Ivors, their miniature forms casting eerie shadows in the twilight, gathered in a tight circle around the modest house of Hugo. The air was charged with palpable tension, their tiny eyes gleaming with an otherworldly intensity. Their diminutive size did not detract from their purpose, and they seemed to move together with a shared determination.
Within the humble abode, the Snow Witch, her cascading locks as white as a frozen cascade, had devoted herself to Prince Lane for forty-eight tireless hours. Her unique blend of frosty enchantment had woven a protective shroud around the prince, shielding him from an inscrutable affliction.
The room had transformed into a sanctum of ethereal ice and glistening crystals, a testament to how much power she had used. She felt it was not a usual Goblin that did this to the prince. But the Prince- oh, she should've believed those elves earlier. This would've been much easier if she had come early- she cursed her personality for the first time in a long time.
Lane reclined at a rather unconventional royal resting place, a woven masterpiece of ivy that would undoubtedly earn him the title of "the Ivy Prince" if anyone ever found out. His breathing could only be described as miserably shallow as if he were having a contest to see how little air he could actually inhale.
The prince's face once graced with the healthy flush of youth, had taken on an interesting shade of "I really should have stayed in bed today." Tiny pearls of sweat, most likely engaged in a daring escape from his fevered brow, sparkled like misguided stars.
The Snow Witch, "Can you just get a bit better, dear sweet little son of Ysabel?" she whispered, blessing her heart. She had thrown herself into her task with a dedication that was nothing short of heroic. Yet, much like someone searching for their lost sock in a dark and dusty closet, she seemed to be encountering more frustration than success.
Lane's condition was like a riddle wrapped in an enigma and sprinkled with a generous helping of "Why is this happening to me?" The poor prince probably felt like he'd stumbled into a twisted fairy tale, one where the happily-ever-after had taken a very wrong turn. Oh wait- they didn't reach that far into the story yet. Mind you, Lane.
As for the Snow Witch, her determination was unwavering, but her expression was shaping up to be a masterclass in "I really wish I had taken up gardening instead." She was locked in a battle of wills with an illness that had about as much charm as a grumpy troll with a toothache.
In the grand tradition of royal troubles, this one had the distinct air of "I didn't sign up for this when I agreed to be the Snow Witch." Her frosty powers were certainly impressive, but they were currently on a first-name basis with frustration.
The Ivors, deeply attuned to the mystical currents of the world, had sensed a disturbance in the magical equilibrium. Their innate instincts had guided them to Hugo's threshold, drawn by the presence of the Snow Witch and the enigmatic malady that gripped the prince.
Their melodious voices, whispered in hushed tones, formed an intricate chant. With synchronized movements, they wove delicate luminescent patterns through the air, intertwining with the Snow Witch's frosty enchantments.
The Snow Witch, her eyes shut in unwavering concentration, could feel the Ivors' magic harmonizing with her own. Their ancient wisdom and profound connection to the arcane held the potential to unravel the mysteries of Lane's affliction. Together, they orchestrated a harmonious symphony of magic—a delicate ballet between elemental forces and the mystical energies of the Ivors.
Hours slipped away, and the room remained bathed in the soft luminescence of their conjured magic. The Snow Witch, her eyes heavy with fatigue, took a deep breath. It had been two days of relentless effort, and she had made sure everyone left the room when she began this arduous process.
But now, a change was in the air. Her whispered incantations shifted, and the magic that flowed from her was different, more potent than before. It was as if she had decided to channel every last ounce of her remaining energy into this final, desperate attempt to heal Lane.
"You are as stubborn as your mother and as hard to take on as your father," she thought, continuing to chant as her hands which flowed with enormous energy were brought upon Lane's body.
The room itself seemed to respond to the shift in magic. Shadows danced along the walls, and the air grew charged with almost palpable energy. The Snow Witch's concentration deepened, and her graceful form swayed with the immense effort she was expending.
Outside the room, the Ivors had gathered, their faces etched with worry and hope. They had been waiting anxiously for days, their concern for that human- they don't know that well, growing with each passing hour. Now, as the magic within the chamber intensified, a hushed murmur of anticipation spread among them.
Inside the room, the Snow Witch's hands moved with purpose, her fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air. Her voice, barely above a whisper, wove a complex tapestry of incantations that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the world. Magic flowed from her, a torrent of power that engulfed Lane's still form.
Lane himself was caught in a deep, restless slumber. His brow furrowed with pain, but there was a hint of serenity on his face as if some part of him sensed the profound struggle taking place around him.
And then, as dawn's first light began to filter into the room, something extraordinary happened. Lane's breathing steadied, and the lines of pain on his face softened. It was as if a weight had been lifted, and a profound calm settled over the chamber.
The Snow Witch's hands trembled as she withdrew her magic, her energy spent. She staggered back, her strength drained, and her body sank to the floor. But she wore a triumphant smile, for she knew that they had achieved what seemed impossible.
Lane's eyes fluttered open, and he took a deep, revitalizing breath. His gaze met the Snow Witch's, and there was profound gratitude in his eyes. He reached out a trembling hand, and she grasped it.
"Finally..." the words slipped away from both of their lips like a brush from a gentle wind. Just like the gentle sway of the dandelions, Lane pushed himself up but was stopped by the Witch.
"Oh, Please..." she started.
Lane couldn't help but chuckle as he lifted his hand in front of his mouth. The door burst open.
"WHAT HAPPENED, MISS SNOW-" Serenya stopped in panic as she saw the scene. She blinked twice before she rushed and jumped onto Lane. "Goodness, you missed so much that had happened- oh!" she pushes Lane back as she raises an eyebrow with her blurry eyes filled with water. "What you say it- you missed so much tea!"
Snow witch grabs Serenya by the collar of her outfit. "Oh, please," she rolled her eyes, "this little elf! You live for long but this-" she pointed at Lane, "Doesn't! Go easy!"
Lane couldn't help but laugh at Serenya's enthusiasm and Snow Witch's true words, even though he winced a little as she jumped onto him. He was about to respond to her when the door burst open, and a flurry of activity followed.
Rowan, Hugo and a group of Ivors rushed into the room, their faces a mix of relief and curiosity. Words tumbled out of their mouths like a waterfall, questions and blessings mingling together. It was a cacophony of voices, each one vying for Lane's attention.
"Oh, Lane, you're awake!"
"Are you feeling better?"
"What happened in here?"
"Did the Snow Witch save you?"
Amidst the commotion, the Snow Witch quietly slipped away from the room, her exhaustion evident. She knew that Lane was in good hands now, and she needed some well-deserved rest.
As she stepped into the corridor, she nearly collided with Lucius, who had been waiting anxiously outside. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the scene inside the room.
"Lucius!" the Snow Witch exclaimed. Her voice was filled with a mixture of relief and weariness. She swayed slightly on her feet, and he reached out to steady her.
"Are you alright?" Lucius asked concern etched on his features.
The Snow Witch managed a faint smile. "I will be, once I've had some rest. Prince Lane is awake-"
"SHHHHHHH" Lucius kept a finger on his lips. He shook his head.
"What?"
Lucius looked around and bent in as he slowly whispered in her ears, "No one here knows that Lane is the Prince."
Lane tried to respond to their inquiries, but the barrage of questions left him momentarily speechless. He looked around at the faces, trying to find the one most important to him. His eyes went wide as he couldn't find it. Before he could answer anything, before he could think about anything else, he asked, "Where's Casey?"