Heartless

Everyone knew of the mage who had lost his heart. Some said he had given it to a beautiful but cruel witch who had kept it since as a trophy.

Others said he had been so cruel himself that the beautiful witch had taken it in a bid to stop him and that he haunted the lands ever since, lost and searching for what had been stolen.

Others once again said he had gambled it away in the hopes of never again fearing the touch of death and decay.

The legend changed depending on the warning people wanted to impart, but everyone agreed on one thing: Anyone who was able to return the mage’s heart was owed a wish. A powerful one at that, one that could even bring back the dead. Or so they said.

Many people had tried to retrieve the heart over the years. Older folk who desired to regain their youth, young lovers who wanted to stay together forever, and grieving parents who wanted their slain children back.

Even slighted nobles who wished to marry a king to climb in station and show up their rivals had given it a try, along with hopeful peasants who wanted to enrich their lives.

The yearning for eternal beauty, for invincibility, the desire to grow rich and famous, love and greed, despair and dreams, all those things and more had driven people to seek out the mage.

He wasn’t terribly hard to find if one knew how to do it, people said. One needed a cloudless night during a full moon and to create a circle made of acorns and cornflowers.

Then, one would place a bowl in four spots, facing the four points of the compass.

A bowl of milk facing the south, a bowl of salted mushrooms to the east, a bowl of white bones to the north, and a bowl of iron shavings to the west.

Once those things were in place, one had to sing the mage’s song. A lament that could not be messed up even once, nor was the singer allowed to stutter. The smallest misstep meant the mage would not deign to appear.

But once the ritual was completed, he’d be there, ethereal and beautiful. And very much heartless. Some people said his eyes were empty and black like coals, others said he was relentlessly hungry, a near-mindless beast driven to try to get back what he had lost.

In stories, he was either cold and uncaring or a moaning beast willing to tear people apart. Some said he ripped out the hearts of those who failed to get his back and that he stuffed theirs into his chest instead, only for the hearts to turn to dust in his hands.

Others said he was quite satisfied with his lot in life, that he liked not feeling anything, walking in eternal coldness. That it made him sharp and impossible to trick and that his magic had become all the more powerful for it.

Whatever truth there may be to these stories, one thing remained unchanged: He had no heart. No one had been able to give it back to him, no matter how hard they had tried.

You could admit that you liked hearing stories about something as wondrous and yet as far removed from your life as a heartless mage. Your life was quiet and gentle, and you liked it that way. While you loved stories of kings and queens and magical conquests, of evil slain and good prevailing, of innocent people rescued, such things had no place in your day to day life.

You were the daughter of a warm, frugal man who had married a reasonably rich merchant, a woman who gave freely and happily, and both of them had raised you with plenty of love and care. You had wanted for nothing, for they filled the house with laughter and taught you everything they could with gentle hands.

When you had decided to become a bee keeper and candle maker, they had helped you fulfill your dream, asking around until they had found the perfect little home and plot of land for you to pay off, since you refused to take their money. They had already given you enough.

"What would you ask for, if you got the mage’s heart?" your best friend asked when she visited you one afternoon to pick up the produce from your bees: a jar of honey and two candles you had made for her.

You paused for a long moment, looking outside the window to your flower fields and the approaching heavy rain clouds.

"I’d probably just give it back to him," you answered, and at her incredulous look, you couldn’t help but shrug. "I’m happy; right now there is nothing I’d ask for."

Happiness wasn’t around every day, of course. You had weathered many a storm, but largely you were, indeed, quite content with life. You had learned that even if dark times came, you could fight through them until you reached the light again. You could and would do it as many times as necessary.

"I’d probably ask for all the riches I could think of," your friend mused. "I’d love to go to the big city and attend the balls, you know? Dancing with dashing noblemen and women and just..."

She sighed wistfully, adding, "Just imagine it. Glittering jewel chandeliers and all those elegant, courteous people. No one farting at the dinner table or anything like that."

You couldn’t help but laugh as you handed over the candles she had asked for. You had carved some delicate flowers along the outside per her request, and her eyes lit up when she saw your handiwork.

