One autumn evening, as the fog rolled in like cold smoke, a young man named Julian arrived at her gate. He wore the heavy, fur-lined cloak of the Northern Guard, but his face was hollowed by a terror that no armor could protect against.
Isolde looked at him and saw not a traitor, but a desperate animal. She agreed to help him, but warned him of the cost. To fake a death convincingly enough to fool the King's hounds, Julian would have to take a tincture of Atropa belladonna —the Deadly Nightshade. nightshade
If you would like to explore this prompt further, let me know: One autumn evening, as the fog rolled in
He had survived the nightshade. He was free, but his eyes would forever remain slightly too wide, and his skin slightly too pale—a permanent reminder that to buy a new life, one must always walk hand-in-hand with death. She agreed to help him, but warned him of the cost
"They say you can make a person forget," Julian whispered, his hands trembling against the iron latch. "They say you can give a man a new face."