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The Sorcerer and Her Son >> Witch!Kylo Ren X Reader

Title: The Sorcerer and Her Son

Paring: Witch!Kylo Ren X Reader

Warnings: witchcraft, murder, the usual. Fluff, angst, symbolism. 

Spoilers: Nope. This is a Witches in Medieval times AU.

Author's Note: Okay. So I intended to write this for May 4 because I'm a huge fricking geek and I live for Star Wars. But. I totally forgot the date. And now it's May 6 where I am, and I feel like the worst disappointment to Star Wars than Anakin Skywalker himself.

Anyways. I was in the mood for witches and magic and I love Star Wars and AUs. So. Enjoy, or whatever.

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In the forest, there is a place where the songbirds do not fly, where the grass does not grow. In that place, by the edge of the scraggly cliff lays a house, where not a soul in the township spoke of. Perhaps it was because they loved the witch, Lady Leia Organa, or required her herbal remedies through the harsh more than her persecution, but during the purge of the sorcerers throughout the land, she stayed in her house. Also, not a soul from the town spoke of her son, the young Ben, or by his midnight name, Kylo. Everyone knew that the solstice Han Solo went missing, his son came to fruit.

It was also known that the same solstice, you came to fruit also. But unlike the great blood that ran through the witch's son, you were but the tailor's daughter and whilst other women were out in the world, swaying the likes of men and marrying off for money, you were stitching garments for them, staying in the store.

Your stitches were neat, and your daydreams full of things that you weren't allowed to think of. While the women were out wooing the gentlemen, your mind would wander, or your eyes would, anyway, and when the town square outside the shop window would be bare, Lady Leia and her son would wander within the township's boundaries. They wore garb unlike what you sewed; fantastical capes, long skirts embroidered with symbols, a token of dried edelweiss pinned to their blouse. He wore ripped pants, feet bare to feel the cobbled stones underfoot, jacket loose around his waist.

But then you'd blink, or worse, turn your head to answer your father the tailor, and then the family of witches would be gone.

But this winter, you felt something within you change. Perhaps it was that whenever the two strangers to the town entered, you could see them (even when not anyone else could), or that the current winter, your mother's cough grew stronger, her bones weaker, her form never leaving the confines of the bed. Your father refused to treat her, saying – never in earshot of your mother – of nature's way of life was to let the dying die. But you had grown from a child who had heard of the merits of the healing witchcraft of Lady Leia. Your heart only knew the love for your parents, and while your father denied you to seek medicine, the heart governs the mind. And thus, that Sunday afternoon, you stole away after chapel to the woods.

Rey's mother had been a disciple of the witch before her demise, and using her instructions, you followed the path. But unlike the stories you had heard, that the home of the witch lay on barren land, that it was a cursed place where the wildlife forsook it, it was quite the opposite. For there was a meadow of lavender surrounding the thatched-roofed house of Lady Leia, the cliff holding a waterfall that sent an untold number of rainbows upon the surrounding forest.

A courage you never knew carried your feet – one step, two steps, three – closer to the iron and wood door, closer to the closure and the wellbeing of your mother. But as your hand went to rap the bear knocker, the door was whipped open. He stood taller than you'd imagine, a smear of coloured mess across his cheek, the shirt on his chest gaping through the unbuttoned middle.