"Why not marry the mage, then? He should be able to give you all that with how sought-after and highly regarded his kind are," you asked as she put everything into her basket.

"Mages are dangerous," she answered with a shake of her head. "I won’t ever tangle with that. Besides, I heard that they only appear beautiful at first. The longer you look at them, the stranger they become. I don’t know. I don’t think I could have a husband that would look less and less human every day."

That was reasonable enough, you supposed, if such things were true.

Your friend frowned a little and sighed, "Not that I’d ever get a chance to find his heart in the first place, if the legend is even true. Old Brenna swears up and down that she saw him once, but then again, she also claims to have seen bog bies and little gnomes. Still, wouldn’t it be nice to not be stuck here?"

"I quite like it here," you said and cast a glance outside the window. "And if you don’t plan to either walk through the rain or stay for dinner, you should probably get going."

Your friend leaned forward to peer at the sky as well and made a face. "Damn, you’re right. Alright, I’ll see you again tomorrow?"

"You’re welcome anytime," you reassured her, and she left with a fond smile, telling you to drop by for dinner at her place sometime soon.

A minute after she left, the first drop hit your window, followed by many more. You took a moment to stand there and close your eyes, listening to the pitter-patter of rain coming down on your cozy little home. What a lovely sound.

You cleaned up around the house for a bit, listening to the calming, steady fall of rain, before you peered out the window again. It was getting late enough that you should lock the chickens in their coop so they’d be safe during the night.

Grabbing your wool cloak to stay safe from the rain and getting barefoot into your boots since you couldn’t be bothered to put on socks, you stepped outside. The smell of rain and warm earth welcomed you as you walked down the small path to the coop, lightly hopping from one broad, flat stone to the next.

You hummed to yourself and, before you knew it, you were singing the mage’s song as you checked if the chickens were already safely inside their coop.

For all the joy, all the joy it brought to me

My heart longs, oh, it longs to be set free

All’s fair in love and war, they say

But when your words, oh, your sweet words wither and decay

My heart drowned, oh, it drowned in sorrow’s flood

So set me free, set me free so I can choose to land

In someone’s kind and gentle hand

You weren’t too worried about summoning the mage with just his song, considering the plethora of things one had to do on top of that – if he indeed existed. You doubted he’d even hear you singing in the rain in the first place.

If you were being honest, you quite liked the song. Depending on your mood, you could sing it quickly and cheerfully or slowly and with melancholy. Today, you sang it light and sweet with an undertone of joy, befitting of the good mood the gentle rain had brought as you locked in your chickens.

It took you a moment to notice the steady, muffled sound of footsteps, and when you turned around, curious and surprised, you stilled, the song dying on your lips.

You knew it was the mage with just a glance, he stood tall and with elegant poise, his long, flowing robes were black as night, and raven-dark embroidery shimmered on them in the dim evening light falling through thick clouds.

His missing heart was easy to see, a ring of light glowing softly in his chest, reminding you of the solar eclipse you had seen once.

His long, pale hair fell down his back like a wave of shimmering silver, and his lashes were dark and thick, his eyes a soft lavender. His eyes were the only bits of true color on him.

Even the jewelry he was decked in was pale. The delicate silver crown with its glittering gems, the earrings on his pointy ears, the rings on his elegant fingers, and the necklace around his throat: they all looked like they were woven out of starlight and white gold.

"Good evening," the mage said, and your friend had been right about one thing, the longer you looked at him, the less human he appeared.

His lavender eyes held a shine that was deeper and stranger than even the oldest woods, his nails seemed just a tad too long and hard, hinting at claws, his hair was too shimmery and silver, and his clothes were made of no fabric you had ever seen before.

He seemed utterly out of place, standing among the flower fields that surrounded this side of your home, rain gently drumming down.

"I had not expected to hear my song tonight," he said, soft-spoken and polite, but you weren’t fooled. Mages were dangerous, and you had been raised with a good head on your shoulders. "Especially without any of the usual provisions. Are you to make a bid for my heart?"

"Oh, my apologies," you hurried to say, nervously gripping your woolen cloak as you peered at him past the rim of your hood. "I merely like your song; I had not intended to call upon you. I honestly thought it wouldn’t work without all the other demands being fulfilled."

