Lysandra Moonwell had once been a daughter of an ancient magical bloodline, a woman whose fate was entangled with death, love, and sacrifice.
But here…
Here, she was just Lysa.
A healer at a quaint human clinic.
A woman who laughed too loud when drunk.
A friend who always paid for everyone's drinks even when she claimed she wouldn't.
She adapted quickly to human life, more easily than anyone had expected. The rules were simpler. The pain didn't follow her everywhere—not like it did in Moonwell. The air here didn't whisper his name.
Gone were her silken robes, replaced by denim and sweaters, messy buns and sneakers. Her magic remained, hidden beneath human technology and medical science. She blended both worlds when no one was looking.
She made friends. Real ones.
There was Mira, the fiery bartender who refused to let Lysandra spend Friday nights alone.
There was Joey, a young nurse who called her "Doc L" and swore she had "witchy hands."
And then there was Harper, the artist next door, who lent her romance novels and never pried into her past.
> "Lysa, I swear, if you keep reading the endings first, I'm gonna poison your wine," Harper groaned one evening.
Lysandra laughed—a real, unforced laugh. "Fine. No spoilers… tonight."
---
One Drunken Night
The pub was loud. Music pulsed. Glasses clinked. Laughter echoed.
Lysandra leaned back in her booth, head tilted, cheeks flushed with wine and giddy exhaustion. Mira slid another cocktail toward her.
> "Okay, truth or dare, Princess," Mira grinned.
"Oh gods," Lysandra groaned. "Truth."
"Have you ever fallen in love?"
There was a silence.
Lysandra's smile faltered for just a heartbeat.
> "Yes," she said, softly.
"But he's not here anymore."
The girls didn't pry. Mira just poured her another drink.
By midnight, Lysandra was dancing barefoot under fairy lights, arms lifted toward the sky. Her silver hair sparkled in the moonlight. For a moment, she looked like the sorceress she once was—divine, unbreakable, free.
---
Later That Night
She returned to her small apartment, her heels in one hand, laughter still echoing in her throat.
And yet…
As she stood by her window, staring at the stars, the loneliness crept in quietly.
> "I'm happy," she whispered.
"I really am…"
But the ache never fully left. The memory of her child. The memory of him.
Still, she didn't crumble. Not anymore.
She had built herself up again.
Not from magic.
Not from duty.
But from choice.
She was Lysandra Moonwell—no longer just a lover or a mother… but a woman rebuilding her life on her own terms.
And somehow, that was enough.
The years had polished Lysandra into someone new—graceful, witty, grounded. Gone was the girl who cried herself to sleep under moonlight prayers. In her place stood a woman who had survived heartbreak and death—and still chose to keep living.
But even strength had its silent ache.
Her friends, well-meaning as ever, began nudging her toward love again.
> "Lysa, it's been years," Mira sighed, handing her a blind date profile. "You need a good man—or at least one who knows how to order decent wine."
> "What I need," Lysandra said with a smirk, "is uninterrupted sleep and someone to clean my apartment."
But eventually, she gave in.
---
The First Date
He was human. A lawyer. Clean-shaven with good manners and gentle eyes.
He complimented her perfume. Laughed at her jokes. Paid for dinner.
But the moment his hand brushed hers across the candlelit table, her chest tightened.
> This isn't it.
She smiled politely. Thanked him. Said she had an early shift.
He asked if he could see her again.
> "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You deserve someone who doesn't look at you and remember someone else."
---
The Others That Followed
There was the historian who reminded her of old libraries in Moonwell.
The biologist who thought her healing instincts were "fascinatingly primal."
A poet. A painter. A single father.
Each one kind. Each one not him.
Every date ended the same—with a quiet walk home and Lysandra standing in her kitchen, staring at the tea she forgot to drink. Sometimes she would cry. Most nights she didn't.
She wasn't waiting for Caveen anymore.
She just hadn't found someone who made her feel anything again.
---
And Yet…
In between the failed dates and awkward conversations, Lysandra found something deeper:
Peace.
She was content with the life she was building. Her little clinic thrived. Patients adored her. The neighborhood knew her by name. Her apartment overflowed with potted herbs and framed photos of friends who had become family.
She didn't need grand passion anymore.
But a small, quiet love?
One that didn't burn, but warmed?
Maybe one day.
But not today.
Not until someone made her heart stir again…
The way he once did.