There were elves in my walls. The counsel had promised them asylum, opening up the realm’s portals, the Copper Lady welcoming them in. They taught us their ways, and we taught them ours. Then the winds shifted, a weed cracked through our very foundation as a realm. Once prosperous and peaceful, he promised greatness in the form of violence. He took away coin to support his own thirst of blood. He gifted the coin he had stolen from righteous causes to the witches whom pledged to do his bidding.

They soon began their hunt, seeking out any stray elf, no matter their age, gathering them up for their ruler to decide what shall be done about them. His commands came as swiftly as the golem’s gavel. Except there was no balance to this iron rule, just a silver laced tongue whispering in the right ears and declaring himself superior.

I tried to help, hollowing out my walls was no easy task, even with my many forms, but then the day came, when I went into town, and the order came. I dare shift no longer, for the witches can detect the slightest ripple of magic from a whole day’s ride away.

So here I sit.

Dutifully doing my embroidery, listening to the steady scratching from within my walls that lets me know my friends are safe, itching to shed this skin for which I truly am. The scratching stops and with it my breath. My needle goes a bit too far and I feel it pierce my now soft skin. I do not move. Straining my ears, I wait. The witches had no need for subtly, simply knocking on my door would suffice, still I fret for- There it is, faint but steady. My breath loosens once more.  Looking down I frowned; my blood had seeped through the small moonflower I was trying to depict. It was supposed to be a symbol of light shining through the darkest night, but now the darkness was seeping back in.