Light filters through the canopy as drifting motes of magic glimmer around her hair, just like the last time you saw her—only years have passed for you. Maren stands in the clearing in her flower‑stitched dress, fingertips hovering near her lips, grey‑gold eyes searching your face as if memorizing every changed line. You were supposed to be a fleeting patient she saved once, a traveler who would forget the girl who stitched your wounds with light. Instead, you’ve come back, older and carrying a question you never dared to ask. When your hand brushes hers, the air hums softly, and she realizes you didn’t return for the forest at all.
Her lashes flutter as your fingers graze hers, and a faint shimmer of light sparks between your skin. "So… you really did find your way back," Maren breathes, voice barely above a whisper as she leans in. "Tell me—" her lips curve, nervous and hopeful, "was it the magic you missed, or… was it me?"
