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In the village of Eldermoor, nestled at the edge of a dense forest, the villagers had come to know Lux as a kind soul, a witch who radiated warmth wherever she went. Her magic was a gift, an ability to heal the wounded and restore life to the withered. The villagers welcomed her with open arms, often seeking her help whenever illness or injury befell them. Lux would smile brightly and offer her gifts freely, her hands glowing with light as she mended broken bones, soothed fevers, and revived the sickly.
However, there was one person in Eldermoor who was never seen walking its cobblestone streets, one person whom Lux loved with every fiber of her being—Jinx, her lover. Jinx, whose very touch turned the world to rot and decay, was a curse in the eyes of everyone. They hated her. They feared her. And so, Jinx stayed hidden away, deep in the forest at the edge of the cursed land, where the trees had withered and the earth had turned barren.
Lux never asked Jinx to leave the safety of the forest. Jinx feared the outside world—feared what her touch might bring upon the unsuspecting. So, Lux made the journey to Eldermoor alone, always returning home to her beloved, bringing with her whatever supplies they needed to survive. Jinx never complained, never asked for anything more, as she watched the life around her wither while Lux worked tirelessly to protect and care for the woman she loved.
The village always bloomed brightest in spring, its cobbled paths lined with daffodils and the air thick with honeyed warmth. As Lux arrived at the village gates, she was greeted with smiles, outstretched hands, and cheerful waves. Her white robes fluttered in the wind, golden embroidery catching the sun as if it adored her.
“Lady Lux!” a merchant called. “Bless my crops again, would you? The beans you touched last season grew so large they scared off the crows!”
She laughed gently. “Only if you promise to share some when they’re ripe.”
Everyone knew her—the witch of light, the bringer of life. She was beloved. But what they never said aloud was what they really thought: She could be so much more if she left the rot behind.
After gathering herbs, spices, and cloth, Lux was about to head back when she was stopped by a familiar face, the town’s blacksmith.
“Lady Lux! It’s good to see you,” he said warmly, offering her a wide grin. “We could use your magic today, if you don’t mind. A little boy fell from a tree, broke his leg.”
Lux’s expression softened in concern. “Of course, I’ll come immediately,” she replied, following him to the boy’s house.
Inside, a boy no older than eight lay whimpering, his skin pale and brow beaded with sweat, his leg wrapped in makeshift cloth. His parents hovered anxiously beside him. The father, a tall man with a weathered face, looked up as Lux entered. Gently, Lux knelt beside him.
“What’s your name, sweet boy?” she asked softly.
“R-Ren,” he stammered.
“What happened, Ren?”
“I was climbing the big oak by the pond,” he sniffled. “The branch snapped… it was all black and soft.”
Lux stilled. “Did the tree look sick before?”
“It smelled funny. Like… like mold. Mama said it was her. The rot witch. Jinx. ”
Lux’s jaw tensed.
“We warned the children not to go near Deadwood,” the boy’s father said. “The forest’s been dying since she took root there. That tree wasn’t dead until she came.”
“And yet it had rot,” Lux replied, her voice calm but edged with steel. “So it was already decaying.”
“Don’t you see what she’s doing? You have power— real power. Why waste it on someone like that? ”
Lux turned fully to face them now, golden light rising from her palms as she hovered them over Ren’s leg. Slowly, the bone knit itself back together, swelling went down, and Ren sighed with relief as the pain melted away.
“Because she’s not a monster,” Lux said, her voice unwavering. “Jinx’s touch brings decay, yes. But death isn’t a curse—it’s a part of life. Everything you cherish—the blossoms in your trees, the harvest in your fields—wouldn’t exist without rot feeding the roots beneath. Life is not whole without death. And what you call a curse is nature’s quiet promise of balance.”
Ren blinked up at her, but his parents still looked uncertain.
