Page 72 of The Witch's Spell
Better late than never.
“Aurora, I don’t want to go anywhere.”
With a jolt of surprise, she looks up and meets my eyes. “You don’t? But what about your travels?”
A smile pulls on my mouth. “I travel because I’ve never felt quite at home here. In a way, I think I’ve been searching for my place.” My hands glide up her arms to cup her face again, and I wipe away each tear that drips down her freckled cheeks. “But then I met you, and I got used to being in that beautiful cramped little cottage, and I lay with you before the fire, and I knew...” My throat gets tight. I take a moment to swallow down the lump, then continue, “I knew you were it. You’re the place I’ve been looking for.”
For the first time since yesterday, Aurora gives me a true smile. With trembling lips, she says, “So... does this mean you want to stay?”
I don’t have to take even a moment to consider her question. I already know my answer. I’ve known it in my heart for longer than I’ve even known it in my head.
“If you’ll have me.”
Her smile grows. “Even though we’re cramped in the little cottage together?”
“Well, now that you mention it...” I slide one hand into her hair, pushing the tangled green strands away from her flushed cheeks. “Iwouldlike to get to sleep in a bed with you every so often. Do you think thatcan be arranged?”
With a squeal, Aurora launches herself into my arms. I lose my balance without my cane, and with a huff, I go tumbling to the ground, Aurora atop me. The deep snow catches us in a gentle embrace, like a mattress made with the softest cotton, and a few snowflakes fall from the tree over our heads, sprinkling Aurora’s hair in white.
“Oops,” she says, trying to climb off of me, one hand draped along her pregnant belly. I’m glad the snow gave us a plush landing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Wait.” I catch her cloak in one hand, keeping her from pulling away.
Then my lips find hers. The tension leaves her body, and she softens, leaning her weight into me, the snow a cushion beneath my back. My fingers tangle in her hair, and I kiss her like it’s the first time, like this will be my only chance to ever know what Aurora Silvermoon tastes like.
Then something strikes me atop the head, and I pull back from Aurora’s lips with a flinch.
“What is it?” she asks, just before another pine cone comes tumbling down from the trees, this time strikingherin the head. “Ow. Hey!”
We both look up, and there, crouched on a low tree branch, is a fairy creature with bulbous eyes, a furry body, and a long curling tail banded in silver and white. As westare at it, it scampers up the tree, yanks another pine cone free with its small taloned paws, and launches it at me. When it strikes me in the side of the head, making me wince, it starts to laugh, its high-pitched voice drifting through the trees.
“What...” Aurora whispers, shifting her weight off me and pushing slowly to her feet, snow clinging to her dress and cloak. “What is that?”
With a grumble, I say its name in my native language, the language of these lands, but Aurora just tips her head at me. It takes me a moment to recall the pronunciation in the common tongue.
“A frosteal.” I hold out a hand, and Aurora takes it with both of hers, helping pull me to my feet. As I brush the snow off my cloak and hair, I glance into the tree again, narrowing my eyes at the creature. “They’re nettling but mostly harmless.”
Aurora giggles as it pelts her with another pine cone, this one hitting her in the shoulder before bouncing away. “I think it’s cute.”
“Don’t encourage it.” With a twist of my finger, I send a little breeze through the tree branches, rustling the pine needles and the frosteal’s thick winter coat. Hunching low on the branch, it hisses before scampering farther up the tree and disappearing from view.
Aurora is still smiling. And for the first time since arriving here, she pauses and looks around, her green eyes going wide.
“So, this,” she says, taking a step away from me, “is your home. Fairyland.”
I follow her gaze, wondering what this place looks like through her eyes. For me, it’s what I’ve always known, what I grew up with.
She continues through the trees, who tower well over our heads, the true ancestors of this land. Perhaps they’re speakingto one another even now, wondering who the little green witch is who’s stumbled into their realm.
“What are these?” Aurora asks, kneeling and pointing to a cluster of upright red-orange flowers growing along the trunk of a tree.
“Winterflare blossoms,” I explain, leaning against a tree to take the weight off my sore leg.
“Their colors make them look like little candles,” she says, reaching out as if she can warm herself with their heat.
“Listen to this.” I send a breeze rustling through the flowers, and they put out the sound of crackling logs, along with a little flare of warmth.
“What?” Aurora whispers, mouth opened in awe. “They really are like candles!”