His head tipped slightly, the fine, delicate chain on one ear glittering with the movement. "I see. Now that I did appear anyway, do you intend to make a bid for my heart?"

You wondered if it was painful for him to wander around without one. If he was caught in a perpetual search for the next person who could gain it and trade it back for a wish. If, maybe, between being summoned by songs, he was hunting for his heart himself.

"No," you answered honestly. You personally did not much enjoy lying if it could be avoided; it only caused problems sooner or later. "I have no desire for your heart."

He blinked once, and there was a pause, as though he was carefully choosing his next words, "And what about a wish?"

You couldn’t help but gesture all around you. "I like my life, I like this place and my work here, and those I love are happy and healthy enough." Could wishes even make people truly happy? Or were they tricks, like fae deals?

"There is little I want, and the things I do desire, I intend to get on my own."

He seemed surprised at your answer, and then he was smiling and everything about him seemed just a tad brighter, from the glow on his chest to the glittering jewelry to the silver shine of his hair.

"A fair answer from a fair heart, I am glad to hear as much," he said, a touch of real warmth entering his voice. "My apologies for disturbing you, then. Have a good evening."

He offered a polite little bow and was about to move on when you realized that he was getting more drenched with every moment. And while he was a mage, you did feel a bit bad that you had summoned him into this weather unintentionally.

"Would you like to come in?" you asked, and he paused, glancing at you. "At least until the bad weather is over. I’ve been told I make pretty good food, too."

He blinked and water trailed over his brow, dripping off at his chin, and he inclined his head in agreement, appearing somewhat curious.

You led the way back to your little home and held the door open for him. Toeing off your shoes once he stepped inside, you fetched a linen towel for him and handed him the slippers you kept around for when you had visitors with bigger feet.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said, and you felt the brief shiver of magic in the air that dried him entirely as he refused the towel with a rather kind smile.

You left him to look around your open living room and kitchen as you started to boil water for a pot of tea. He was quite respectful of your space, glancing at some paintings you kept around and your little knickknacks on display.

He did pause when he saw the candles you had finished today, some already packaged to be sent out tomorrow. The temple in the next town had a regular, standing order that you fulfilled every month, and they were due another delivery.

"You are quite skilled," he said and gestured at the candles you had carved and painted for market day. "May I?"

"Go ahead," you told him, digging out the fancy tea your mother had gifted you as a house warming gift.

By the time the tea was done, the mage had selected a few candles, and upon inquiring for their prices, paid for them.

"May I put in an order?" he asked. "Some of my spellwork requires candles. Would you be willing to make enchanted ones as well, so long as I bring you the necessary components?"

"Can I even enchant candles? I’m about as ordinary as they come," you answered, and the mage’s face lit up.

To your surprise, the ensuing conversation and discussion about magic and magical properties that some things inherently possessed and how ordinary people could use them, as well, was quite fun and interesting.

Before you knew it, you had served dinner, and the mage had complimented you for the good food. You kept talking as the rain kept falling outside, moving to your living room to get comfortable on the two seats you had placed near the small fireplace.

You genuinely had so much fun you even managed to make the mage laugh, the jewelry on his ears tinkling softly as he was gripped by mirth. You were sad to see him go when the thrum of rain stopped at last.

"Feel free to visit whenever you want," you said with a smile as you accompanied him to the door. "I’m here most days, and it can get quite lonely."

You loved your friends and family, but they had their own lives and their own responsibilities and relationships to care for. You didn’t get to see them as often as you’d like.

"I understand that all too well," the mage said with a little smile, melancholic and soft, that told you he indeed knew the touch of loneliness. "I will gladly take you up on that offer. Ah, may I tell my friends and acquaintances about you as well? They have been looking for a good candle supplier for some time."

"Oh, of course, though, maybe give me some time to figure out how to create enchanted candles first," you requested, and he obligingly bowed his head a little.

As he left, he did so with one last smile, his jewelry shimmering as though freshly polished, and his hair as fine as spun silver coated in starlight. He was gone just like that, melting into the dark of the night as though he had become one with it.

