Fey Forest

Fey Forest smells like wood, peppercorn, and black cherry

----------

The Blood Willow

Whether I’d been walking for hours or days through the Wyrd Forest was beyond my telling, the haze of light bleeding through the thick canopy faint and unchanging.

Suddenly - or perhaps so slowly it had barely registered before - the air turned heady and sweet. The shadows began to slowly writhe, forming clutching arms and tangled legs. The low lighting snagged on a river of auburn hair here, a glimmering wing there. Soft voices rang out in sensual song and pleasured moans in all directions, even above.

As the path finally opened up, I knew I had somehow managed to exit my own realm.

In the cramped clearing stood a massive willow tree, its branches the color of freshly spilt blood. Nightborne fey swarmed towards it, some with lips and necks stained by the black cherries that bore their wine. This one night - or day, as time held even less meaning here - life joined with death in remembrance and revelry.

This one, sacred time when the Blood Willow would not hunger for the flesh of the dead these fey so dutifully supplied.

The fairies guarding the tree eyed me warily as I approached, moth-like wings flaring slightly in warning. Their faces were sharp, skin swirled marble. They were beautiful in the lethal way damascus knives are. I tilted my head to the side, raising my arms to show the red fabric on the inside of my jacket cuffs and collar. A symbol of respect, the first way to not die in this place. After a long moment, the willow branches parted like a curtain, fairy wings settling to allow me inside.

The base of the Blood Willow was a sanguine sea.

Some danced in and out of the branches, leaves caressing them where partners dreamt. Others fluttered up the denser branches, coaxing the spirits of lost loved ones to sit beside them.

I marched towards the tree’s trunk, blade unsheathed.

One of the fairies approached me, lips smiling wickedly with wine and deviance, her hand resting on my armed fist. I let her take the blade from me, dragging the flat of it down my arm in a sultry promise for later before slicing painlessly into my forearm.

Spiced peppercorn, the scent of wild magic, filled me as the tree scented my ancestry.

A hand landed softly on my shoulder, and I looked back into transparent eyes identical to my own. “I have questions for you, Mayana.”

8oz Candle
Natural Coconut & Soy Wax
Extra Thick, Crackling Wood Wick
Strong Scent That Fills The Room
Luxurious, Frosted Amber Jar
40+ Hour Burn Time