Chapter Text
In the heart of a dense and ancient forest, where reality and fantasy seamlessly intertwine, lies a secret treasure of enchantment—a breathtaking mosaic of nature's wonders. This bewitching realm, known to the wise and the curious, beckons those who dare to venture into its heart. The place is a mesmerizing oasis, where tranquil emerald waters ripple with a gentle rhythm, reflecting the vibrant canopy above like a collection of shimmering mirrors. Each ripple carries with it the whispers of ancient tales, spun from the very fabric of this land.
In this serene setting, the calm waters of the ponds call out to those who seek exploration, tempting them to tread upon the captivating wooden bridges and winding pathways that lead deeper into the heart of the forest. The secrets of the woodlands permeate the very atmosphere, as towering trees stand guard, their leaves whispering with secretive murmurs as if they entrust their most treasured tales to the enchanted visitors who wander upon this hallowed earth.
As the sun dips below the horizon and twilight's embrace descends upon the forest, a spellbinding transformation takes place. The moment is upon us when the magical beings that inhabit the forests, lakes, and skies awaken to create a mesmerizing symphony of enchantment. Emerging as if from the very foam of the forest stream, three graceful water nymphs make their ethereal appearance. Their presence is announced with gleeful laughter that blends perfectly with the playful sounds of the brook, entwining themselves within the gentle melodies of the enchanting forest. They move with an elegance that mirrors the water's own flowing grace, their movements as fluid as the brook's journey over smooth stones. With every leap and pirouette, they become a living reflection of the magic that saturates this otherworldly haven.
Like masterpieces of nature's craft, these captivating water nymphs possessed an irresistible charm as distinctive as the shimmering ponds they inhabit. Among them, two are petite and delicate, resembling fragile blossoms swaying in the breeze. Beth, with her small, slender frame, appears as ethereal as moonlight on water. Her beautiful, sun-kissed hair, glowing like liquid gold, cascades down her back in waterfalls of silk, capturing the enchanting light that filters through the forest canopy. Her laughter is as gentle as a zephyr, and her movements flow gracefully, resembling the dance of will-o'-the-wisps, creating an exquisite tapestry of elegance.
Maggie, in contrast, is the embodiment of statuesque beauty. Tall and commanding, she exudes an air of regal confidence. Her dark, lustrous locks frame her face like a cascade of midnight stars, their glossy tendrils barely grazing her shoulders. In the moonlight, her presence is magnetic, drawing all eyes to her with an irresistible allure. She moves through the forest with the poise of a nightingale in flight, every gesture a symphony of grace and strength.
Glenn, slender yet well-built, stands as a testament to the union of elegance and power. His jet-black hair, like a raven's wing, frames a countenance that bears the mark of determination. His presence commands attention, as if the ground beneath him reverently yields to his every stride. His laughter resonates with exhilarating vibrancy, echoing like the gushing flow of a waterfall, intertwining the essence of vitality and bliss.
As the captivating trio of water nymphs approaches the lake, their laughter resounds through the forest, seamlessly intertwining with the melodious tunes of the woods. Tenderly touched by the soft, silvery rays of the moon, their radiant forms are accentuated, and their flowing hair is enveloped in an ethereal glow.
Unbeknownst to the playful nymphs, their other brother is nowhere to be seen among them. Their eagerness to reach the lake, their favorite playground, momentarily steals their attention. The shimmering water beckons like a siren's call, inviting them to partake in their cherished pastime.
“Waterman! The moon is rising; soon it will be so high it will reach even your underwater realm!” calls Maggie over the still surface of the lake.
“Do you think it was enough to wake him up?” wonders Beth, splashing in the shallows of the lake, her impatience palpable.
“Look!” Glenn exclaims with excitement, his keen eyes immediately catching sight of the change. “Can you see the bubbles rising from the bottom? Of course, he couldn't resist coming to us.”
Out of nowhere, a figure emerges at the edge of the water, appearing as if sculpted from the twisted roots of age-old trees and the very spirit of the forest. The Waterman, with his rough and weathered exterior, embodies the forest's untamed spirit. His visage is grizzled, his countenance stern, a testament to the many secrets he holds. Yet, beneath that gruff exterior lies a heart that beats for the water nymphs, his beloved charges.
The waterman, though initially appearing gruff and imposing, harbors a deep affection for his water nymphs. He values their company and keeps a watchful eye over them. As the nymphs approach, their laughter and playful banter fill the air, adding warmth to his typically solemn countenance.
“What brings my nymphs to the water's edge tonight? Feeling a tad lonely in your babbling brooks, are you?” he says with a playful twinkle in his eye, beckoning them to draw near. “Down on the bottom of the lake, I've got nothing but splendor, and I've got golden fishes there. Just come closer, so I can catch you by your feet and drag you down with me.”
