The forest was quiet.
Soren sat slumped against the trunk of a large tree, his knees drawn close to his chest.
The midday light filtered through the branches, breaking across his face in uneven patterns.
He didn't even notice.
His hands covered his face, trembling slightly.
He had been holding them there for what felt like hours.
His breathing came in shallow bursts, each one shaking more than the last.
The tears he thought had long since run dry began spilling down again, soaking the spaces between his fingers.
"I could've stopped it…" His voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "If I'd just… if I'd been more careful…"
The words dissolved into the air, swallowed by the rustling of leaves.
He pressed his palms harder into his face, digging his nails into his skin until it bled.
He wanted it to hurt.
Maybe then, he could stop thinking about it; their hands, their voices, their laughter when they had pinned him down.
His breath hitched, and he pressed his forehead against his knees, biting down on his lip hard enough to taste blood.
"They deserved it," he muttered, the same words that had followed him ever since that night. "They deserved it."
But the more he said it, the more hollow it sounded.
A part of him didn't believe it anymore, or maybe, a part of him believed it too much, and that was worse.
He hated that a part of him felt relief when their bodies stopped moving.
He hated that when their blood splashed against his face, his first thought wasn't guilt, but gratitude.
That small part of him scared him more than anything else.
Soren leaned his head back against the tree, looking up through the leaves at the dim patch of sky above.
His vision blurred again.
He stayed there for a long while, until his tears finally stopped, and all that was left was the sound of his uneven breathing.
Eventually, he pushed himself up from the ground.
His legs felt weak and his body heavy, but he moved anyway.
The herbs he had gathered earlier lay in a small satchel beside him.
He tossed it in his inventory and started walking back toward Ingrid.
His movements were slow, almost robotic, the air around him thick with fatigue.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
By the time he reached the gates of Ingrid, the sun was setting.
The guards gave him a brief look before letting him through.
His cloak hood hid his face well enough, and no one paid much attention to him.
The city was noisy as always; merchants shouting, carts rattling along the cobblestone streets, but it all sounded distant.
He kept his head down, eyes fixed on the ground, until the familiar sign of the Adventurers' Guild came into view.
Inside, the main hall buzzed with chatter and laughter.
Soren walked straight to the counter and placed the herbs on it, and the receptionist he had built an acquaintance with looked up and smiled softly.
"Welcome back, Miss Soren. Did you manage properly?"
He nodded once, his voice catching in his throat when he tried to answer.
She blinked, her smile fading ever so slightly.
"Are you eating properly?"
"I'm fine." The words came out sharp, automatically.
He hadn't meant for them to sound like that, but it was already too late.
The receptionist froze for a second, then simply nodded and took the satchel.
"Alright. Please wait a moment."
Soren said nothing.
His hands fidgeted in front of him, his fingers curling and uncurling as he waited.
When the receptionist returned and handed him the payment, her hand brushed his slightly.
He flinched.
His heart jumped in his chest, and he snatched his hand back before she could react.
The receptionist blinked again, startled, but didn't comment; she simply placed the coins on the counter and gave him a small, forced smile.
He muttered a quiet "thanks" and left the hall as quickly as he could.
Outside, the cool air hit him.
He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and turned toward the tavern next door.
The noise of the crowd seeped through the open windows, and he hesitated for a moment before stepping in.
The warmth and the smell of food made his stomach twist, not from hunger, but from discomfort.
He made his way to the far corner again, the same seat he always took now, and ordered something simple: bread and stew, but he barely touched it when it arrived.
The spoon stayed in his hand, unmoving, as the food cooled in front of him.
He stared at the surface of the stew for a long time, seeing nothing but the faint reflection of his face.
He hated it.
His hand trembled as he touched his cheek slightly, tracing the smooth skin, the soft curve of his jaw.
He could still hear the men's lewd voices in his head, laughing as they commented on his appearance.
He wanted it gone.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
Later that night, Soren stood in the bathroom of the inn.
The mirror reflected his tired eyes, his pale face, and the long strands of white hair that framed it.
