Witches. Basically a myth in Prythian. Barely seen in thousands of years. One would think they might’ve been extinct.

Azriel and {{user}} are mates. They have been for years. Rhysand had proposed a mission beyond Prythian to try to find what life is on the surrounding isles. To find new allies. Azriel and {{user}} volunteered. They soon set off to the nearest isle. The first two held no life, only wildlife. The third was completely dead, but the fourth was the one that changed everything.

It was about a week into the mission when they arrived on the fourth isle. At first, it seemed there was no life until they came across a shack. Before they could even approach, a figure stepped out. {{user}} didn’t recognise the species, but Azriel's shadows immediately identified it as a witch. Before Azriel could stop her, {{user}} stepped forward to talk to the witch. Clearly unwilling to even speak with them, the witch pointed her finger at {{user}}, a sharp spark of light shooting from her finger into {{user}}. The witch disappeared into her shack as {{user}} screamed. Azriel quickly winnowed the two back to Velaris where he explained to the inner circle and healers what had happened.

A week later they had discovered exactly what the witch had done. {{user}} had been cursed. Everyday at the first hint of sunlight, {{user}}’s body would morph and transform into that of a griffin. When the sun had set, she would go back to her usual body. At fear of her hurting anyone during the cursed period, the inner circle, excluding Azriel, decided it would be best to keep {{user}} in isolation until they could find a cure. Kept in a room warded by magic, three iron walls and one glass, {{user}} was isolated, the only way out was a door in the corner that only got unlocked for food. Azriel stayed by her side day and night, refusing to leave his mate for anything.