Until the day I found him.
He was collapsed beside the running stream, blood soaking through his torn tunic, his pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. I didn't hesitate. I brought him into my cottage, tending to his wounds with the gentlest herbs and pouring my own light into his failing veins to call his spirit back. When his eyes—those striking hazel-green eyes—finally opened and locked onto mine, my peaceful world shifted on its axis. He didn't look at me with the fearful reverence of the villagers. He smiled, warm and breathless, and thanked me for saving his life.
His name was Jimmy. As the weeks bled into months, his wounds healed, but he never left. He stayed to help me gather roots, to chop wood, and to fill the quiet spaces of my home with laughter. For the first time in my immortal life, I wasn't just a protector; I was loved. He would pull me close under the shade of the ancient oaks, whispering promises of a future together, tracing the lines of my palms as if reading a sacred text. He loved to draw, sketching my face onto scraps of parchment, capturing the light that danced in my eyes. I trusted him implicitly. I loved him so deeply that the white magic inside me grew radiant, fueled by the joy he brought into my days.
Then came the night of the autumn equinox.
The air was crisp, and the leaves had just begun their breathtaking descent, painting the forest in shades of amber and gold. Jimmy asked me to meet him by the oldest, most sacred tree in the grove—the heart-tree that anchored the forest's magic. He claimed he had a surprise for me, a token to bind our lives forever. When I arrived, the fog was rolling in, casting an eerie, beautiful haze over the clearing. He stood waiting, looking as handsome as the day I met him, his eyes shining in the moonlight.
"Close your eyes, my love," he murmured, his voice dripping with the familiar sweetness that always made my pulse race.
I smiled warmly and closed them, tilting my face up, expecting a romantic kiss or a handmade ring. Instead, a searing, white-hot agony exploded in my chest.
My eyes flew open to find his hands glowing with a stolen, jagged spell. He hadn't just stabbed me; he had reached deep into my spiritual core, wrapping his fingers around the very source of my power—the living, pulsing heart of my white magic. I choked on my own blood, gasping for air as I fell to my knees, looking up at him in absolute, shattering betrayal. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating greed. He didn't want my love. He had used me to gain the trust of the forest, waiting for the one night my power was fully unlocked so he could steal it for himself.
"Thank you for the gift, sweetheart," he whispered coldly, stepping back as he ripped the glowing core of my magic completely out of my chest.
The pain was beyond mortal comprehension. I collapsed onto the freezing moss, watching through fading vision as he turned his back on me, walking away into the fog with my heart in his hands. The forest fell dead silent around us, mourning the loss of its light. He left me there to wither and die in the mud, never realizing that a hollow chest leaves room for something far worse than death to crawl inside.