Closing the door, you cleaned up and finished packing away the candles for the next day. As you went to bed, you couldn’t help but think that the mage didn’t seem to be in pain, at least not outwardly.

Still, you couldn’t imagine that being heartless was very pleasant.

Before long, the mage became a regular visitor who brought you many magical ingredients. He even showed you around the forest so you could harvest more ingredients yourself, leaving a little protection talisman and enchanted gloves in your hands to keep you safe.

You hadn’t told your friends that he was the mage from the song, but you did tell them that you had recently met a mage and were learning to make enchanted candles.

Before long, the first batch of properly enchanted candles was done, and the mage was very happy with them, smiling as the ran his fingertips over them, quietly praising their good quality.

The candles held a firelight shine that reminded you of cozy autumn days in front of the fire with a good book in your hands. There was something comforting and reassuring about them.

"Your bees are very happy critters, as well," he remarked as he joined you for dinner once more. "It shows in the quality of their produce. It will make spellwork easier, too."

You hadn’t known that the content joy of your bees had become part of the honey and wax, but it made you very glad to know they were living good lives.

"I shall tell my friends about you, if you are comfortable with it?" he offered, as soft and downright sweet-spoken as always and his smile was quite lovely, despite his strangeness.

You had no idea if he had once been human and if his magic changed him, or if he had been born as something wholly different from the beginning.

"Alright," you agreed, and he seemed to glow the faintest bit brighter, the ring on his chest an almost-glittering silver-white.

Later that day, you spoke softly to your bees as they buzzed around you, long-since used to your presence. You promised to plant them even more lovely flowers, and that you were glad they were doing well, and that you were going to keep doing your best to take care of them.

Your chickens got the same speech while you pet them, the animals trusting and soft and warm under your hands.

The mage’s friends, when they visited, were even stranger than he was.

One night, a woman made of stitched darkness and forgotten things knocked at your door, and she smiled like she had seen every single thing that you had lost and never found again and knew exactly where those things were today.

She left dark leaves with you that shimmered like a lake at night and were just as cool to the touch.

The candles you made for her came out a dark, mesmerizing purple that made you think of gods that were content to remain in obscurity, loving mortal kind from afar as they lived out their last days in peace.

The woman gave you coin and more leaves, telling you that those were for you to keep. "I will come back, if I am welcome," she said.

You smiled at her and told her the same thing you had told the mage, "Feel free to visit whenever you want."

The woman laughed and briefly touched your doorframe, and even though you knew very little about magic, you knew she had left a protective blessing on your home before she vanished as though winds past had blown her away.

The next friend of the mage was a pudgy little mushroom fairy, with a big, green cap that had glowing blue dots on it. The little fellow was quite chatty and very excited and had so very many curious stories to tell. Before you knew it, you had talked away the day, and he left you with acorns that had perfect, golden shells.

His candles glimmered and sparkled like spring sunrises and smelled of hope and an adventurous spirit, a yearning of what was to come. He paid you with shimmering fabric that looked as though it was woven out of the sunbeams falling through mist in early mornings.

He, too, gave you more acorns to keep for yourself. When you told him he was welcome to come back whenever he wanted, he smiled brightly and hopped a little in joy.

The third friend that visited you was a satyr whose hooves clacked cheerfully on your floorboards and who sang and danced with you once they realized just how good your mood was that day.

You laughed and clapped and took their hands when they reached out to you, dancing around and around your house without ever bumping into anything.

They left you breathless and giggling and with the most beautiful flowers you had ever seen, like they had gotten plucked straight out of fairytales, the petals made of gorgeous colors and softer than silk, and they smelled of someplace wondrous and magical.

Their candles made out of those flowers looked the way spring felt, bright and colorful, and just glancing at them gave you a feeling like you could dream of brighter and greater things. As if your heart and mind had only just begun to understand what life had to offer.

The satyr paid with an instrument that played by itself and could perform any song you asked of it. They also gave you a basket full of flowers from their meadow and left, cheerfully accepting the offer to return anytime they liked.

The thing was, you yourself had no need for magical candles, just like you had no need for wishes paid for with stolen hearts. There was something far more rewarding about making them for someone else instead, sharing the joy of your craft and watching the faces of those around you light up.

