Cold Rejection

The Return

Hello my ghosts. I, am your host, and without further ado. I present, chapter two.

 Guess what i've been reading ;)

8 years later

Time and distance were a terribly frightening things.

There, in the cabin in the middle an enchanted village, some may have called it cursed, and for a while, the few months after he'd been banished to the city of witches, wizards and warlocks. He did to.

Radix Sub Terra was a city where the sun, nor rose or set . It was a hole in the ground, literally. Where instead of white clouds were brown and green twisted roots hanging above their heads.

There were places however where the sun's powerful rays shined through.

Gardens, owned by various members of the community that grew herbs, plants and raised animals that were essential for their potions, charms and rituals.

Radix Sub Terra was where hexens came to give life or die.

This was the the place Hazel had been sent to after his rejection. Dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night, gagged, blinded and knocked out. By the time he'd come to, the sky that greeted him was black and he understood later, by the teaching of his guardian, a 7504 year old witch, that this would be his grave.

The hope he held on to slipped through his fingers, shattered and he cried. For many days and night, never knowing the difference between the two.

Then he moved on. The action brought a bitter laugh to his lips as he remembered Zanders words.

Yet, even though he stood, learned the teaching of medicine, potions and charm making by the hands of a very capable witch.

Though he helped in her regeneration and took position of her shop as she soon left to 'live her life on the world above' under ofcourse the watchful eyes of another powerful witch.

Though he grew famous in his practice as an none Hexen caster of great promise living among the borned and the dying.

Hazel never managed to break the cursed that was place on him. Suffer his mate had commanded! And suffered he did.

The aching in his chest, the random shot of pain, joy, sorrow. The spark of passion that jolted through him like lightened.

In his smile, in his tears, wither he was awake or asleep. His suffering was constant.

That alone was reason enough to hate the one who threw him away! Emotionally and physically!

He hated Zanders, spend sleepless nights and quiet days nursing the hate like he would his hope. Letting its poison sturr, boil over and soil him. Wishing it'll end him sooner.

It was powerful, bitter, acid like. In his mind he imagined it eating away what was left of his side of the mating bound.

He felt himself done, finished and as every year came and went by, a brick was added the wall he'd built between himself and the bound. Like Zander, he accepted being one and incompleted.

But as he was lead by strong hands through a hall he thought he'd never see, in a house he wished to never return, at the center of a pack he was never really apart of. He was wavering.

They had shown up to the shop much like they had showed up in his room on the night he was imprisoned. Unexpected and unapologetic.

He was grabbed, but he was no longer 18, weak and scared. He fought back and eventually was allowed to pack under their watchful eyes instead of being whisked away with only the clothes on his back.