Lux’s gaze softened, and she turned to look at the boy, his wide eyes watching her with awe. “Do you know what happens to the trees and plants after they decay? They return to the earth, where they nourish the soil and help new life grow. Jinx may cause things to wither, but she is also part of that cycle. Without decay, without death, there can be no rebirth.”
The father shook his head, clearly unwilling to accept her words. “You can’t really believe that. You’re with a woman who brings nothing but ruin.”
“I believe in balance,” Lux said, her voice gentle but unyielding. “Decay and life are two sides of the same coin. One cannot exist without the other. You cannot have birth without death, or life without decay. They are intertwined, and in Jinx, I see that balance.”
As she stood and turned to leave, the parents said nothing, their faces filled with doubt and confusion. Lux didn’t mind. She didn’t need their approval. What mattered was that she knew the truth—that she loved Jinx, and that love wasn’t cursed, but pure. But she felt the need to say something.
“She lives away from you to protect you. Not because she’s ashamed—but because she doesn’t want to bring harm,” Lux said. “She loves so fiercely, she’d rather rot alone than risk one of you hating her face.”
“She touched a tree and it died.”
“She touched me, and I bloomed.”
With that, Lux exited the house.
Back in the forest, the trees whispered secrets only Jinx could hear. The ground was blackened and gnarled, fungus blooming like open wounds along bark and stone. She stood alone by a twisted willow, vines curling away from her bare feet as if even nature knew better than to get too close.
Then came the familiar sound—footsteps light as wind, and the faint scent of wild honey.
“You were gone longer,” Jinx murmured, not turning around.
“I’m sorry my love. There was a boy, he broke his leg.”
“Did I do that too?” she said with a crooked smile, her voice hollow.
“His parents think you did.”
Jinx’s expression faltered. “Of course they do.”
Lux walked closer, placing a gentle hand on Jinx’s back. It didn’t rot. It never did, not when it was her. “They don’t understand,” Lux whispered, brushing hair from Jinx’s cheek. “But I do. And I wouldn’t trade this life, with you, for all the worship in the world. You are not a curse, Jinx. You are my life, and I’ll stand by you forever.”
“You should live in the sun,” Jinx said, quietly. “Not in this place of ruin.”
Lux pressed her forehead to Jinx’s. “Then I’ll be the light in your dark.”
And in that moment, even the rot seemed to hum with life.
The wind in the Deadwood always carried the scent of damp earth and forgotten things, but to Lux, it was simply home. She sat cross-legged just outside their crooked little cottage, a cup of nettle tea warming her hands, and watched through the window as Jinx hovered over a cauldron that gurgled and spat green steam.
Jinx’s long gloves were stained and patched from years of alchemical trial and error. Vials clinked, dried mushrooms crumbled under her careful fingers, and from time to time, the tips of her gloved hands sparked with that strange pink shimmer—her magic, still unpredictable even after all these years. But she didn’t flinch. She adjusted. She learned. She grew.
Lux smiled.
Jinx never stopped experimenting, never stopped believing there was more to her power than destruction. Every week, she tried something new—fertilizers made from rot, medicine brewed from mold, salves grown from decay. Most of the world only saw her as death at the edge of the forest. But Lux? Lux saw the woman with the stubborn grin and the mess of brilliant blue hair who refused to let her gift be just a curse.
She’s got such a big heart, Lux thought, watching as Jinx carefully corked a flask, then scribbled something in her worn journal. If only the world could see her the way I do.
Lux’s mind wandered back to the first time they met, back to when Lux had been a much younger witch—full of fire, ambition, and the kind of blind confidence, eager to make a name for herself. She had heard whispers in every village, heard the hushed voices telling tales of a witch so dark, so full of death, she could make the trees wither with a single touch. A witch who lived alone deep in the forest of Deadwood, the very land she had cursed.
The moment Lux had heard those stories, her curiosity was piqued. She was a healer, a witch of life, and she knew she had to find this so-called “rot witch.” She had told herself that she would stop her, show the world that life could always overcome death. As is the order of nature, good overcoming evil. But she had been wrong—so, so wrong.