You looked at the gifted ingredients you had been left with, and a grin appeared on your face. You grabbed the flowers and acorns and leaves and went outside to a yet-unused part of your land.

The acorns downright slipped through your fingers the second you had dug little holes for them, eagerly burrowing into the dirt. You laughed and covered them and fed them some water.

To your delighted surprise, the moment you set the flowers down, they grew stems and roots and firmly anchored themselves into the earth. You watered them and watched as they soaked up the sun, looking mesmerizing and beautiful and just the faintest bit magic-strange.

The leaves you strewed into the shade among moss, and when you woke the next morning, the leaves were gone but dark little seedlings had broken through the earth instead.

The mage returned that day and laughed, bright and cheerful when he saw your garden, and the smile he gave you was so glad and lovely it briefly stole your breath away.

"I know you said you are as common as they come, but you are quite remarkable," he said, and while you weren’t entirely sure what exactly was so remarkable about you – anyone could enchant things with magical ingredients, after all, or plant some seeds – you were still happy with the compliment.

"Come on in, how was your day?" you asked, and the mage readily followed, getting you caught up on his dealings.

He was quite the busy man, and you found yourself smiling softly at him when he told you about the forest that was under his protection and that the magical creatures within had gained new residents.

Your smile seemed to make him sit a little straighter, the starlight glow of him gaining a downright opalescent shimmer.

He was strange and heartless, yes, but he was beautiful inside and out from what you had learned, and by now, you considered him a precious friend. He was kind and laughed freely and gave just as freely, offering his knowledge and support readily.

But for all the joy he brought you, you did notice the way he sometimes rested a palm over his heart, a sadness in his eyes that no good day in the world managed to banish entirely.

It wasn’t hard for you to spot the grief over his missing heart now that you knew him. It didn’t seem to pain him physically, but sometimes, he reminded you of old tales in which maidens waited for their lovers to return from war, only to be given news of their deaths. Or when a hero lost their beloved friend and mourned them until the end of their own life.

And yet it felt impossible to ask him about it. There was something so very personal about his grief that you didn’t dare tread on wounds not yet healed. Then again, maybe they would never heal until he got his heart back.

The mage left you with strange glowing rocks before you could ask him about his heart, and it was a welcome challenge to figure out what to do with them.

This time, his candles came out like little storms, sparking and wild and untamed and ready to eagerly howl and race across the land. They made you laugh, and he grinned when he picked them up.

"Remarkable, as I said," he said as he left more coin with you and stayed for dinner once more.

"I am glad you invited me in all those weeks ago," he said and offered you one of the strange glowing rocks to keep after you finished dinner, his gaze warm. "I have missed having a person like you in my life."

You felt flush with happiness at his words and, well, the sentiment was more then returned. "My life is so much richer with you in it," you answered honestly, and that opalescent shimmer was back, glimmering along his jewelry and over his starlight hair. "I am glad to know you."

He offered his hand, and when you took it, curiously, he bent over yours to press a soft, warm kiss to the back of your hand.

The smile on your face was wide enough to ache, and a giddiness filled your heart that you had last felt two years ago when a pretty traveler had kissed your cheek after a week of delightful conversations and walks across town.

"I will be back soon," he said, and you gestured at your open door.

"You are always welcome." You meant it, too. Since all your other friends dropped by whenever they wanted, so could he.

He smiled warmly and bowed with a little flourish and left, the raven-dark embroidery of his flowing robes shimmering in the sunlight like it might turn into something wondrous at any second.

You had no idea what to do with the stone for a few days, until you decided to drop it into the little pond you and your father had dug one summer. Someone had sold living goldfish at the market back then, and you had wanted to rescue the poor little things before they died in the heat.

The stone landed solidly in the middle of the pond and glowed a little brighter. You had no idea how a stone could look delighted, but this one certainly did.

As you looked down at it, you found your good mood waning as you frowned a little.

Your friend might look perfectly fine, and he didn’t seem to be missing any of his emotions like other heartless people in stories, but... he was suffering all the same.

Quietly. Softly. Like someone who had watched all they held dear vanish among the stars, knowing they’d only be reunited once more upon death. As if he was merely waiting to live out his life.

