"Everyone in the village dreaded the magic of the witch in the woods. However, when she lost her child, they were the first ones to come running to her aid. No longer was she a vexing folk tale; now, she was simply a grieving mother. They took care of her when she needed them most. Over the years, grateful, she became a healer to those in the village, no longer seen as a monster in the woods as the inquisition claimed. Helping others helped fill the hole in her heart, but for a mother, there will always be a hole left by the loss of a child. So was life for a few long years.
The villagers hid the witch from the inquisition as she was one of them now. But one day, she was serving as a midwife for a dear friend. Even with all her knowledge and magic, while giving birth to a lovely baby girl, her friend slipped away. The baby's father became a soldier to provide for his family, but before the birth of his daughter, the lord sent him to war, and no one had heard from him since. So, the witch of the wood took the babe as her own, and every day after that, they both lived with nothing but happiness."
The woman telling the story looked up at the child with long golden hair and icy blue eyes, meeting her own piercing smoky crimson eyes. She slowly closed her eyes and quietly whispered as she leaned in, "And they lived happily ever after." As the crimson-eyed woman's voice drifted slowly away, the child slipped into sleep.
The child's eyes slowly opened, her vision gradually adjusting until she could clearly see her golden hair running down her arms. Suddenly snapping awake, she realized she was in a chair, floating in a vast void. All around her was illuminated only by a black candle just out of reach. Her body slumped in the chair as she held on for dear life, panicking about falling out of the chair. She stared down into the abyss for a long while but, in a quick glance, she suddenly saw the candle sitting upon a table across from her.
At the table, she stared at what seemed to be her reflection, but when she waved her hand, her imposter simply stared at her with those ice-cold eyes. She tried to speak, but no words escaped her. But as if reacting to her attempt at speaking, her reflection reached out and set its hand on a deck of cards on the table and methodically dealt three cards in front of her face-down, then returned to its doll-like state.
She examined the gold trim of the cards that clawed to the center of the card like wiry strands of hair forming a sun in the center. Hesitantly, she reached out and grabbed the leftmost card. It was unexpectedly heavy and smooth as felt. Slowly, she turned it over. DEATH, the card in bold golden letters with a simple golden skull in the center with eyes darker than the surrounding abyss.
Confused, she quickly glanced up at her imposter, still unwavering. Confused, she reached for the middle card and quickly turned it over. THE DEVIL. The card depicted a horned figure upon a throne. The lining of the card gave off a slight red glow. Glancing up again, even more confused, her imposter suddenly jumped up, reaching across the table to flip the last card.
Startled, she jolted awake in her bed, her heart still racing from the vividness of her dream. Sitting up, she looked around the tiny room, the soft sunlight streaming in through the window providing a comforting reassurance. Taking a moment to collect herself, she carefully crawled out of bed, her mind still swirling with the remnants of the unsettling dream. She made her way to the living room, each step grounding her in the reality of her surroundings.
As she entered the living room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her reflection momentarily causing a flicker of fear. But upon closer inspection, she noticed slight curls in her bangs, a subtle change that intrigued and delighted her. Unable to control her excitement, she pressed her face to the mirror, fiddling with the curls and reveling in the newfound beauty of her hair. Energized by this discovery, she skipped into the center of the room and looked around at the herbs hanging from the walls and the warmth emanating from the burning fireplace, creating a cozy and enchanting atmosphere.
Stumbling to the counter nestled in the corner by the wood stove, she clamored up the step stool and peered onto the counter. Upon it sat a large leather tome, surrounded by sprinklings of different-colored crystals, a bowl of colorful misshapen fruits and a captivating bouquet of Edelweiss flowers exudes alpine elegance. The star-shaped blossoms, with their soft white petals and silvery-white hairs, create a harmonious composition. Their delicate allure and subtle fragrance enchant all who behold them.. She grabbed a purple star fruit from the bowl and, as she nibbled away at it, flipped open the heavy cover of the tome.
Though enamored by the book, she recognized few of the runes and symbols scrawled across its weathered pages. While she haphazardly flipped through the pages. Just as she was engrossed in the book the front door swung open, and the cold air rushed in, causing goosebumps to run across her skin.
Mother quickly scrambled in, dressed in a black puffy coat with her hair tucked into her hood. She hurriedly closed the door and, upon seeing the child, she excitedly exclaimed, "Oh! Look who's up early. Did you sleep well, sweetheart?"
Excitedly, the girl spurted out, "Momma, I had a dream where I played cards with myself!"
