He's Under My Spell

Priscilla stumbled on, her legs heavy, her heart aching as she enters the forest mountain, it loomed over her, a silent, unforgiving witness to her despair. Where would she go? What would she do?

She turned to Luminous, the white crow perched on her shoulder, his feathers ruffled by the wind. "Luminous," she whispered, "Can you fly and find us a safe place to rest? I… I can't go any further."

Luminous, sensing her distress, took flight, disappearing into the dense foliage. Priscilla, exhausted and dehydrated, sank to the ground, her knees buckling beneath her. The world spun, and then darkness enveloped her.

She awoke to the sound of a gentle voice. "Are you alright?"

Disoriented, Priscilla blinked, trying to focus. She was in a small, cozy room, the scent of pine needles filling the air. A man sat beside her, his face etched with concern.

"Where… where am I?" she stammered, her voice hoarse.

The man smiled gently. "You were unconscious. I found you in my yard. You must have wandered off the path."

Priscilla looked around, bewildered. "I… I don't remember…"

"Don't worry," the man assured her. "You're safe here. I wouldn't hurt you."

Priscilla hesitated, her instincts warning her to be wary of strangers. But his kindness, genuine and unwavering, disarmed her. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "For saving me."

The man nodded. "You're welcome. Rest. You need it."

Priscilla watched the man rise, her gaze drawn to the cane leaning against the wall. He was blind. The realization hit her with a jolt.

He returned shortly, carrying a tray laden with steaming broth and crusty bread. As he carefully placed it on the low table, Priscilla couldn't help but stare, fascinated. He moved with an uncanny grace, his hands outstretched, seemingly sensing the obstacles in his path. He navigated the room with an ease that belied his blindness, as if the layout of his home was permanently imprinted on his mind.

"You can stop staring," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "I can feel your gaze."

Priscilla's cheeks flushed crimson. "I… I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean to be rude. I was just… amazed. At how you… you move around."

The man paused, his hand hovering over the steaming bowl. Priscilla felt a flicker of unease, as if she'd said something wrong. "I'm used to it," he said finally, his voice a little softer. "People tend to stare."

"I understand," Priscilla mumbled, feeling a surge of guilt. "I'm truly sorry. It was insensitive of me."

The man waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. Now, eat."

"Where… where am I?" Priscilla asked again, her voice trembling.

"You're at the bottom of the mountain of Lazi," the man replied.

The name struck a chord. Lazi. It was on the other side of the mountain from Bacong, her former home. The memory of their house, now reduced to ashes, brought a fresh wave of grief. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

The man, clearly unused to such emotional displays, seemed unsure how to react. He shifted uncomfortably on the furs. "Is… is it okay to ask what happened? You looked… exhausted and disheveled when I found you. Your clothes were torn. What brought you here?"

Sniffling back tears, Priscilla managed a weak smile. "I… I was running from someone."

The man, thankfully, didn't press further. He simply offered her the bowl of broth again. "Eat," he urged gently. "You need your strength."

After eating, Priscilla felt a surge of energy. She couldn't stay here any longer. She had to find a way to survive, to rebuild her life.

"Thank you," she said, rising to her feet. "Thank you for saving me. I… I have to go now."

"Wait," the man said, his voice a little stronger. "You don't know this area. It's easy to get lost."

"I… I have to get to Bacong," Priscilla explained, her voice trembling. "My parents are waiting for me there."

The man nodded understandingly. "Alright, then. Be careful. And… and take care."

"Thank you," Priscilla repeated, a genuine smile gracing her lips this time. "I'm Priscilla, by the way."

"And I'm Elvis," the man replied.

As Priscilla stepped out of the small hut, she glanced back. It was a simple dwelling, a humble abode, yet it held a warmth she hadn't felt since the fire. It was a reminder that not all huts held bad memories, that kindness and compassion could still be found in the most unexpected places.