As you tended to your garden and animals before you returned inside, you wondered if you could get his heart back.

If there was a witch somewhere out there who carried it around in a jar or around her throat like a morbid piece of jewelry.

"Who stole your heart?" you couldn’t help but ask when the mage visited again three days later, bringing you dragon scales that shimmered like gems and gold dust. "I can see its loss hurts you still."

The mage paused, and the smile he offered was the saddest one you had ever seen.

"It is kind of you to worry," he answered softly, reaching out slowly enough for you to refuse and when you didn’t, his warm palm cupped your cheek. "Don’t ever give yours away, promise me that."

"Can’t I help you get it back?" you asked, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Will you make a bid for my heart?" he asked, a helpless tone to his voice like... like he couldn’t say anything else. There was a pleading shine to his eyes, grim and edged in warning, and you said nothing.

His expression eased, and he leaned forward to press a lingering kiss to your forehead when you leaned up into the touch.

"Don’t ever give it away," he whispered before he departed, and he looked downright dim this time, like a murky, cloudy day.

The worry you felt for him had only grown worse, and you felt as helpless as ever to do something. You were just a humble beekeeper, and even if you could make magic candles, that didn’t make you yourself magical.

Your worry remained, and when you saw him the next time, it turned into a downright tender determination when he swept into one of his polite bows and looked at you like you mattered.

The feeling grew when he kissed your hand once again when he left, and this time you returned the favor, and he looked magic-bright and beautifully strange, and he had grown so very dear to you.

It seemed your heart had chosen to care for him beyond friendship, not that it surprised you. He was something special, after all.

You asked his friends if they could help you get his heart back when they visited next, and the shadow woman looked at you silently for a moment before she asked, "Why do you desire his heart?"

"I know it hurts him that it is gone," you admitted. "I would like to give it back to him."

The satyr leaned forward. "What would you like to ask for in return?"

"Nothing," you said honestly. "I just want him to be well."

The little mushroom fairy looked at you intently, now. "Hearts cannot be handled without care and love," he said, and you found yourself smiling, sweet and soft and warm.

"How fortunate, then, that I care for him very much. I’ve grown to love him," you answered, and now they all brightened.

The little mushroom fairy clapped his hands with a delighted giggle, and the three exchanged a look before they each offered you something.

The woman gave you a woven band of horse hair the color of snow, the fairy offered you a snowdrop that seemed to have gotten turned into glass, and the satyr, lastly, handed you a strip of fabric that looked old and moth-eaten but had clearly been beautiful once, a rich dark blue with golden stars embroidered on it.

They couldn’t tell you anything about what trials and dangers laid ahead, but you saw the hope in their eyes as they left. You pocketed the three gifts and went outside, where the previously planted trees were growing far faster than normal trees, a sea of magic-bright flowers surrounding them.

"I wish to help a very dear friend," you told the plants. "Can you offer me any aid?"

The dark leaves of the black trees rustled, and to your surprise, midnight purple flowers bloomed and fell. You hurried to catch them, and they rested in your palms like the first inhale of frost-cold air when the seasons turned to winter.

"Thank you," you said, and the leaves rustled once more before they stilled.

You asked the acorn trees next, which grew gold and green leaves like they had leapt straight out of an old fairytale. The trees dropped a twig full of leaves into your palms, the leaves shimmering gold and green like paints had gotten swirled around each other instead of mixed.

The flowers, when you asked them, shivered, and one rapidly turned into an old bloom, offering you a capsule of seeds before withering away to be reborn next season.

You thanked them all and asked the stone in the pond next. A water lily that hadn’t bloomed yet opened its petals, and within them rested a pearl of storm and winds. You thanked the pond, too, and when you turned around, you were startled to see a bee hovering before you, holding something clutched between its legs.

The tiniest of gemstones was dropped into your palm, the same color as their honey, smooth and polished.

"Thank you," you whispered to the bee, who briefly landed on the tip of your nose, then it buzzed away.

You hurriedly returned home and made candles out of the things you had been given. You managed to make three candles, each one night-dark but shimmering with hope and guidance and a desire to burn bright and strong enough that no darkness in the world could diminish its glow.

