Submission (#6528) Approved

Wem, a chaotic little kittom with fur the shade of a bright blue fur, similar to the sea in the morning light, bore a beautiful coat that seemed to ripple with a soft sheen under the sun’s gentle caress. His eyes, usually alight with a sense of curiosity and wonder, were pools of bright pink, reflecting the very depths of his many emotions. The tufts of fur around his paws and legs bore tiny, intricate patterns that were shade of pure white, adding an almost magical look to his appearance. His slim frame moved with a grace that spoke of a deep connection that he had with the natural world, each movement deliberate yet filled with fluidity.

As for where he was, he was in the region known as Faerindell. The realm looked like a canvas full of pastel watercolour paints. The sky above, full of different shades of pastel hues, shifted and danced into different shades of colours such as soft pinks, and purples that reminded him of lavender. The many different colours seemed to merge seamlessly together, creating a breathtaking sight to be seen. The trees, mostly adorned in various shades of pink, rose upwards toward the heavens, their branches intertwining into an intricate pattern of lacework.. Some trees and branches bore delicate blossoms that gently danced in the breeze, scattering their beautiful smell around.

Underneath the huge canopy, a collection of many different flora carpeted the ground, giving way to an explosion of colour and fragrances. Flowers of every shape and size adorned the landscape, their petals like a kaleidoscope of hues, painting the ground as if an artist had taken up their palette and coloured in the nature with beauty. Amongst these blooms, what was known as the faerie shrouds thrived; beautiful and delicate symbiotic flowers that grew all over the lower boughs of the trees. 

The mana well, nestled within the heart of the largest tree, was a spectacle to be seen, as it pulsated with the raw essence of magic. Pink crystals, larger than any Wem had seen before, protruded from the ancient bark, emanating a soft, gentle glow that suffused the air with an almost tasteable sense of enchantment. The hand carved shrine, weathered and aged with time, had stood to show the devotion many had, an expression of gratitude to the natural forces that nurtured Faerindell’s beauty and abundance.

But now, the once vibrant mana well bore the scars of a malevolent force. The sky, once a canvas of different pretty hues, now hung heavy with ominous clouds, casting a pall over the land. The trees, symbols of vitality and resilience, stood as fading sentinels, their pink blossoms wilted and drooping, robbed of their former brilliance. The faerie shrouds, once beautiful and fragrant, now withered and frail, their colours drained of life.

The mana well, once a source of magic, had succumbed to a bleak dimness. The once glowing crystals now stood as somber monuments, their brilliance extinguished, their vibrancy lost to an encroaching darkness. And amidst this desolation stood Wem, a forlorn figure in a landscape marred by despair, his happy and adventurous expression, now distraught and muted.

The once lush and vibrant realm had succumbed to a malevolent gloom. The air, once laced with the sweet scent of blossoms, now bore a stifling weight. The trees, predominantly dressed in shades of pink, now faded with their vitality lost. Amongst their branches, the faerie shrouds, once vibrant symbiotic flowers, now drooped and wilted, their radiant colours muted by despair.

Wem's heart ached as he gazed upon the desolation that had befallen this sacred place. His usually bright eyes dulled with sorrow, mirroring the decay around him. Approaching the heart of the disruption, the once magnificent tree housing the mana well now stood shadowed, its clusters of organic pink crystals drained of their luminance. The hand carved shrine lay broken, its shattered pieces symbols of Wem’s shattered spirit.

Despair enveloped Wem and felt like a choking, cloying fog. His usually sprightly step faltered, his paws trembling as he attempted to set things right. With a sense of desperation, he tried to coax life back into the wilting faerie shrouds, speaking to them in whispers filled with the echoes of lost hope. But each attempt fell futile, the flowers resisting his touch, their once harmonious bond with the trees irreparably severed.

The crystals, once radiant conduits of magic, resisted Wem's gentle attempts, their glow now faded into dismal darkness. He reached out to the shattered shrine, trying to mend what was broken, his efforts a reflection of his shattered soul. But the pieces refused to align, a stark reminder of the irreparable damage inflicted upon this sacred place.

Wem's once bubbly spirit crumbled with each failed attempt. His heart weighed heavy with the burden of the dying land, tears streaming down his face, leaving damp trails in their wake. His pained cries echoed through the grove, unheard in the suffocating silence.

Alone in his grief, Wem sat among the withered remnants of the once thriving sanctuary, his broken mental state a reflection of the devastation surrounding him. In the face of such overwhelming loss, he felt powerless, his efforts to restore the beauty and life his favourite mana well in Faerindell thwarted at every turn.

Wem curled up into a ball beside the tree that housed the mana well, crying four hours on end. Eventually, the poor kittom fell asleep, tired and cold, devastated and depressed, not knowing what he could do to fix what was broken around him.