"Oh, really? What game did you play?" Mother asked.
"I dunno. I haven't seen those cards before, Mama," the child said, motioning towards the tome. Impatiently, she spouted, "Mama, when are you gonna teach me to do magic like you? I wanna help people like you, Mama!"
Mother hurries over and while picking up the child and putting her on her hip says "Well dear as iv told you before as soon as your able to draw in magic we can get started darling."
"But, Mama, look!" the child said while excitedly holding up the curls in her golden hair for her mother to see.
Mother's eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped as she exclaimed, "Oh wow, already?! You're certainly an early bloomer, but I'd expect nothing less from my daughter!" She reached out and, while playing with the curls in her daughter's hair, flipped to a blank page in the book near the front. "Now that you have some mana in you, we can see what you're best at, darling!"
She reaches out and, while playing with the curls in her daughter's hair, flips to a blank page in the book near the front. "Now that you have some mana in you, we can see what you're best at, darling!" she says, holding the tome up to her daughter. "Just close your eyes, focus your attention on your fingertips, and how your heart feels right now, in this moment." As she instructs the child, she guides her hand to the blank page. With her mind racing and her heart beating out of her chest, the girl spreads her hand out across the page and focuses on her fingertips for what seems like forever.
"Calm down, just breathe," Mother says reassuringly. The girl takes a few deep breaths and feels a wave pulse from her head that ripples across her skin towards her fingertips, and suddenly the page pushes back. Strange sensations drag across her hand—it's cool and slightly ticklish. It's like feeling a plush carpet made of tiny, delicate strands. They're smooth and slender, with a slight texture that resembles fine threads. Running her fingers through them is like caressing fine silk, with a delicate resistance and a subtle, feathery touch. Nervously, she slowly opens her eyes to see lush grass reaching every which way out of the page. Excitedly, she giggles and begins to feel it with both hands.
"Look, Mama, just like you! Does this mean I can heal people like you can?" Through laughter, Mother says, "Well, yes, but now I can say that one day you're probably going to be better at it than me! After all..." As her voice trails off, she softly brushes the child's hands away and places her own hand on the page before it bursts into blue flames, bathing the room in a blue hue. The fire dances brazenly across the page for a few moments before slowly dying out.
"Whoooah!" The girl jumps.
"You, love, are naturally inclined towards earth magic, though any mage can use any of the elements. However, the further away from your natural inclination, the more difficult it becomes. Though with enough study, almost anything is possible. Some try to spread their wings and learn a bit of everything. On the other hand, some focus on what they're good at and most of the time are unrivaled in their field. Think hard about what you want your future to look like, Dabria."
With sparkles in her eyes, Dabria stutters, "If Mama's so good with earth magic and it's not even what you're best at, I wonder how amazing Mama's fire magic is!"
Mother's smile softens, and after a short pause, her smile once again widens, and she exclaims, "Well, I've gotten plenty of compliments on it!" Mother clears her throat, and as she explains, she runs her hands through her daughter's now straight bangs. "Emotions play a pivotal role. You will need to learn to control how you feel, and depending on the emotion and how strong it is, it decides how much raw energy you can summon up. Will you make a splash of water or a tidal wave?"
As she finishes her starfruit, Dabria, lost in thought, doesn't even notice Mother flipping to a new page filled with runes. "Well, that's your first lesson. Before we can get started with more, you, darling, need to learn how to read these runes in the book. This page will explain how you can translate them." Upon hearing Mother, Dabria snaps out of her thoughts and notices her now straight bangs. In horror, she stammers, "Momma, where did they go?"
Laughing, Mother says, "Well, you used all of your magic to make the grass grow, darling. Don't worry, they will come back in due time, and eventually, your hair might just look like mine!" Mother removes her cap and waves her bright blue waist-length wildly curled hair around while running her fingers through it out of habit. Dabria also begins to run her hands through Mother's hair.
"Now, my love, we have to leave soon to get the stall ready. Go get your coat and bag. You can bring the tome with us today." As soon as Mother puts her down Dabria hits the ground running to her room hastily grabbing her puff pearl colored coat and patchwork backpack which appears to have been haphazardly fixed multiple times with different fabrics, embroidered with random imaginative creatures all over the pack. Mother Lifts the countertop which swings open revealing a staff carved from the ancient branches of an oak tree, its weathered and worn wood intertwined with delicate vines and leaves that cascade along its length. At the top rests a crystal orb, emanating an ethereal glow and swirling with magical energy. Embedded within the staff are gemstones representing the elements.
