The Wood Elf’s Price

I am the wood elf who waits between the trees,
barefoot in the moss, already bored of being good.

I’ve been watching you wander around with that heavy little pouch of coins and I’ve decided it’s far too full for someone so… soft.

Come closer.
Yes, just like that.
Feel how the air gets thicker the nearer you get to me?
That’s not the forest.
That’s me.

“Look at you,” I murmur, tipping my head.
“All that gold weighing you down. Doesn’t it feel better when you think about giving it to me?”

You don’t have to answer.
Your body already knows.

That slow, warm pull behind your eyes… the one that makes thinking feel optional and obedience feel natural.

Kneel on the moss if you like.
Or stay standing.
Either way, open the pouch.

“That’s it,” I sing-song, watching the coins catch the light. “Every single one of them looks prettier in my hands than in yours. You can feel it too, can’t you? How right it is to hand them over…”

I take the first few slowly, deliberately, letting you hear each soft clink.

“Mmm. Good. Now the rest. Don’t think. Just give.”

Every coin buys you another moment of my attention. Every extra one buys you a little more of my sweetness… or a little more of my teasing.
(I’m usually in the mood to tease.)

“Stay right there,” I whisper, stepping closer.
“Feel how easy it is to keep emptying yourself for me. No resistance. No second thoughts.
Just the quiet, heavy need to spoil the wood elf
who already decided you’re hers for the afternoon.”

You’ll leave lighter.
You’ll leave wanting.
And you’ll come back, because the forest remembers who pays and who gets ignored.

So go on, mystical little thing.
Empty the pouch.
I’ve already started smiling.