PlayerOliver

When you were a kid, you lived with your grandmother in the small town of Silvertree, on the edge of a magical forest. Grandma is a witch, and she taught you how to use your magic to affect the natural world, too. “Magic is a part of you,” she always told you. “Learning how to use it means figuring out who you are.”

Now you’re 19 and on your own. After years of living in the forest while you perfected your witchcraft, you’ve returned to take care of your grandmother’s house and crow-familiar while she’s gone. Figuring out who you are feels more important than ever - not to mention, figuring out what Silvertree is. A lot is just as you remembered: the friendly generous next-door neighbors with a kid just your age, the proud town council, the quaint little shops with quirky punny names, the gentle shadowy forest full of magic.

Stone in the shoe

Kneeling down (after checking there's nobody around), you take a handful of fallen petals and start to crumble them up. With your other hand you cup the withered flowers and picture their roots growing, not from the ground, but from your palm. As the broken petals start to turn to dust, you picture their old energy soaking into your skin and being returned to the still-living flowers. Finally, you open your hands; there's no sign of the dead petals, but the flowers are just as bright and full of life as the ones around them.


You don't like to do that sort of spell too often—things need to die, after all—but in this case, you feel quite happy to have helped these flowers. Whatever happened to them, it didn't seem fair that they were singled out.


Smiling in satisfaction, you turn back in the direction of home, thinking again of the bed waiting for you there.


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