“Think you can catch us, old man? You've slowed down since we last met, Merle” teases Beth, her words laced with a mischievous grin. The three nymphs draw closer, easily evading his good-natured attempts to catch them.
He affords them the freedom to play and welcomes their teasing. In these moments of camaraderie, Merle finds contentment in their presence. As the guardian of their sanctuary, his connection with them transcends words and time, much like the ageless wisdom of the surrounding ancient forest.
As the three water nymphs frolic in their mischievous adventures, Merle cannot help but observe the unmistakable absence of his cherished nymph, the one with whom he shares a bond like that of a sibling. Feeling an unsettling sense of unease, he withdraws himself from the lively atmosphere and departs from the nymphs, leaving them to their laughter and games. His journey takes him along the invisible trail that leads to the missing nymph, a path that extends farther than Merle could have imagined.
On the opposite shore of the lake, Merle finally discovers Daryl sitting on a fallen tree. With one leg gently touching the water to keep his bond with his essence, Daryl's figure stands out in the moonlight, casting a somber shadow against the surrounding brightness. His dark locks cascade over his eyes, and his muscled arms cradle a knee pulled close to his chest. It's a powerful silhouette, yet one tinged with an undeniable sorrow.
"Did you tire of tormenting old Merle, my little brother?" Merle jests, a hint of concern lacing his voice. "You know I can always find you."
For a long while, Daryl remains silent, the weight of his emotions palpable in the night air. Finally, he speaks, his voice carrying the weight of his heartache. "Please, stay with me, so the sadness doesn't consume me."
Merle's brow furrows in genuine puzzlement. "Sadness? What could trouble you so deeply, Daryl? You have the forest, the waters, your water-bound siblings. Perhaps a visit to my realm might lift your spirits."
Daryl shakes his head, his eyes filled with a profound longing. "I don't wish to be bound to the water anymore. I want to be free, to be normal...to be human."
"Human?" Merle repeats, his disbelief evident in his furrowed brow.
“You once told me those strange tales that humans have souls," Daryl continues, his voice tinged with yearning. "And when they die, the soul goes into heaven, and their body... just vanishes into nothing.”
Merle, with his gruff exterior, counters, “You were born of water. You don’t wish for a soul. It’s just full of ugliness and sin.”
Daryl's gaze remains unwavering, but his voice is small, barely above a whisper, "...but it’s also full of love."
Merle can't help but be shocked by Daryl's revelation. His heart aches with empathy for his dear brother's innocence. "Ancient waters! Don't tell me that you fell in love with a human."
Daryl's voice trembles slightly as he admits, his words tinged with both longing and naivety, "He comes here often. He sheds his clothes on the banks of my brook and leaps into my embrace. But to him, I am just a wave, just rushing water. He can't see me, can't know that I'm there, longing for him. If I were human, he could hold me close, just as I hold him when he comes here. And he could... kiss me."
In the serene and moonlit forest, Merle's heart aches for his brother's innocence and the depth of his longing. Though it pains him to acknowledge it, Merle finally speaks the undeniable truth. "The human has ensnared you, and there's no denying it. Your siblings will weep for you every night." Unspoken but understood, the weight of Daryl's departure will also burden Merle's heart.
Daryl, his eyes pleading, responds, "But, dear brother, what choice do I have? He must see me, or this sadness will consume me."
With a heavy sigh, Merle confesses, "We have lost you to the realm of humans, my dear little brother. The only one who can aid you now is the witch." Before disappearing into the depths of the lake, he tenderly rests his hand on Daryl's arm, providing a fleeting yet comforting touch. He wants to shield Daryl from experiencing the full extent of his own sadness, as the love that connects Daryl to the human man has separated him from their magical realm.
Alone in the hushed stillness of the darkened forest, Daryl contemplates the daunting decision of seeking the witch's assistance. He knows well that her aid always demands a price. The bright moon above provides his only company, its radiant glow illuminating the night sky.
“Oh moon, up there in the deep night sky," Daryl implores, his voice carrying his longing. "Your light sees far, you roam over the wide world, and peer into human dwellings. Will you stay for a while and tell me where my loved one is? Will you tell him that all that occupies my mind is how he felt in my watery embrace? Perhaps he will think of me in his dreams. Please convey to him that I am waiting for him here.”
Daryl harbors no doubts that his message will traverse the silvery strands of moonshine to reach his beloved human.
"If the human dreams of me," he continues, his voice trembling with hope, "may he awaken with the memory of our embrace." As he voices his wish into the darkness, the water around his leg suddenly turns cold for the first time in his existence. No longer does it feel like home; it becomes unwelcoming, urging Daryl to venture onto solid ground. Is this a sign, a beckoning to the human realm?
Daryl slides off the fallen tree, wading toward the bank. However, the reeds and water lilies entangle around his ankles, impeding his progress until he is rooted in place.