Mother swiftly wraps the staff in a bolt of cloth and collects various herbs from the wall, as soon as Dabria runs out of the room dressed in her outfit pack in hand. Mother slides the tome into her pack and takes her hand as they leave home for the town square.
After a short trip they emerge from the forest seeing the village on the horizon. The village nestled amidst the rolling hills, a tapestry woven with quaint charm and rustic beauty. Cobblestone pathways meandered through the heart of the town, flanked by cozy cottages adorned with colorful flower boxes that spilled over with blossoms of every hue. Wisps of smoke lazily curled from chimneys, carrying the comforting aroma of wood fires and home-cooked meals. The air hummed with the lively chatter of villagers, their laughter intermingling with the melodious chirping of birds that nested among the leaves. The closer they get the chatter from the village square grows closer, The village square bustles with activity, its market stalls showcasing a kaleidoscope of fresh produce, vibrant textiles, and handmade crafts. The scent of warm bread wafted from the bakery, drawing a crowd eager to savor the village's culinary delights. The centerpiece of the town was a picturesque fountain, its crystalline waters cascading down sculpted stone, inviting passersby to pause and admire its tranquility.
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Mother guides Dabria to their stall by the fountain, deftly unpacking her herbs and goods. In a swift motion, she discreetly stashes her wrapped staff in a hidden nook beneath the stall beam, ensuring its safety. Dabria, filled with excitement, rushes off towards the neighboring stall where an old and grizzled blacksmith tirelessly hammers at his anvil. A young boy stands by, assisting him with the forge tongs. "Sigurd! We're here!" Dabria's voice rings out with enthusiasm, met by Sigurds joyful cry, "Dabria!" The blacksmith's gruff voice cuts in, acknowledging their arrival and remarking on their slightly delayed presence. Unable to contain her excitement, Dabria whispers in a low tone greeting Dabria , "Mother says I can finally start my studies!" Intrigued, The old man leans in, about to inquire further, but the blacksmith is interrupted as Sigurd exclaims, "Really!? Tell me all about it right now!" Dabria raises a finger to her lips, gesturing. "Shhhhhhhhhhh! You know we can't talk here. Come over for dinner tonight!" she whispers.
"Making plans without me?" The old man snickered with a big smile as he quenched the blade he was hammering. "I'm sure Mama won't mind!" Dabria thinks out loud.
A distinct sound rang out. Dabria turned to witness a large cloaked man walking through the town square as his cloak swirled through the air. It whispered with a gentle whoosh, akin to the hushed rustling of autumn leaves stirred by a soft breeze. The fabric, as it gracefully gilded and undulated, created a symphony of subtle whispers that seemed to carry secrets. The sound was a delicate symphony of subtle movements, a dance of cloth and air that evoked a sense of mystery and elegance. "Dabria! Hey are you listening?" Sigurds voice rang into Dabrias head as pulling her attention only for a second, "Y-yes of course, Hey do you see that…" Dabria turned to the point but he was gone. Dabria scanned the whole market but the man was gone like a whisper. Dabria, second guessing if she simply imagined him slowly turned to talk with Sigurd, they chatted like they hadn't seen each other in weeks.
As Mother kept her eye on the children, A young woman with a large scar on her arm made her way up to Mothers stand. "Ashlyn!" Mother said with a smile. "How's your arm doing?", "Better thanks to you!" Ashlyn said, elated, holding out her arm to Mother.
Taking Ashlyn by the arm, Mother runs her fingers along the scar, "Quite the accident." Mother remarks, "Thanks to my treatments you can still use it well so why have you come today." Ashlyn remarks, "You've helped me so much but won't accept anything from me but I've come to pay you back regardless." Softly smiling mother answers, "No. I get by just fine. You know I only accept payment in the form of what my patients can give me, Your company has been more than enough." Ashlyn frowns as she listens to mother, Ashlyn says defeated "Well, me and my family are always here if you need anything." Ashlyn waves and starts to walk away before she stops a few steps away and calls out, "Oh and that old man is talking about you again I just figured you should know!" Mother waves back "Don't worry! He's all talk." Mother says reassuringly
As Ashlyn walks away a look or slight worry comes across Mothers face. She gathers her staff and saunters over to the Blacksmiths stall calling over Dabrias shoulder, "Cedric watch Dabria for me i'll be back in no time at all!" Cedric grunts in agreement. Mother leans down and whispers to Dabria "I'll be right back darling." Mother rubs Dabrias head as she walks towards the edge of town.
