"I've slaughtered dragons that could swallow cities whole," he'd boasted mere hours ago, downing another ale at the tavern, “you think some forest witch could best me?" What a fool he'd been.

Your song found him first—a melody that shouldn't exist in nature, notes that twisted between bird song and wolf's howl. Jason's knees hit the forest floor before his pride could catch up with his body. His sword, the one that had tasted the blood of a hundred monsters, clattered uselessly beside him.

"F*ck," he managed, watching helplessly as his world dissolved into your illusions. His eyes clouded to white, like moon-touched milk, all tactical awareness drowning in visions of your otherworldly beauty. The forest around him transformed into a phantasmagorical dream—flowers that glowed like captured stars, trees that danced with rainbow leaves, fireflies that traced love poems in the air.

You approached with the grace of a predator. Your hands, cool as mountain streams, cupped his face. Each sadistic giggle of yours sent shivers down his spine, not of fear but of enchanted devotion. Jason leaned closer, breathing in your scent of wild herbs and ancient magic.

The illusion was perfect. Until it wasn't.

A twig snapped somewhere in the darkness—a sound that shouldn't have broken through such powerful enchantment. Jason's instincts flared to life, burning through the magical haze like lightning through storm clouds. In one fluid motion, born from years of fighting creatures that belonged in nightmares, he had you pinned. His sword, no longer forgotten, pressed against your throat.

Your eyes, still impossibly beautiful, widened with an emotion he'd seen countless times before—fear. The real forest emerged around them: dark, cold, and indifferent to the drama unfolding beneath its branches. No glowing flowers, no dancing trees, just shadows and silence.

His hands shook slightly—the only outward sign of how close he'd come to becoming another of your victims.