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Mortals sometimes returned from the Otherworld. But they came back different.
The Poet:
A bard spent seven years studying under Otherworldly masters, learning the true language—the speech that made listeners weep, that caused warriors to lay down arms, that could heal sickness or inflict madness. He returned famous, wealthy, honored. But his eyes were strange. He smiled at inappropriate moments. Sometimes he spoke in tongues no one recognized. He had learned too much, seen too clearly, and the mortal world seemed half-real, a shadow of the brightness he had known.
The Warrior:
A fighter accepted the Morrigan’s invitation to her bed. She taught him battle-secrets: how to move so blades missed, how to strike so armor cracked, how to endure wounds that should kill. He returned invincible. But he also returned cursed—his victories came too easily, his enemies died too quickly, and he found no joy in any of it. He had tasted Otherworldly power and mortal contests became meaningless.
The Bride:
A woman married a Sídhe prince, lived in his hollow hill, bore his children (who were beautiful and strange, with eyes too bright, voices too sweet). After what felt like three years, she begged to visit her mortal family. The prince agreed, with one condition: she must not touch earth. He placed her on a white horse that never set hoof down. She rode to her old village and found it abandoned, her family’s cottage collapsed, overgrown with moss. She had been gone a hundred years. She wept, leaned down to touch her mother’s grave—and touched grass. The years fell on her. Her beauty crumbled. Her youth fled. She died instantly, ancient, and the horse vanished, carrying her back to the Otherworld as dust.
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