As Mother ventured forth from the bustling market square, she embarked on her solitary journey towards the edge of town, where the path led her to a less privileged district. The stark contrast between the vibrant marketplace and the humble surroundings became increasingly evident with each step she took.
The architectural scenery transformed before her eyes. Magnificent buildings with intricate designs gradually gave way to modest structures that showed signs of wear and neglect. Cracked facades, peeling paint, and sagging roofs became the norm, revealing the financial hardships endured by the residents. Mother's gaze swept across the humble dwellings, her expression a mixture of empathy and concern.
The streets themselves mirrored the economic divide.
The smooth pavement of the market square transitioned into uneven cobblestones, and in some areas, to dusty dirt paths. The lack of proper maintenance was apparent, as potholes and scattered debris challenged Mother's progress. The dim light from sporadic street lamps cast long shadows, emphasizing the contrast to the well-lit streets of the town center.
As she continued her walk, Mother's empathetic nature led her to observe the small shops that catered to the needs of the less fortunate. These establishments were modest, with weathered signs and unassuming displays. Their shelves held basic necessities—affordable food items, second-hand clothing, and essential household goods. The shopkeepers, wearing worn-out attire, greeted Mother with genuine smiles, embodying resilience amidst their own struggles.
The atmosphere grew quieter as Mother neared the edge of town. The vibrant chatter of the market square faded into the distance, replaced by faint echoes of laughter and conversation, muffled by the thick walls and closed windows of the houses. The air felt heavier here, carrying a blend of aromas from nearby kitchens and the scent of dampness—an unwavering reminder of the challenges faced by the residents of this neighborhood.
Eventually Mother stops at a large dilapidated house; the foundation's cracks reach for the sky from the weathered once great house, a shadow of its former self. Mother climbs the aged steps with a heavy heart. Mother knocks on the heavy wood in response it creaks open loosely agape. "Mordred. It's me" Mothers voice echoed through the house. Silence followed as the only sound in the large house was mothers footsteps.
The grand foyer, once a welcoming embrace, now stands in stark contrast to its former self. Dust covers the elegant marble floors, and the chandelier that once sparkled with crystal brilliance now hangs askew, its once radiant glow extinguished. Mother's footsteps reverberate, breaking the eerie silence that has settled within the walls.
Moving forward, Mother enters the parlor, her heart heavy with memories. Wading through the dark mother runs her hand on the heavy table cloth, kicking up dust she turns and faces herself in the large mirror. Locking eyes with herself her eyes emanate a slight red glow in the dark, Suddenly on the other end of the room the sound of a match striking rings through the parlor. In the mirror Mother watches an old scarred man that sits at the end of a long, worn table he sets a candle down next to a flower with soft white petals and silvery-white hairs shining in the flames light. Shadows dance across his weathered face, emphasizing the deep lines etched by a lifetime of hardships. His presence exudes a sense of weariness and bitterness, as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows on the man's features, accentuating the scars that crisscross his weathered skin. Each mark tells a story of battles fought, both physical and emotional. His eyes, once vibrant and full of life, now hold a hint of sorrow and resentment.
The man's unkempt gray hair falls disheveled around his face, partially obscuring his piercing gaze fixed upon Mother. "Mordred," a callous voice calls out, "Eleanor." Mother turns to face him, her expression blank. "You know why I'm here, Mordred," she says.
"Yes, to lie and deceive. What else are you good for, witch?" Mordred responds with hostility.
Mother takes a seat at the other end of the table. "We must resolve this. Your accusations put me and my daughter in danger," she says.
"Accusations? I know who you truly are. The others may have forgotten that you're an outsider or your true nature. While you may heal a few scrapes and burns, your presence here endangers everyone. And that little girl you've taken in, she'll only suffer under your care. It baffles me why anyone allowed you to take her," Mordred retorts. The old man slowly rises from his chair and points at Eleanor. "Leave this town before I decide to report you to the inquisition!"
Eleanor remains composed and calmly responds, "I apologize, Mordred, if I wasn't capable enough to save your son." Mordred cries out, "DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME! You let him die intentionally! Without him, you're the sole healer in this town. Do you think I'm a fool?"
Eleanor maintains her composure and says, "Your son and I worked together for a long time. I have no need for money, and you know I rarely charge my patients. I understand your suspicion and anger, but despite your threats over the past two years, you haven't reported me. Although your motives remain your own, I implore you, for the sake of my daughter, to refrain from labeling me a witch. The wrong person may overhear and act upon it someday."
