Chapter 49
Written by Bayzo Albion
"Want to see my acorn collection?" she asked, her tone laced with seduction, as if offering a peek into forbidden chambers.
"Don't you dare agree!" my inner voice howled. "I've read the fables. First acorns, then marriage, and boom—you're dad to seventy little stumps!"
I backed away, but a neighboring tree—with more pronounced hips—leaned in and murmured:
"We love being watered..."
"Damn..." was all I managed before the entire grove tilted toward me, encircling like a verdant noose.
I retreated, but the trees closed ranks, their leaves whispering conspiratorially.
"He touched me first!" the slender birch pouted, her "hips" swaying indignantly.
"So what?" countered the robust oak with carved shoulders. "A man belongs with one who has a solid trunk!"
"This is turning into a forest edition of *The Bachelor*," my inner voice sighed.
I raised my hands placatingly. "Ladies, please..."
"Quiet, handsome!" they chorused. "We'll decide who's worthy of your... touch."
The birch lunged gracefully, grabbing my wrist. The oak countered, its roots gently but firmly lifting me off the ground.
"I can offer shade in the heat and shelter in storms," the birch declared passionately.
"And I..." the oak puffed up, "...can endure a century of marriage without complaining of fatigue."
"Don't choose!" my inner voice roared. "Either way, you'll father a whole damn grove!"
From the depths emerged an aspen, her bark creaking alluringly: "Boys, don't fight... he'll be mine anyway."
The oak and birch rustled in outrage, sparking a botanical brawl. I stood at the heart of the most bizarre love triangle in floral history.
"Hey," I interjected, palms up, "how about we just... drink some sap?"
"Brilliant!" they exclaimed in unison, bending over me with a wave of sweet fragrance.
"That's it," my inner voice lamented. "They're about to drink *us* dry—in reverse."
Just as the oak prepared to envelop me in its branches, my doppelgänger burst from the bushes, panting, leaves tangled in his hair.
"Whoa, whoa, hold up!" he waved frantically, like directing traffic. "I see we've got some... intense negotiations here."
"None of your business," the birch hissed, tossing her crown flirtatiously.
"Wrong, sweetheart," he grinned. "This guy's on loan from me."
"We're ready to buy out the contract," the oak mused, clenching roots like a makeshift purse. "Name your price."
"What the actual hell is going on?!" my inner voice exploded, but I stayed silent, too fascinated to interrupt.
"Well..." My doppelgänger squatted, appraising seriously. "Standard rates: Compliments at a liter of sap each, hugs at two liters, and for whatever you're plotting—half the grove."
The aspen creaked coyly: "What if I gift him an autumn leaf right in his hand?"
"That's the bonus tier," he replied unfazed. "But you'll owe acorns as tips."
The birch bristled: "Extortion!"
"Business," he shrugged. "You're lucky—it's discount day."
The oak furrowed its brow: "Half the grove's steep. Two clearings and the stream meadow, and he's yours for the weekend."
My doppelgänger turned to me: "Deal? Fancy a stay at 'Oak & Co. Spa Resort'?"
"Agree, and you'll wake with an ivy ring and vows to a birch," my inner voice hissed.
The air shimmered, leaves whirling in a vortex, as she emerged—the Forest Queen. Majestic, composed... and dripping with weary sarcasm.
Her eyes swept the scene: me half-undressed, clutching a trunk; the oak entwining me; my doppelgänger haggling rates.
"No more embarrassment," she stated flatly. "Release."
With a subtle snap of her fingers, a gentle breeze sighed through—dry, warm, scented with pine. A pale spark ignited over the mushroom; golden dust rose, hissing as it burned away. The smirking trunks faded, faces dissolving back into bark; shoulders melted into wood. The branches holding me petrified, dusting my shoulders with ordinary pollen.
"Tickles..." the oak tried to finish, but its voice cracked like splintering bark.
"Objection!" the birch wailed, her form dissolving. "We hadn't covered the 'shade + coziness' package!"
"Contract voided," my doppelgänger declared matter-of-factly, watching the "purse" roots vanish. "Restitution in kind—no meadows transferred."
The last glimmers of enchantment flickered out. Before me stood plain trees—rough, silent, devoid of hips or lips. I peeled away from the trunk and adjusted my pants.
"Next time," the queen continued icily, "ask before eating the unknown. Here, even 'edible alcohol' scripts romantic comedies for you."
She nodded at the giant mushroom, which shriveled like an overripe loaf and poofed into a harmless brown smudge.
> Interface: [Perception illusion lifted. Residual effects: Awkwardness +3, Dry mouth +1.]
"Work resumes tomorrow as planned," she added, turning away. "And please... less 'botany' with the flora."
A trail of floral chill lingered as she vanished among the pines.
Left alone with the woods—utterly ordinary now—my inner voice cleared its throat.
"Well... experiment successful. We've confirmed kissing an oak is a lousy idea."
"Shut it," I muttered, cheeks burning.
