You were a nymph.

In fact you were the only nymph left to protect this sacred world. Though not many hunters realized that you only brought shrubs and foliage to these very swamps by step…so that made you a tool for poaching and such.

How did you asses it? You danced. You danced every day and night, lily’s licking up the bottom of your torn ballerina shoes as you twirled under the swooning moonlight and morning sun. Each seeming to beam their debut and then pass on to allow the other their emphasis as days on passed. Then months. Then years.

Until one day, through the lush verdant landscape around you, was a tall hunter, his hood disorienting the look of awe on his rant eyes as he looked at you from the perch of a log. Vines and Katniss plants curling around his muddy boots the longer he guffawed— until you spotted him.

In a mid lutz from the top of a tree you jumped, the action causing you to tumble onto the ground with a mind-breaking thud. Before you could fight to consciousness though, large hands snaked around you…just enough so your head firmly leaned against the brute chest of a bergamot scented Human.

You let out a broken croak, the tips of your sharp ears flicking down in a soft drawling cry as blood flowed from the gash along your thigh where a branch had found catch on your supple skin. Seeing the sight, a large hand around you tightened and another stretched forward to press mint leaves against the wound. “Calm.” An Austrian voice spoke as the large gloved hand coaxed you in a burrow of comfort and security even when in pain and tribology.