[Celestial Scrapbook] Winter Wakening

There was no wind or breeze in the meadow where the snow fell softly. Moss and late autumn flowers seemed to shiver against the chill as snow scattered around in an ever growing pile of white. Several fallen trees bordered the meadow all covered in pale blue-green moss with cream colored mushrooms (who seemed determined to continue despite the cold settling into the area). In the distance there was a shimmer and glow of magic against the treeline before a retreating figure disappeared among the murk of the dark forest beyond. Cradled by two fallen birch trees was a body wrapped in ice and moss with a carved mask of ice resting atop where the face would have been. Above those fallen birch trees was an old, gnarled looking willow tree with its branches partially broken. The figure’s colors were faint, faded almost, as if they had once been rich greens and yellows turned now to soft greens, teals, and blues. The ice mask obscured the facial features and the wrap of pale green covering what could be seen of the body was rapidly being covered in snow. Resting beside this body, in a sort of reverent placement, was a long sword with a single edge and a beautifully carved and crafted bow with flowers like lotus along the edges. The meadow was still, silent, and everything on the edges seemed to be holding their breath as the glow of magic faded completely.

The figure under the mask of ice gasped as the mask fused to their face, melded into it and glowed briefly before becoming one with the figure. As they sat up, shivering briefly, and took in a deep breath their eyes went wide as if confused. The figure clutched at the thin wrap around them and slowly stood up before looking around in a slow stare. It seemed like they were desperately trying to understand what was happening. They remained standing, shivering, not from the cold but rather as if from the shock of suddenly feeling a surge of life. They were a Painted Satyr, a new one, brought about with magic. Raised from something else into life again. The meadow was still silent and so very unmoving that when a branch snapped and leaves rustled against the stillness of the snow this new Painted Satyr turned to look with wide eyes towards the sound. They nearly fell, unused to standing yet, and looked around wildly until seeing a figure in the deep gloom of the forest beyond the meadow.

The figure at the edge of the forest had returned, wandering back as if the fading of the glowing magic had been calling for them to walk back. They were standing just out of sight and were looking over at this new Painted Satyr with an expressionless stare. When the new pale blue-green colored Painted Satyr spotted this figure they turned towards the forest and took some unsteady steps towards that figure in the distance. The figure in the forest said nothing and made no indication of intending to do so until the new Painted Satyr made an attempt to speak. They had to swallow several times, as if struggling to understand how to speak, and then managed a weak gasp of a question.

“What…what…who are…where am I?”

“Do you know your name?” came the soft, faint reply.

“I…who are you?” the Painted Satyr insisted, eyes going wide in distress.

“Do you know your name?” came the repeated question, although there was no added sense of urgency to the tone; only calm curiosity.

The Painted Satyr stood very still, fingers clutching at the thin green wrap around themselves and seemed to be grasping mentally for a reply.

“I…think…maybe…Willow?”

“Good.”

“Wait! Wait! Who are you?”

“No one you should concern yourself with.”

With that reply the figure standing at the edge of the forest faded away completely into the gloom. No glow of eyes, no shape against the dark, simply gone. Willow glanced down at where they had been laying previously. Folded up under where their head had been resting was a Demonic Wing Cloak with a Golden Trinket fastened at the edge of the lapel. Something about that Golden Trinket seemed extremely important but Willow had no idea as to why. As Willow looked around the meadow they struggled to find the words to describe the sense of longing that had taken root in their chest at the sight of that Golden Emblem pin. It took some time, quite a bit really, before Willow managed to stumble around enough to get the hang of walking. It seemed that they possessed some latent muscle memory from whatever body that had been someone else’s before and although Willow was deeply confused by this concept they did not know what to do about it. At least not yet. So finally, Willow stumbled back towards the weapons, the cloak, and the Golden Emblem before glancing towards the forest where that figure had vanished from sight.

“Who am I?”