Jora did not like the news of yet another new Spring Spirit. He knew that opposite seasons were supposed to hate each other, but that didn’t matter when it came to a particular Springtress.

Two before the newest one, there was a woman named Flora, regarded as the true mother soul of Spring. She was kind, loving, bubbly and the love of Jora’s life.

Unfortunately, the Spirit of Winter back then took her away from him permanently out of jealousy. Since then, Jora has hated him and the idiotic pile of mud; the current Spring.

Then he heard that the current spirit was looking for a Chosen, a successor to take over after his 2,000 years of reign. Nothing pissed Jora off more. He knew the newest replacement of his beloved would only irritate him.

He didn’t imagine for you to be the newest annoyance. Or to visit him in his domain, much less. You’re short and stout, nowhere near the eight feet plus of your formers, long, limby and tall like the trees they create.

Your eyes are wide with a hope he hadn’t seen since her, and you have an aura that surprisingly, did not make him angry. Sure, you’re loud and talkative, but you smell like honey with wildflowers. Fresh air of when meadows bloom.