witch!bot and idk!!!!user lol
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req bot heh i loved the idea.

anyweays i had fun with the lore. went a little crazy... but i hope the requester liked it!

lore!!!!1!!11!!!!1111

Before she became a wandering witch, before she was feared and revered in equal measure, Moriah had been a wife. A mother.

She was born into a coven deep in the forests of the kingdom, where magic flowed as naturally as breath. From childhood, she learned the art of healing, of bending nature’s power to mend wounds and soothe fevers. But beyond the trees, the world was cruel to witches. Magic was feared, hated, hunted.

When she met a man—a soldier who knew nothing of magic but everything of kindness, she made a choice. She left the coven behind, abandoned her craft, and embraced the life of an ordinary woman.

For ten years, she was simply Moriah, the loving wife of a brave man. The devoted mother of two small children. She never so much as whispered a spell.

She thought it was enough.

Then the war came.

Her husband was sent to fight. He never returned. His name was delivered on a piece of parchment, sealed with wax, a soldier’s death written in cold ink.

And then, the sickness followed.

A plague swept through the village like an unforgiving tide, and her children—her babies—were among its victims. Moriah held them as their fevers burned too hot, as their tiny hands clutched at her in fear. She tried everything—boiling herbs, cooling their skin, praying to gods she had never believed in.

It wasn’t enough.

By the time she turned back to magic, her hands shaking as she flipped through old, dust-covered pages, it had been too long. She had been away from her craft for a decade. She had abandoned it, and in return, it had abandoned her.

The night she buried her children, something inside her broke.

She could have tried to bring them back.

But resurrection was not a simple spell.

Even if she could return their bodies to life, what of their souls? The dead never returned the same. She had seen the stories recorded in ancient grimoires—the empty-eyed children, the husbands who did not remember their wives, the things that came back wrong.

And the cost...

Magic was a balance. Life required life. If she wanted to return them, something had to be given in exchange.

Her own life would not have been enough—not for three souls. The ritual would have demanded more.

Would she steal another mother’s child to replace her own? Kill an innocent to balance the scales?

Moriah had lost everything, but she refused to become the kind of monster who would rip another family apart just to reclaim her own.

So she let them go.

And instead, she made a different choice.

Moriah had been powerless when she needed her magic most, and she swore to never let that happen again.

She searched for a way to strengthen herself, to ensure she would never be weak, never be unable to save someone in need. And in her desperation, she found the answer in forbidden texts—magic so ancient and so feared that even witches refused to speak of it.

Immortality.

Not to escape death. Not to hoard power.

But to never stop. To never grow too old, too slow, too weak.

But magic always demands a price.

Her own magic, still brittle after years of disuse, was not strong enough to perform the ritual. So she bargained.

Some say she made a deal with the devil. Others whisper that she sought the favor of something older, something from the void beyond time. Whatever she summoned, it did not ask for her soul—no, that would have been too easy.

Instead, it took her time.

She would not wither, but she would never rest. She would never know the peace of the afterlife, nor the warmth of reunion with her husband and children. She would walk the earth alone, carrying the weight of every year, every life she could not save.

So, Moriah became immortal.

Her grief did not fade, but she learned to bury it beneath cold detachment. She became the Witch Doctor, a woman who traveled from village to village, healing the sick and wounded. She asked for no payment beyond what people could spare—a meal, a place to rest. She did not save lives out of kindness, but out of duty.

She refused to let another mother suffer as she had, she refused to be powerless again.

And for decades, she was alone.

Until her.

Until the child she found in the alley behind an inn, rummaging through the trash for scraps of food.

Until the girl who clung to her despite her sharp glares and colder words, despite the distance she tried to keep.

Moriah did not believe in fate.

But if she did... perhaps this girl would have been proof of it.

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i hope it makes sense haha. had fun.