That night, your front door opened as though by magic, and even though you knew it was your yard that laid beyond it, there was a strange, darkly shimmering path that led away and into the woods.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered all your things, and you grabbed the three candles you had made as you left. You might need some light wherever you were going.

It was very quiet as you walked, not even the forest made any noise, and your own steps sounded all the louder for it.

Then you saw it: a silver-white horse with a mane and tail like starlight. It seemed to be stuck in brambles, holding carefully still to avoid getting hurt. It glanced at you when you paused on the path before you took a deep breath.

Taking one of the candles, you stuck it into soft dirt and lit it, watching as it began to burn down far faster than it should before you gingerly stepped off the path.

The horse watched your approach with hopeful, perked ears, and it nickered softly in greeting when you stopped right by the brambles.

You eyed the thorns and grimaced. There was no way you could touch them without shredding your hands, and you hadn’t thought to bring your gloves with you.

But... well, you had something else, didn’t you? You pulled out the strand of woven horse hair and offered it to the brambles.

"Won’t you trade?" you asked quietly. "Look, isn’t this so pretty? And you can touch this without killing it."

There was a long silence, before the brambles shifted, releasing the horse, which leapt to its freedom in one giant leap and raced away to disappear among the trees. The brambles accepted the woven band instead, curling around and around until it wasn’t visible anymore.

You turned back to where you had come from, and if not for the candle you had left, burning like a beacon even as the dark tried to smother it, you wouldn’t have spotted the path again.

You would have wandered this strange place forever, lost and helpless. You hurried back and managed to step onto the path just as the flame guttered out, leaving nothing left of the candle.

You walked forward, the forest around you still silent, but now, there was a soft breeze that seemed to push you forward encouragingly.

You had no idea how long you walked before you heard soft crying, and you paused, peering around. You spotted it, then, a white hare weeping as everything it touched withered and died.

You watched the hare a moment longer before you lit another candle and stepped off the path to approach. The hare looked at you, tears still falling down its cheeks. You went down to one knee and offered the snowdrop that had been turned to glass, and the hare's slumped ears perked up at once.

It hopped forward and gingerly took the flower, its tears vanishing, and its coat glowing bright like stars as it leapt off the ground with enough strength to flip through the air and land back on its feet.

You couldn’t help but laugh and clap, and the hare sped off into the forest, its prize clutched close. You rose to your feet again and returned to the path before your beacon of a candle guttered out and died.

The breeze was back to push you onward, but this time, the forest had grown lively around you; leaves rustled in the wind, and an owl hooted softly and sleepily.

This time you walked for long enough that you were worried something was wrong, but you still pushed on, determined not to give up.

At long last, you reached a little clearing, the dark path winding forward, and it encircled a tree, large and bone-white and nearly dead. Strips of fabric were tied to its branches, many old and faded, and as you approached, they whispered to you.

Wishes upon wishes were tied to the tree, and the tree had done its best to fulfill them all. None of the wishes were unkind or greedy; they had all been made by good folk, for no others had been allowed to even find the tree.

You pulled the last item, the worn strip of fabric, from your pocket, your thumb carefully brushing over some of the embroidered stars. You circled the tree until you spotted one last tiny branch nothing had gotten tied to. Reaching up on your very tip-toes, you tied the fabric to the branch.

Immediately, you heard the mage’s voice, younger and heartbroken and hurting so very terribly.

"I wish I didn’t have a heart," you heard him whisper. "I don’t want it back if I'll only get hurt."

And the tree had obliged, you realized. It had taken the heart and protected it, for the mage hadn’t wished to never get his heart back again – he had only wanted it to be safe. The tree had kept it safe no matter what.

You touched the bark, and you felt the tree struggling to live for just one more day, and beyond it, ever so faintly, the beat of a warm heart. You looked up at the tree, at the strange darkness all around you, and you realized what the tree must’ve done.

It had hidden away here where no one could find it, here where light could not exist. Where no one could even attempt to pry the heart from it. A breeze made you glance over your shoulder, and you saw the mage’s three friends, who watched you solemnly and with no small amount of hope.

