The Wisher’s Arrival

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The town of Greywood was like many others in the country—quiet, nestled between rolling hills, surrounded by tall trees, and mostly forgotten by the world. The townspeople went about their lives with little thought of what lay beyond their borders, satisfied with their modest homes, local shops, and the occasional gathering at the town square. But one evening, as the sky turned the color of burning embers, something strange began to stir in the air.

At the edge of town, where the dirt roads met the forest’s edge, a mysterious figure appeared, walking slowly through the mist. Cloaked in a dark, tattered robe, with a hood that obscured their face, the figure’s very presence seemed to send ripples through the otherwise still night. With each step, the townspeople paused in their daily routines, exchanging nervous glances as the figure made its way down the main street.

The figure stopped just outside the town square, standing still for a moment as if taking in the scene before them. They didn’t speak—didn’t make a sound—but their arrival was enough to draw the attention of every single person in town.

And then, the voice came.

It was soft but carried in the silence, as if it were both distant and near, like a whisper in the wind.

“I can grant you one wish,” the figure announced, their voice calm and almost serene, yet laced with something ancient, something unsettling. “Anything you desire—just speak it aloud, and it shall be yours.”

The townspeople stood frozen, unsure of what to make of this sudden, unearthly offer. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A wish? Was it truly possible? And why had this figure chosen their town?

The figure remained silent for a moment, waiting, allowing the weight of the offer to settle in. Then, as if sensing the hesitation in the crowd, they added, “One wish. Choose carefully. The consequences are yours to bear.”

No one stepped forward at first. The air was thick with uncertainty. But soon, a voice cut through the silence—a voice familiar to everyone in the town. It was Old Man Bennett, the town’s carpenter, known for his sharp wit and even sharper tongue.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bennett muttered, pushing his way through the crowd. “A wish, you say?” He looked at the figure with suspicion. “You expect us to believe this nonsense?”

The figure’s hooded head tilted slightly, as if acknowledging the challenge. “Believe what you will. But I offer you what you seek. A single wish.”

Bennett scoffed but then, after a moment of contemplation, his eyes flickered with desire. “All right, then. I’ll take it. I’ve been wanting a way to fix my shop for years. Just one little wish, and I’ll be the best damn carpenter in this town. No more broken tools, no more shortages—just perfection.”

Without further word, Bennett stepped forward, raising his hand. The figure nodded, and with a wave of their hand, a soft golden glow surrounded Bennett for a brief moment. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the glow faded.

Bennett blinked, looking around in confusion. “That’s it?”

The figure nodded. “Your wish is granted. But be warned—perfection comes at a price.”

Bennett laughed, brushing it off. “I’ll deal with that when it comes. I’ve got my tools now, and that’s all I need.”

He turned to leave, but the townspeople watched him closely, waiting for some sign of change. What had been so simple was now filled with unease. The man’s wish had been granted, but the words “perfection comes at a price” lingered ominously in their minds.

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The next to approach was Sarah Jenkins, the baker’s wife. She was young, with an eager face and a smile that could light up the room. But there was something in her eyes—a sadness, a longing. Her husband had passed away in a terrible accident five years ago, and she had struggled to keep their bakery afloat ever since.

“I—I’d like to wish for my husband to come back,” Sarah said, her voice trembling. “I miss him so much. I’d give anything to have him back.”

The figure nodded, their presence unshaken by her raw emotion. “It is a wish many seek. It will be granted.”

Sarah stepped forward, heart pounding in her chest. The figure’s hand extended, and once again, a soft golden glow surrounded her. She closed her eyes, imagining her husband’s smiling face, her heart yearning for that familiar touch.

But as the glow faded, Sarah opened her eyes, and there was nothing—no husband waiting to embrace her, no familiar face. The glow had vanished, leaving only a cold emptiness.

“Where is he?” Sarah cried, falling to her knees. “Where is he?”

The figure remained silent, watching her with an unreadable gaze. “Your wish has been granted. But life once lost cannot be so easily reclaimed.”

The crowd murmured, unsure of how to react. Sarah stood, devastated, her hope shattered like glass. She had been given her wish, but the price had been too high. The pain of loss was not something to be undone with a simple spell.

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One by one, the townspeople approached the mysterious figure, each asking for a wish, each receiving their desires in exchange for an unknowable price. Some wished for wealth, others for love, and some for power or status. But as each wish was granted, the consequences became more apparent.

The town itself began to change. The streets grew quieter, the houses seemed to sag, and the once-lush trees in the square began to wither. The happiness that the wishes had promised seemed to drain away, replaced by a lingering unease that gnawed at the hearts of everyone involved.

Old Man Bennett’s tools became flawless, but the carpenter grew obsessive, working day and night. He refused to leave his shop, and eventually, he was found collapsed at his workbench, his eyes wide in horror. “I’ve made the perfect piece,” he muttered before his last breath, “but it’s never enough.”

Sarah Jenkins’s bakery was transformed, too—her breads rose higher, more golden than they ever had before. But the taste was wrong. Her customers grew sick, and no matter what she baked, it all felt empty, flavorless. She grew sick as well, trapped in the illusion of success, and soon, she disappeared entirely, leaving only the bakery’s empty shelves behind.

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The last person to approach the figure was a quiet woman, young and thoughtful. Her name was Alice, and unlike the others, she didn’t seek fame, wealth, or love. She had been watching the happenings with a calm, knowing expression.

“I don’t want anything for myself,” she said softly, her voice filled with understanding. “But I wish for this town to return to the way it was. Before everything changed.”

The figure stared at her for a long time, their expression unreadable. Finally, they spoke.

“Your wish is… impossible. You seek to undo what has been done. There are things that cannot be undone.”

Alice shook her head, her expression unwavering. “I know. But I have to try.”

The figure stood still for a moment, their dark cloak fluttering gently in the breeze. “So be it. Your wish is granted.”

A single tear rolled down Alice’s cheek as the figure vanished, leaving behind only the lingering scent of night air. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the town of Greywood seemed to return to silence, as if nothing had ever happened.

But the scars remained. The wishes had been granted, and the price had been paid. For Alice knew what the figure had meant: some things are never truly returned, no matter how much you wish for them.

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End