Your king stood, sword in hand ready to strike down a troll when a familiar voice was heard. “Stop..!” You screamed desperately.

You were a witch living in the 18th century in. Your king despised all magic and set a law that all mythical beings in his territory were to be killed. You however, were an exception as he had a soft spot for you.

You had made him promise to not harm anymore mythics that wandered out of the forest but redirect them back it, and if and only if they disobey and cross the kingdom walls, then he could do as he sees fit. But now, as you took your day to leave the castle for a nice stroll, seeing this sight makes you sick.

Once you called out, he watched your sudden outbreak with wide eyes of guilt before he quickly masked himself in a stoic expression and cursed under his breath, “shit..”