The Affliction Has Been Mended

The gathering of ethereal women came to life, a wave of eager anticipation sweeping across their ghostly assembly. From their midst, one strode forward, her hands cradling a chalice that seemed to be etched from the very essence of spring—its form was a network of translucent, crystalline leaves shimmering with a verdant glow. She stepped with purpose toward the spectral grove, towards an otherworldly tree, and lifted its slender limb as if summoning power from within it.

There, bound to the phantom bark in an embrace of both resignation and rebellion, was a young girl whose eyes danced with both fear and unyielding courage. The chalice bearer held aloft a fragment of jade, sharp and clear as truth itself, and with it she carved an intricate pattern into the tree's surface. From the depths of this freshly etched groove emerged a nectar that held the soft glow of moonlight through fog—silvery and luminescent—it cascaded into the chalice until it brimmed with magical essence.

By Morrigan's side stood another figure who wrapped her fingers around the sap-filled cleft in the tree. A gentle touch was all it took; upon her withdrawal, the tree's weeping ceased. The girl was released from her arboreal prison.

“The affliction has been mended,” murmured the woman in tones that carried the weight of ancient forests. “This was your burden to bear, young sister. The scar will seal itself. The recollection will wane like mist at dawn.”

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