My doppelgänger sighed: "Still, a shame. I nearly scored two clearings and that stream meadow."
I kicked the wilted mushroom cap with my boot toe. No songs, no hats—just a crunch.
"Fine," I grumbled. "Back to reality. Work won't do itself."
I straightened my belt, scanned for any twitching roots or smiling bark—none—and strode onward, meticulously skirting anything that gleamed even faintly.
– – –
"We've been trudging through this damn forest for days on end," my doppelgänger whined, shifting lazily from one foot to the other like a child dragged on an endless errand. "When are we finally going to stumble upon a new village? Or at least someone—anyone—besides these monotonous, eternal trees that all blur into one big green haze?"
"Alright, that's enough for today," I brushed him off, wiping the slick sheen of sweat from my brow. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves, and my muscles ached from the relentless hike.
"Teleportation technique!" he suddenly exclaimed, clapping his hands like an excited kid and bouncing on his toes. "Instant spatial translocation! Warp-jump extraordinaire!"
"You know you can just teleport without all the dramatic flair," I sighed wearily, rubbing my temples.
"I know, I know," he rolled his eyes dramatically. "But I can't help it—it's like sneezing. You can't just hold it in."
"Then get on with it already."
"Oh, fine, sorry—forgot you're humor-free today," he huffed theatrically, spreading his arms wide before finally snapping his fingers with a flourish.
The world lurched violently, compressing into a blinding pinpoint of light before exploding outward again. In an instant, we were home.
As always, our arrival was greeted by the three enchanting women who made this place feel like a sanctuary amid the chaos of our adventures. The air was thick with the comforting, savory aroma of roasted monster meat, mingling seamlessly with the fresh-baked warmth of bread and the subtle smokiness from the hearth. In the corner, a brazier crackled softly, its flames dancing like old friends sharing secrets.
"Good evening, my radiant fairies!" my doppelgänger burst out with over-the-top enthusiasm, throwing his arms wide for hugs. "How many agonizing hours have I endured, deprived of the joy of gazing upon your luminous faces?!"
He plastered on such a pitiful, longing expression that it could've won awards in any street theater troupe—eyes wide with feigned despair, lips quivering just so.
As usual, they ignored his antics, a fate he'd grown accustomed to with his ceaseless chatter. One of the girls—Iris, I think—merely glanced his way lazily and drawled, "Wash your hands first."
We settled around the table, and my mind drifted to our "children." They'd grown so quickly and ventured out—not just into the world, but into realms of their own, it seemed. A pang of regret tugged at me; I wished they'd stayed to build our little community together. But calling them "children" felt like a stretch—they'd emerged fully formed, with personalities, habits, and stubborn streaks already etched deep. We'd only given them a nudge in the right direction, and then they were off, forging paths we could only imagine. The thought left a bittersweet ache in my chest, like watching birds flee the nest too soon.
"Tonight's menu features a monster meat medley," Siesta the elf announced evenly, setting down plates with graceful efficiency. The hearth's warmth pulled tendrils of spice-laden smoke through the room, teasing the senses with hints of crispy edges and juicy interiors.
"Only the finest delicacies for such lovely ladies," I bowed gallantly, while my doppelgänger discreetly rummaged in his spatial storage—riddled with metaphorical holes from overuse—and produced rare treats: strips of sun-dried fruits that gleamed like jewels, a heap of crunchy nuts, and a couple of ale bottles that hissed faintly under their corks, promising a fizzy escape.
"Aren't you all tired of nothing but meat?" Iris asked, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger with feigned nonchalance, though her eyes sparkled with mischief, making it clear the question was anything but rhetorical.
I paused, letting a half-smile play on my lips. "Of course—chewing on monster flesh day after day gets old fast... But what choice do I have?"
It was a white lie, meant to keep the peace. Truth be told, I adored their signature dishes—the way they blended secret herbs that numbed your tongue at first bite, only to unleash a symphony of flavors that made every meal feel like a celebration. The textures, the aromas... it was pure bliss.
My doppelgänger snorted quietly but wisely kept his mouth shut, focusing instead on slicing the bread with exaggerated precision. Three pairs of eyes met mine, radiating that quiet, genuine warmth you couldn't buy with gold or quest rewards. In that moment, I realized once again that no grand expedition could rival the soft glow of candlelight over this table, the simple intimacy of shared glances and unspoken bonds.
"Tonight, we ladies will indulge in the meat," the Baroness declared with a innocently predatory grin, rearranging plates like a strategist moving pieces on a chessboard. "You boys get the normal fare."
"If you insist," I sighed in mock resignation, pulling over my "boring" portion: crusty bread that cracked satisfyingly under my fingers, warm cheese melting at the edges, a handful of nuts with their earthy crunch, and a mug of ale that foamed invitingly.
"Ah, family bliss at its finest," my doppelgänger mumbled through a mouthful of bread and cheese. "Women feasting on dragon tenderloin, men nibbling salads. Balance, harmony, equality... just like in the fairy tales."