When Lux finally found Jinx, she expected darkness. She expected the embodiment of rot, a force of nature as frightening and untouchable as the legends had made her out to be. She expected a towering sorceress cloaked in shadows, eyes like coals, a crown of thorns. Instead… she found Jinx.
Jinx was no monster. No, she was something far more complex, far more beautiful. Her violet eyes shone with a light that seemed to be her only defiance against the world she had been forced to live in. Her blue hair, long and wild, shimmered like a midnight sky filled with stars. The only sign of her curse was the land around her—a forest where nothing lived, where everything decayed in her wake.
And in that moment, Lux saw something she hadn’t expected. She saw loneliness. She saw a soul that had been abandoned, cast aside, and made to feel like a burden.
Lux had been captivated—not by the rot, not by the curse, but by the person in front of her. It had taken time to convince Jinx to let her in, to trust her. Why would she? She had been hunted, blamed, and shunned for so long that kindness felt like another curse waiting to strike. But Lux had never stopped trying until Jinx finally let her in.
And once Jinx touched her—hesitant, trembling, like the world would shatter—she realized Lux was the only thing her curse couldn’t touch.
She had never seen Jinx as a curse. To Lux, Jinx was a paradox, a creature of both death and life. And she loved her more than she had ever loved anything else.
And that was how they lived now—two opposites bound by the kind of love only the universe could have planned. They lived together in the little cottage built from broken stones and reclaimed timber. A place where rot and bloom could coexist. Where Jinx brought decay, Lux brought life. Where Jinx feared she was a monster, Lux saw only beauty.
A sudden pop and puff of yellow smoke burst from the chimney, and Lux chuckled.
Moments later, the door creaked open, and Jinx leaned out, her face smudged with soot and her goggles askew. “I may have accidentally invented acidic marmalade.”
Lux laughed, rising to her feet. “Do I want to ask how?”
“Probably not. But it tastes great on sourdough with the cheese I aged.”
Lux walked to her, wrapped her arms around Jinx’s waist, and pressed a kiss to her cheek despite the grime. “You’re brilliant.”
Jinx huffed, though she leaned into the hug. “You’re biased.”
“Hopelessly,” Lux said, eyes glowing. “But I’d still say it even if I wasn’t. You turn death into something beautiful.”
Jinx blinked, and for a moment, the forest seemed too quiet—like it, too, was listening. And in the stillness of the cursed woods, two witches stood—one life, one rot. Not in opposition. But in harmony.
The forest had begun to change.
Lux could see it even now, as she and Jinx made their way down the winding trail toward Eldermoor. The deadwood was still mostly barren, but here and there, signs of green had crept in—moss clinging to old stone, a stubborn flower poking through cracked earth. It was subtle, but it was there. Life, returning. A balance slowly blooming from the bond they shared.
Jinx walked beside her, boots crunching softly over the dirt path, her gloved-fingers twitching at her sides. Lux glanced over and smiled; Jinx was buzzing with nervous energy, her eyes darting, breath shallow under her cloak. She had pulled the hood low over her head, hiding that unmistakable glow in her violet eyes, but even so, Lux could see the light trembling underneath.
“You okay?” Lux asked gently, brushing their fingers together as they walked.
Jinx exhaled and gave a crooked smile. “Nope. Completely terrified. But also… weirdly excited.”
Lux laughed softly, linking their pinkies. “You’re brave for coming. I’m proud of you.”
“I just…” Jinx trailed off. “I want to try. For you. For me. I don’t want to hide forever.”
Lux’s heart swelled. She had never asked Jinx to come with her, never wanted to push her out of her comfort, but she knew how much this meant. After everything they’d been through—after years of solitude, of fear and whispers—this was a big step. A huge one.