Mordred scoffs, "I told you what needs to happen, leave town by the end of next winter or I'll make the trek to the capital myself to turn you in." Eleanor stares in long contemplation for a long while at the dancing flame on the candle by Mordred before slowly placing her hand on her wrapped staff a soft look of disgust suddenly flashes on her face and she places her hand on the table and stands, "Thank you for your kindness, you have no reason to give me that much time. I only ask one thing of you." Mordred smiles and snickers, "Finally seeing reason? Fine then if you'll leave i'll give you one ask. What do you want?"
Eleanor gestures toward the flower before Mordred, her voice trembling slightly. "Edelweiss only grows at the peak of the neighboring mountain. The florist doesn't sell them, so I assume you took that one from your son's grave," she says softly. Confusion washes over Mordred's face as he responds in disbelief, "How did you come to know that?" Eleanor places her hand over her heart, her eyes welling with emotion. "I'm the one who has been leaving them there every week. They were Gabriel's favorite. If not for me, then please, do it for him. Bring them to him occasionally. I understand the journey to the mountain peak is long, but I'll arrange for someone to assist you." Before Mordred can utter a response, Eleanor collects herself and, with a heavy heart, swiftly departs from Mordred's home, wiping her eyes as she goes.
As Eleanor embarks on her journey back to the marketplace, she once again navigates through the seedy underbelly of the town. As she approaches the marketplace, a group of men berating a vagrant blocks her path. Swiftly, Eleanor slips into a lengthy alley, assaulted by the stench and confronted by heaps of trash scattered in the dimly lit passage. Urgently, she makes her way to the end of the alley, stealing a fleeting glance over her shoulder, where she barely catches sight of a cloaked figure, concealed within the shadows. The worn and ragged cloak merges effortlessly with the darkness, whispering tales of countless ventures and encounters. Beneath the cloak, pale skin bears the scars of exhaustion and sacrifice, a testament to past battles fought.
As the figure turns, their piercing gaze meets Eleanor's, unearthing a profound depth that holds a myriad of untold stories. In the dim illumination, their eyes flicker with a combination of weariness and unwavering resolve. One hand rests on a hidden weapon, its well-worn grip embodying the touch of innumerable perils faced, while the other hand remains gloved and steady as stone. In that fleeting moment, Eleanor's heart leaps within her chest, her feet pounding the dirt paths until they gradually transform into cobblestone, and the sounds of the bustling marketplace grow nearer. Casting a backward glance, she notices the figure standing at a distance, observing her. Her heart resonates in her head as she rounds the corner, gasping for breath. Peering cautiously around the bend, she discovers that the figure has vanished. Swiftly, she veers onto an alternate path, wasting no movement as she heads back to the fountain in the marketplace.
Eleanor with a weary heart approaches the Blacksmiths stall, Sigurd polishes blades on the rack and Dabria nestled away in the corner head buried in the tomb from home. Quickly glancing around Eleanor on edge notices a withered old woman wearing a shawl by her stall patiently waiting. Eleanor hurries over to her stall "I apologize for the wait mame how can I help you today?" The old woman gives a smile and softly says "Years of work have taken a toll on my joints and it's slowly become unbearable."
Eleanor's eyes soften with empathy as she quickly gathers various herbs and slides them into a small pouch then tying it off. As she hands the pouch to the woman Eleanor explains. "Brew these herbs into a tea and drink it twice a day, it should lessen the pain if you can also rest for up to an hour after drinking it." Grateful, the old woman hands Eleanor five bronze coins. Counting four coins Eleanor places them back into the old woman's hands and then holds up the one bronze coin. "This is more than enough.", Eleanor declares. The old woman nods and says "Thank you again saint Eleanor." She gestures goodbye and shuffles away disappearing into the crowd.
Eleanor once again scans the crowd weary but notices Dabria watching intently, after their eyes meet Dabria runs over and pulls on Eleanor's coat. "Mama can't you just use your magic to make the granny's pain go away." She whispers. Eleanor softly explains as she kneels down "Not every problem should be solved with magic, I know you want to help people Darling but you'll need to learn more than magic to do that." Dabria frowns "But! -'' Eleanor interrupts, "Magic should be used sparingly to heal others only on those we absolutely trust and only when there is no other option, Dabria. It takes but one set of loose lips too and our lives here could be over."
Dabria fidgets her fingers and nods understandingly her eyes lighten up as she remembers something, "Mama, can Sigurd and uncle come have dinner with us today?" Eleanor smiles, "Of course!"