond the introductions of our main characters, there isn't really any plot? This story is more focused on development between the trio and their relationship(s), a bit similar to YoursAlways' Little Things, her ConKagKal ficlet, and is too a slice of life story...on the most parts, methinks.
But, this is probably the perfect time to post it, since fall and supernatural always does make for a good read, imo.
Anyway, feel free to throw any feedback and (slice of life) suggestions my way. :)