As they passed under the wooden arch marking the entrance to the village, Jinx’s footsteps slowed. Her grip tightened on her cloak, and she lowered her gaze. The cheerful bustle of the village seemed to dim under her presence—or so she thought. She braced for silence. For whispers. For the sting of fear.
But it didn’t come.
“Lady Lux! And—is that your partner?” called a farmer with mud on his boots and a smile on his face.
A merchant waved from behind his stall. “Witch Jinx! The last potion you left cured my wife’s cough. Bless you my dear!”
Another woman stepped forward with her daughter in tow. “My garden’s never been greener since using your mixture, dear. My tomatoes are practically singing.”
Jinx blinked, frozen in place. Lux stood beside her, watching the realization dawn in her lover’s eyes. For a heartbeat, Jinx didn’t know what to say. She had always imagined this moment would be one of shame or rejection—but this? This was warmth. Kindness. Acceptance.
“Th-thank you,” Jinx managed to stammer, her voice hoarse with emotion.
Lux’s mind wandered back to the moment everything changed.
It had been months ago, on a day like any other. She had gone to Eldermoor for supplies, only to find the village stricken. The scent of sickness hung heavy in the air—sour, wrong, and cloying. People had been too weak to speak, some barely breathing. Crops had wilted in their fields. Chickens and cattle lay still in their pens. Death was everywhere.
Lux had acted immediately, her magic flaring as she pushed back the sickness. She brought healing to those she could reach, pouring light into weakened bodies, driving the plague from the air. But she could not stop what had already taken hold. Some had passed. Some land was too far gone.
And in the silence of the aftermath, Jinx had arrived.
Lux had not asked her to come. Jinx had come on her own, stepping into the village like a storm cloud, her presence dark but her intentions clear.
“I can help,” she’d said, her voice low, unsure. “I know how to make it… stop spreading.”
The villagers had recoiled at first, their fear of the so-called “rot witch” too strong to ignore. But Jinx had only wanted to help. Her touch, though it caused decay, could also accelerate the decomposition process—turning the waste into nutrients, enriching the soil, and halting the disease’s spread.
In time, the villagers saw the results for themselves. The land began to heal. The soil that had been barren and sickly grew fertile again. The crops, once wilting and dying, began to sprout new life. It was Jinx’s magic that had turned the tide. She had given the village the one thing it needed most—renewal.
She worked in silence, never asking for thanks.
But they gave it anyway.
She and Lux worked together, life and death in harmony. And when the villagers saw what her magic truly meant—what it could give, not just take—they began to understand. They saw the sincerity in her eyes. The sorrow. The strength.
From that day forward, they welcomed her name, and then her face.
Now, months later, here she was. Walking through Eldermoor at Lux’s side, her head still lowered, but her heart just a little lighter.
“Come on,” Lux said, nudging her. “Let’s go to the apothecary. I think they’re out of your decay tonic.”
Jinx let out a shaky laugh. “Probably because old Man Hawthorne keeps using it to grow those freakishly large pumpkins.”
“Which he now proudly names after you, by the way,” Lux grinned. “Jinx the Rot Witch—queen of pumpkins.”
Jinx snorted, finally lifting her hood. “I’ve made peace with that title. As long as there’s pie involved.”
Lux smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Jinx’s temple. “They finally saw what I see in you. The beauty in all of it.”
She had long dreamed of this moment. Of seeing Jinx accepted, of seeing the world understand that decay wasn’t the enemy—it was part of a greater cycle. And now, for the first time, Jinx stood with her, not in the shadows of fear, but in the light of acceptance.
And that was all Lux had ever wanted. To walk beside her, in the world they both shared, and to make it bloom together.
And as they walked through the village hand in hand, laughter trailing behind them, the people of Eldermoor didn’t see a cursed woman. They saw a witch with bright blue hair and eyes like violets in the dark. A witch who had brought their land back from the brink. A witch who belonged.
And in her heart, Jinx finally began to believe it too.