Magica De Spell (
lifesa_witch) wrote in
happilyeverbeginning2020-10-06 07:25 pm
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Blessed be the meadow, blessed be the forest (magica x scrooge)
As far as Magica was concerned, change only came in two ways - huge, overpowering impacts, and then things so subtle you didn't notice until it was pointed out. Her farmhand had a bit of both - his arrival was the former, and him staying was the latter. At first she had expected him to leave once the weather was warmer, yet now they were in the fresh brush of spring and there were no signs of him moving on. With every passing day, it was if he became more attached to her life, and it was getting harder to think of life without him. She wasn't sure what to make of that.
With his help, the farm house that was once falling apart was regaining life, with the holes patched the animals taking shelter longer than usual. The land itself was thriving more than ever, with her harvests bringing in more than their usual share of food. There had even been changes to Magica herself, though she had yet to notice - fuller meals meant a fuller body, and nights without worry of survival removed the darkness underneath her eyes. But there would always be things that could not change - the mask covering the right side of her face was proof of that.
Scrooge hadn't been able to pry what happened underneath there just yet, but there were little hints here and there - whatever had happened might have happened to her entire right side of her body, as there were days she was so full of pain she needed a thick wooden cane to make it to the nearby village to sell her wares. She was the Witch of the Woods, known to the village as a heretic for going outside the laws of the gods - so the villagers saw. Little did they know she was more of a purist than they'd ever be.
The day had been growing dark, and Magica headed to the farmlands, calling out to Scrooge as kindly and cordial as ever.
"Get inside, rags for brains, it's about to rain. If you catch a cold, I'm not going to be your nursemaid."
With his help, the farm house that was once falling apart was regaining life, with the holes patched the animals taking shelter longer than usual. The land itself was thriving more than ever, with her harvests bringing in more than their usual share of food. There had even been changes to Magica herself, though she had yet to notice - fuller meals meant a fuller body, and nights without worry of survival removed the darkness underneath her eyes. But there would always be things that could not change - the mask covering the right side of her face was proof of that.
Scrooge hadn't been able to pry what happened underneath there just yet, but there were little hints here and there - whatever had happened might have happened to her entire right side of her body, as there were days she was so full of pain she needed a thick wooden cane to make it to the nearby village to sell her wares. She was the Witch of the Woods, known to the village as a heretic for going outside the laws of the gods - so the villagers saw. Little did they know she was more of a purist than they'd ever be.
The day had been growing dark, and Magica headed to the farmlands, calling out to Scrooge as kindly and cordial as ever.
"Get inside, rags for brains, it's about to rain. If you catch a cold, I'm not going to be your nursemaid."

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He said it casually and a tad fondly, wondering how she'd respond to it.
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She then downed her (hot, burnt tongue) stew in one bowl gulp just to avoid looking at him any further.
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She then moved to place her bowl away, fetching a hairbrush for her long locks. One could guess she initially grew her hair out to hide her face before she had the mask, but at some point decided to just let it keep growing.
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"What makes you so sure of that?" he asked.
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The damage done to her face and body was proof of that, so she told herself. Society wouldn't accept her, nor would any man, and it was anybody's guess whether this wrecked body of hers could even feel pleasure or give birth. So instead of even bothering to try, she'd shut herself away from the world before it could hurt her further.
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He said nothing, carefully plucking the brush from her grip and starting to sweep it through her hair.
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He didn't put any power behind his words even though he could've easily. He didn't want to be like them and manipulate mortals for his own amusement.
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Well, she enjoyed it, but she wasn't going to admit it, even to herself.
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...Oh. He hadn't mentioned his sisters before. Oops. Oh well.
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"Your sisters?"
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Speaking of which - when she felt him near the mask, her entire body froze up. She knew he wouldn't remove it - but even the idea of him doing it by accident made her unable to breathe.
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And with that, he went back to brushing her hair, the offending tangle gone and the hairs that had made up it no longer putting her mask at risk.
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If he had sisters, he had a family, one he surely wanted to return to at some point. If those sisters were dead, she didn't want to be seen as a replacement for them. Her mind was so terrified at the sheer concept of kindness she kept trying to find all the holes and excuses in them she could.
She steadied her breathing in an attempt to calm down. "You won't earn any favors out of this."
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He'd had a family once. One day he'd find them. If he kept wandering, he'd find some evidence of where they'd gone. (Time in the realm of the gods didn't work the same way as on the mortal plane. By the time he'd gone home, they were long gone...)
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"I suppose," she finally said, "If we have spare wood, you may have one."
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"I think we do but I can check once I'm finished here," he told her. "You sure you don't mind?"
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"If you smell that much and find yourself that disgusting, I certainly won't stop you." As always, she was immediately on the defensive.
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Her voice hitched up an octave. "I DON'T NEED YOU - IT - WHATEVER!" Her fingers clenched up in her dress, her face getting so red it now began to reach to her neck.
Was there a way to pray to the Wandering God to make these stupid thoughts stop?!
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Had he done something wrong? He was usually better at blending in with mortals...
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Honestly, sometimes that was the only thing he could say or do: Just shut up and get the job done.
He'd missed brushing his sisters' hair. He hadn't realized it until this moment. By the time he was done with Magica's, it'd be silky soft from all the attention he'd given it.
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