"Witch!... Witch!" he cries out into the somber forest, his voice resembling the splash of water. Yet, there is no echo, and the silence remains unbroken. He tries again, even louder, "WITCH!"
Listening intently, Daryl's hope teeters on the edge of despair, fearing that the witch may not heed his call. His heart quickens as he observes four mysterious figures silently emerging from the shadows of the ancient tree trunks, gracefully approaching the lake. Their footsteps are nearly soundless, leaving only a faint red haze on the ground beneath their feet. Daryl regards them with cautious wariness, realizing they are unable to breach the water's edge. Their unsettling presence sends shivers down his spine, but he cannot tear his gaze away from their enigmatic forms. Each figure possesses slender frames, long limbs, and small horns protruding from their foreheads. Their eyes are voids of pure black, leaving Daryl unable to discern their gaze.
Though he longs to plunge into the comforting embrace of the deep water upon seeing them, he remains unmoving, trapped by the reeds that bind him and fueled by his resolute determination to seek the witch's assistance.
Before long, the imposing figure of the forest witch emerges in the distance, her presence unmistakable. She radiates a crimson light, draped in a cloak of dark smoke. As she draws nearer, Daryl has the opportunity to study her more closely. Her skin bears shades of red, and her silver hair is short and spiky.
"What is all this commotion about?" she demands, her voice slicing through the forest like a whip. "This weeping and wailing? You've roused me before dawn. Reveal yourself!"
“I need your potions, witch!” Daryl calls out softly, suddenly nervous about the impending meeting.
"I can hear you, but I still can't see you. Who calls upon me?" The witch inquires as she draws closer to the lake, her demon children rushing to her side. Daryl watches them with uncertainty, unsure whether they intend to protect her or seek solace in her presence.
"I am Daryl, the water nymph. I wish for you to take away this water magic from me."
"First, I want to see you," the witch declares as she stalks the bank, searching in all directions, yet unable to discern Daryl.
“I'm tethered here. By the waves, by the water lilies.”
"Well then, free yourself! How else will you enter my hut?" she replies with casual expectation. With a commanding gesture and powerful incantations, she addresses the waves, saying, "Set him free, gentle waves, release your hold. Let his feet touch the ground and carry him."
Suddenly, Daryl is released from the grip of the water, and he stumbles and falls onto the muddy bank. His feet touch solid ground for the first time, and it feels strangely foreign. It takes him a while to regain his balance and stand upright.
The witch's voice, laced with a sly grin, cuts through the eerie stillness of the forest. "Ha, see? You've already mastered the art of walking!" Her face, a deceptive mask of normalcy except for her eyes, ablaze with a fiery orange hue, now comes into view. Around her, the demon children cavort, their eerie forms dancing in and out of the darkness, sending shivers down Daryl's spine. His fear is palpable, but an unwavering determination fuels his quest to be with his human love.
In a voice both polite and trembling, Daryl stammers, "I-I need your help, dear witch." His words flow like a desperate plea, a genuine acknowledgment of her ancient wisdom. "Your knowledge transcends the ages, encompassing the deepest mysteries of nature. You've plumbed the enigmas of the night to grasp the dreams of humanity. From earthly poisons to the gentle touch of moonbeams, your potions hold the power to shape destinies. You can bind and break, create and destroy, weaving together the realms of humans and monsters with your age-old wisdom. Even the water nymphs tremble before you in the still of the night. Your craft holds the cure for human woes, for us and the wide world. Please, dear witch, grant me your aid!" Daryl's plea is sincere, and he knows his destiny hangs in the balance.
The witch responds with a smirk, her reaction to Daryl's flattery revealing her capricious nature. "Compliments won't sway me," she retorts mockingly. "I'm interested in what you'll sacrifice in exchange for my help. Your beauty, your pearls…what shall you offer me?"
Daryl, aware of his lack of material riches, pleads, "I'll give you anything. Everything I have is yours... Just make me human." His voice carries a sense of desperation, a plea from the depths of his soul, yet he knows the limitations of his offerings.
The witch's probing questions continue, her tone laced with cruel intent. "Nothing more? You come to me, abandoning your watery existence, yearning for a human body, for love, play, and the sweet caress of kisses." Her words are designed to make Daryl comprehend the gravity of his desires.
Daryl, fighting the nerves that the witch's presence provokes, steadies his voice. "I seek a human body. A human soul." His answer is firm, unwavering, and resolute. He avoids meeting the witch's fiery gaze.
The witch declares with finality, "I'll grant you a human body and soul; I swear it upon Satan himself." She continues, her words designed to cast doubt on Daryl's determination. "But the price is your water dress." Daryl, resolute in his purpose, swiftly undresses, offering the gossamer water garment to the witch. He suppresses the urge to shield his modesty with his hands, understanding that a steep price must be paid for his desires.