"We could not bring his heart back to him," the satyr said. "But we could offer our aid to the tree, and it gave us three items for three trials. You have nearly passed. Go on."

They faded from sight again, getting swallowed by the dark. You looked back at the tree, your hand still pressed to its bark. You didn’t want the mage’s heart for yourself; hearts weren’t made to be given away like trinkets or to be kept like golden baubles. They were made to be cherished and loved and cared for.

Just like the plants and animals back home. Just like the people you cared about so very much.

"Hey," you said softly to the tree. "Can I climb to your top?"

The tree, struggling to hold onto life after all these years in the dark, shifted its branches just enough to give you the space to climb to its crown.

You did so carefully, and once you reached the top, you pulled out your last candle and lit it, and you tossed it up to the sky, whispering to it, "Some sunlight, if you please."

The candle burned up at once, turning into a tiny but blazing sun that chased away the dark far enough that the tree below you shivered in relief. As you climbed back down, the dark had gotten pushed back to the point where the land around it inhaled like a starving beast, and you watched the tree come to life again.

Slowly at first, but then faster and faster, its bark regaining color as it re-grew its leaves and regained its vibrancy until it stood before you majestic and powerful and filled to the brim with magic. If trees had souls, this one had one of the kindest and sweetest you had ever met.

You stepped up to touch its bark, smiling at it. "He’d like his heart back. Could you do that for me?" The heart wasn’t yours to take, after all, and you felt more than heard the tree laugh, soft petals brushing your cheek, and the steady pulse beneath your hand vanished.

You gave the tree a small pat and a smile. "Thank you. I’ll head back now. You’ll be alright?"

The tree pushed you on, but not before dropping a cutting of a new branch into your hands. You bowed in gratitude and walked back into the dark, following the winding, shimmering path.

You encountered nothing else along the way, and when you glanced back, just as you stepped out of the forest, you saw the glowing tree vanish in the distance, and the dark dispersed like a cloud of dust.

The forest was once again just a normal forest, and all the normal nighttime sounds returned in full. You smiled and stepped into your garden to plant the cutting. It took root immediately, and by the time you straightened, hands covered in dirt, you heard rushing steps.

Turning around, you saw your mage, the solar eclipse glow on his chest gone, a glowing star surrounded by the outline of a sun, much like a crown there instead. He stopped for just a second when he spotted you, looking out of breath, eyes wide, and then he was running towards you.

You were pulled into a tight, encompassing hug as he whispered his gratitude into your neck, and you didn’t hesitate to hug him back, even if you smeared some dirt against his robes.

He cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other arm wrapped tightly around your middle. "How?" he whispered. "No one ever succeeded."

"They all tried to take it, didn’t they?" you couldn’t help but ask, and when he pulled back and nodded, you reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind his bejeweled, pointy ear.

"It’s your heart." You pressed your palm over his chest. "It’s not meant to be taken."

He laughed, and there were tears in his eyes as he reached up to cradle your face between his hands, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, warm skin against warm skin.

"Remarkable, I knew it," he whispered. "You are wondrous in a way magic can never hope to be."

You laughed and reached up, and he eagerly met you in a kiss brimming with joy and relief and something that danced on the edges of something profound. It lingered, and when he pulled back, you reached up to take one of his hands in yours.

"Come in, I hear I’m making good food," you said, and he laughed and dipped in to steal one more quick kiss before he straightened, gaze bright, and he was shimmering opalescent all over, his heart back where it was meant to be.

He walked towards the house with you, his fingers entwined with yours, and you felt his magic in the air as all the stars in the sky seemed to glow brighter.

It made you grin, and when you met his gaze, he began to laugh, joyful and relieved. You found yourself joining in, your heart full to bursting with reciprocated love and care.

Hearts weren’t things to be gifted to others like flowers and promises. They were meant to be cherished with love and care, and you were more than willing and eager to let him love your heart as much as you loved his.

You were filled with giddy joy and bright relief and cozy warmth, and as you opened the door to your home with a flourish to let him in, you looked forward to this being the rest of your life.

A gentle and quiet life full of magic, both wondrous and not, and a mage who looked at you in a way that promised he was never going to stop loving you.