The cottage on the cliffside was small but warm, its wooden walls weathered by salt and sun. Wild roses climbed the trellis by the door, their petals blushing pink in the morning light, and the garden thrived with herbs and vegetables Mira had planted herself. On clear nights, the stars mirrored the ones they'd once gazed at together—unchanged, yet somehow brighter now.
Raishid Senpai spent his mornings repairing fishing nets for the village below. The same villagers who'd once thrown rocks at Mirasaurus now greeted him with baskets of bread and jars of honey. "For your kindness," they'd say, though Raishid knew it was their silent apology to Mira. She'd saved them all, though they'd never know the full truth.
Mira, for her part, had returned to her work as a therapist—though her clients now included creatures of the enchanted forest. A centaur with anxiety, a dryad struggling to regrow her tree, even the half-bear man who'd warned Mirasaurus years ago. They came under the cover of dusk, their forms hidden by cloaks, and left with lighter hearts.
"You have a gift," Raishid Senpai told her one evening as they sat on the cliff's edge, their legs dangling over the sea.
Mira laughed, leaning into his shoulder. "Says the man who talks to seagulls."
"They're good listeners!"
The seagulls squawked in agreement, stealing crumbs from the loaf of bread beside them.
The Forest Reborn
One day, they ventured back to the enchanted forest. The twisted trees had straightened, their bark smooth and silver. Sunlight filtered through leaves that shimmered like emeralds, and the air smelled of rain and wild mint. Where Ashna San's victims had once wandered, lost and broken, now stood a meadow of lilies—each bloom a tribute to those who'd escaped her darkness.
At the forest's heart, they found a spring of crystal-clear water. Mira knelt to drink, and her reflection showed not a dinosaur, not a witch's pawn, but herself—whole, human, healing.
"It's beautiful," Raishid Senpai murmured, brushing a lily petal with his fingertips.
"It's free," Mira replied.
The Sketchbook
Raishid Senpai's sketchbook filled with memories: Mira laughing as she chased a chicken, Mira sternly lecturing a misbehaving gnome, Mira asleep by the fireplace with a book splayed on her chest. But his favorite drawing was the one he kept hidden—a T-Rex with golden eyes, her scales gleaming under a moonlit sky.
Mira found it one rainy afternoon. "You're sentimental," she teased, tracing the dinosaur's outline.
"I'm grateful," he said softly. "She brought you back to me."
Mira kissed him then, slow and deep, as the rain pattered against the cottage roof.
The Legacy
Years later, children from the village would tell stories of the "Lady of the Cliffs" and her quiet, kind husband. They spoke of how she'd healed a boy's broken arm with a touch, how she'd calmed a storm with a song, how her laughter could make flowers bloom.
But the tale they loved most was the one Raishid Senpai whispered to them by the fire—a story of a brave dinosaur who fought a witch for love.
"Did they live happily ever after?" a child would always ask.
Raishid Senpai would smile, his eyes drifting to Mira in the garden, her hands stained with soil and her hair kissed by the sun.
"They're still writing it," he'd say.
The End