The witch elaborates on the curse she will bestow, her words carrying a taunting edge. "If you don't find love in the human world, you'll be cast back into the depths, to your former life. If you find and then lose the love you so desperately crave, the curse of watery powers will drag you back as an outcast," she warns, her red eyes challenging Daryl to reconsider.
Undeterred, Daryl nods, accepting the cruel terms. "I understand."
“There is suffering that awaits you. Your voice will be silenced to the ears of all humanity,” she continues, still expecting Daryl to back out. Daryl just nods in acknowledgment.
“Do you want to be mute, boy? Do you? Just for your human man?” the witch presses, her voice rising, her mocking palpable.
Daryl, unfazed by the witch's cruel tone, maintains his resolve. "It's a small price to pay. I will gladly embrace silence to have his love."
The witch, almost in disbelief, shakes her head. "If the curse returns you to the lake, your lover will become a victim of your eternal damnation. Keep him close," she warns, emphasizing the impending danger.
Daryl's unwavering determination shines through as he asserts, "My love will conquer all spells and curses."
The witch seizes Daryl's arm, leading him further into the foreboding woods, her grip akin to a branding iron. As they traverse the eerie forest, her tone shifts to solemnity. "Come, let's hasten to my hut. We must brew the poisons you'll willingly drink, sealing your curse of silence." Around them, the demon children move, their fiery presence occasionally brushing against Daryl's bare skin. The terror of the moment should consume him, yet a strange sense of solace envelops him, as if he's not alone in this journey.
Finally, they arrive at her hut, nestled within the gnarled roots of a colossal oak tree. The witch shoves Daryl through the door, and he stumbles down a few steps, landing on a dirt floor. Inside, the stifling air is filled with acrid smoke from the fireplace, choking and stinging his eyes. Through the haze, Daryl senses the presence of the witch and her children. Blinking the smoke from his eyes, he can make out their elusive shapes in the dim light. He is evidently the only one struggling in the oppressive atmosphere of the hut.
The witch, flipping through a large tome with blackened pages, searches for the correct potion, a cruel glint in her eyes. "Carl, fetch the dragon's blood. Mika, the bile from the high shelf. Lizzie, bring me one of our songbirds from the cage," she instructs her demon children. They scurry to fulfill her orders, leaving Daryl standing awkwardly in the center of the hut.
The witch, her actions guided by an unpredictable nature, meticulously pours one drop of dragon's blood into a cauldron hanging over the fireplace, then hands the bottle back to the child who fetched it. She turns her attention to the last of her demon children.
"Sophia, keep stirring," she directs. “Yes, Carol,” the child responds and begins stirring the cauldron with a long wooden spoon. Daryl is taken aback, realizing for the first time that the witch has an actual name. He had only ever heard her referred to as "the witch."
Daryl watches in anxiety as the witch meticulously pours ten drops of bile into the cauldron, counting them with a sense of apprehension. Next, she takes the still-beating heart of a songbird, handed to her by Lizzie, both their hands now stained crimson. The heart is unceremoniously dropped into the cauldron, and Daryl dreads the taste that awaits him. Yet, his determination remains unshaken.
The witch, her crimson eyes fixed upon him, reminds him of the impending ordeal. "This brew will take your voice," she declares, her voice carrying a cruel edge. With a mocking smile, she presses a wooden stein filled to the brim with the disgusting, still smoking brew into his hands. Daryl takes a moment to gather his courage and downs all of the brew. It burns on the way down, a vile concoction assaulting his senses, and he needs to fight his body which seems set on rejecting the strange tasting potion.
Once he’s done, a strange sensation envelops his body, a numbing chill that creeps through his limbs like icy tendrils. The stein drops from his numb fingers, clattering to the dirt floor below. Suddenly, the oppressive air inside the hut becomes too much to bear. The walls seem to close in on him, and the dirt floor beneath him sways like a ship caught in a storm. With a gasp, he finds himself splayed on the ground once again, the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs.
His eyelids are heavy, and he can barely muster the strength to keep them open. Each blink feels like a struggle against an invisible force, and darkness threatens to engulf him with every passing moment. Through the haze of his fading consciousness, he can feel the burning touch of the demon children as they drag him from the hut, their fiery fingers leaving scorch marks on his skin.
Finally outside, the cool night air hits him like a welcome reprieve, filling his lungs with sweet relief. His instinct urges him to get up, to drag himself to the water's edge, to safety, but his body feels leaden and unresponsive. He tries to lift his head, to muster the strength to move, but the effort is futile.
As the world fades into darkness, a sense of resignation washes over him. He has gambled everything for love, and now he must face the consequences. With a heavy heart and a silent scream that echoes only in his mind, Daryl succumbs to the enveloping darkness, his fate sealed by the witch's brew.