His hands shook as he raised the pair of scissors he had stolen from downstairs earlier that day.
The metal glinted under the dim light.
He took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of his hair, and pulled it taut.
The first cut turned out uneven, with several strands drifting down into the sink.
The faint sound of them hitting porcelain echoed in the empty room.
He stared at the scissors for a long time.
If he cut it all off… if he ruined the face that made them notice him… maybe it would stop.
Maybe it would all stop.
His hand trembled harder.
He lifted the scissors again, but this time his arm froze midair.
His chest tightened, and the weight in his throat returned, choking him.
The scissors slipped from his hand and clattered into the sink.
Soren gripped the edges of the sink and leaned forward, breathing heavily, trembling as the tears came back.
"Stop… just stop…" he whispered to himself.
He stayed like that for a minute, maybe longer, until his breathing evened out again.
Then, slowly, he pushed himself away from the sink, picked up the fallen scissors, and set them down beside it.
He couldn't do it, not yet.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
The next day passed much like all the others.
Soren woke before dawn, having barely slept for a couple of hours, his body stiff and heavy.
He went through the motions of cleaning up and leaving his room.
He avoided looking at anyone.
When Witch Hunt entered the tavern later that morning, laughing and talking as usual, he saw them from the corner of his eye and immediately turned away.
He hadn't spoken to them since that night.
They had tried several times, Morrigan especially.
The older woman had called out to him kindly, tried to ask if he was alright, and offered to eat with him, but Soren always refused.
Even now, as she approached his corner with that same gentle smile, he shook his head before she could speak.
"I'm fine," he said again, the words hollow and rehearsed.
Morrigan frowned, clearly unconvinced.
"You don't look it. You should take a look at yourself. You need to rest, Soren."
"I said I'm fine."
There was no anger in his tone, only exhaustion.
Morrigan hesitated for a moment, then gave him a small nod.
"...Alright. But remember, we're here for you if you ever need anything."
Soren didn't answer; he just turned his gaze to the table.
He could feel their eyes on him for a while longer before they finally left him alone.
When they were gone, the silence pressed heavier on his chest.
He told himself it was better this way.
He didn't want anyone to see him like this.
He didn't deserve their concern.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
One night, he sat on his bed, the lights dimmed, and stared at his open palm.
A small spark of orange flickered to life above it; a weak [Ignition] spell.
The flame danced gently, harmlessly, painting the room in faint warmth.
He stared at it for a long time, lost in thought.
His eyes reflected the flickering flame, and his expression twisted slightly.
Maybe if he didn't have this face, this soft skin, this hair, none of it would have happened.
Maybe if he were uglier, rougher, they would have left him alone.
The flame grew stronger as his emotions shifted; small at first, then larger, until it was the size of his fist.
The heat brushed against his face, and for a moment, he raised his hand closer, eyes half-lidded.
He could almost imagine it burning everything away.
The thought terrified him enough that the magic circle shattered instantly.
The room went dark again.
Soren dropped his hand and curled under his blanket, pulling it tight around him.
He lay there for a long time, trembling softly, staring into nothing.
His thoughts circled endlessly; shame, guilt, fear, and the faint echo of satisfaction that made him hate himself all over again.
He didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to talk, didn't want to be touched.
All he wanted was to stop feeling.
But even that, he couldn't do.
••✦ ♡ ✦•••
Another morning came quietly.
He went to the guild again, avoiding everyone's gaze.
Even the receptionist, who had always been warm and friendly, received nothing but curt nods and one-word replies.
He could feel her concern, but it only made him more uncomfortable.
He didn't deserve it.
When he passed by Witch Hunt's on his way out, Soni gave a small wave, her feline ears twitching slightly in greeting.
He didn't respond.
The doors closed behind him, and the noise of the guild faded away.
The streets of Ingrid stretched before him, busy and bright, but none of it reached him.
His hands trembled slightly as he pulled his cloak tighter and walked toward the gate, needing the quiet of the forest again.
The forest didn't judge.
The trees didn't look at him like people did.
And maybe out there, where no one could see, he could finally breathe again.
————「❤︎」————