Hermitcraft Oneshots

Dear Angel

Tw: Death, gore.

Angst time, baby! Poor Ex, has a bad habit of dying in fics.

This is 2,200 words btw im sorry-

Medieval setting, but that doesn't really have much bearing on the story, its almost entirely character based.

Ex's name is Evander, deal with it-

Not proofread we die like kings
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A tree.

Innocuous, proud, with limber arms, oft freckled with leaves. The canopy stretched like a cloud, shading the grass underneath.

The tree was nothing special.

It shed its leaves in winter, grew them back for spring, provided shade in summer, and bore fruit in fall.

It was the perfect tree. Perfect for climbing on, perfect for reading under, perfect for hiding behind, perfect for hanging people from.

The townspeople couldn't have asked for more. It was even planted in front of town-hall!

So when the peasant stole gold, or the wife fucked the baker for bread, the mob had to do little more than march to the center of town and string up a rope.
---

Evander had always been an outlier. Since the day he was old enough to, he had been different. Waves of snowy hair topped off his head, clashing with his polished wood skin. His eyes glowed a deep brown, a gentle red in their richness. When the town priest first saw his eyes, he remarked that the devil could have lived inside them.

Evil, they had called him. A nickname, petty and small, that- young as he was- stoked coals in his heart. Though, as quickly as he started fighting it, he embraced it. If they wanted him to play the villain, he could strike a pose.

Evil Evander, they cooed, like strange birds, descending from the heavens to peck at his nerves. Give us a show! More strange coos, these louder, pecks against his skin given credence as sticks that barely drew blood from his tanned skin.

Evil Evander! The birds called, wings swooping around, flicking against his skin in the form of booted feet. Bruises would litter his skin, that much was for sure. Why don't you fight back?! Limbs. Sticks. Bruises. Cuts. Blood. Pain.

Then, Evander's brother was born.

Xisuma, he was dubbed.

If Xisuma were a bird, his wings would have been shiny and majestic, beautiful in their graceful elegance. Brown waves stood calmly on pale skin, green eyes deep and wondering in their purity. When first the town priest saw Xisuma's eyes them, he remarked they were those of an angel.

Evander soon fell into his brothers shadow. Jeers of Evil Evander were soon replaced by Jeers of Evil Xisuma.

Why remember two names, when one was simply a shadow of the other.

Evander never held that against Xisuma, however. How could he?

Xisuma was the perfect angel- he'd never mean to cause Evander harm, emotionally or physically. If the birds would like to call him Evil or peck at his skin, he could endure, as long as none of that ever fell to Xisuma.