I can clearly recall the freezing air paralysing my body completely, the sensation of utter hopelessness as the warlock's body pressed down on mine, pinning me to the ground. I know it's not real. I'm here now. I'm safe. So why do I still feel in danger?

I shake my head, desperately trying to forget the horrifying image of the warlock who pursued me - his unnaturally elongated limbs, the empty expression in his eyes as he clenched a dagger between his teeth, and the terrifying red veins snaking across his pale skin. Desperate for a distraction, I turn to Leonora and ask, "So there are four Courts? You mentioned something like that before."

"Yes," she replies, her voice filled with pride. "The Courts of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. Each one is led by a queen. The Courts get along, we're all witches after all. We're just divided into four Courts as it's the system we inherited from the Four Foundresses. It's not like the world outside, where countries fight each other. In Witchwood, we witches live in peace."

I smile back at her. This world sounds really nice... a true utopia. Who would have thought?

***

After our indulgent feast of cakes at the café, Aunt Leonora guides me to a quaint boutique to shop for some new clothes. We're the only clients there, which gives us free rein to peruse the racks and shelves. The first items we pick out are practical, day-to-day clothes. As I run my fingers through the soft fabrics and marvel at the intricate designs, I can't help but worry about the cost. I've never owned such fine garments before. But Leonora barely glances at the price tags, her focus solely on ensuring I have everything I need.

"Try this one on, Eileen," she says, handing me a beautiful blouse adorned with delicate embroidery. I slip it on and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I hardly recognise the girl staring back at me. Was I always this pretty? I'd never had so much fun shopping. Buying clothes with my Dad was always just a practical affair, this was more like going to the mall with a friend. Is this truly what life could be like here in Witchwood? I glance over at Leonora, who nods approvingly.

"Perfect," she declares. "We'll take that one too," she says to the shop owner, who must be having the best day ever.

With a flourish, the shop owner presents me with a catalogue of gown sketches for the party. Each design looks like something a princess would wear in a fairytale. I run my fingers over the pages, feeling the texture of the paper and tracing the elaborate designs.

"Choose the colour and fabric you prefer," the owner, who's also the seamstress, tells me. "We'll make sure it's ready for tonight."

As much as I'd like to enjoy the experience, I'm at a loss. I have no idea what colour or cut would suit me best. I've never ever worn anything that fancy. For nearly twenty minutes, I flip back and forth through the catalogue, trying to narrow down my options. The tailor's patience wears thin, her expression growing increasingly desperate. Finally, Leonora steps in and decides for me.

"Let's go with this one," she says, pointing to an elegant gown with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt. "It will look stunning on you, Eileen."

Relieved, I nod in agreement, and the dressmaker instructs me to remove my sweater and enter a fitting room for measurements. As I wait, the sound of the doorbell catches my attention. Then, a stranger speaks to Leonora, and I can't resist my curiosity.

"Such a coincidence to see you around the city, Leonora. I was just heading to the Palace to fumigate for fairies."

Fairies? Are there fairies in Witchwood? I carefully pull the dressing room curtain aside to sneak a peek. The woman who enters is tall and athletic, her ash blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Dressed in a green overall, she carries a fumigation tank on her back.

"Romina Cedar, always so diligent," Leonora replies with a warm smile. "I wouldn't expect less from the leader of The Fairy Brigade. I don't want to keep you though, but let's catch up later at the palace, it's been a while."

"Sure. By the way, I saw you with a girl. Who's she?" Romina asks, her voice laced with curiosity.

Leonora sighs. "So you saw her, huh? Come, let's talk." She opens one of the doors of the store, which seems to lead to a hat storage room, and they both slip inside. As the door closes behind them, their words become muffled, leaving me alone with my thoughts and questions. What are they saying? Why did that woman ask about me and why doesn't Leonora tell her who I am?

With the dressmaker nowhere in sight, I remove my shoes and tiptoe out of the dressing room, drawn toward the conversation like a moth to a flame. My heart races as I press my ear against the door, straining to catch every word.

"I don't like to lie, so I'm going to tell you the truth, but promise me you won't tell anyone. Above all, please don't tell Freya," Leonora pleads.

"Why wouldn't I tell Freya? She is my Queen and my friend; we tell each other everything," Romina answers, her tone firm yet gentle. I can almost hear the tension between them.

My curiosity doubles, and I hold my breath, waiting for Leonora's response. A snort comes through the door, followed by a soft clap.

“The girl you saw with me is Eileen, my niece. She is Diana's daughter,” Leonora states. A few moments of stillness follow her words.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"How...? What...?" Romina stutters, clearly taken aback by the revelation.

"Please, if you tell Freya, she may not come tonight. I want us all to be there," Leonora pleads, her voice wavering with desperation. Or was it annoyance?

“When…? How did you find her?” Romina asks, clearly baffled.

"Little magic, a lot of luck. I've been trying for years. I never gave up," my aunt explains. I can almost hear the pride in her voice as she speaks.

"Is that why you arranged tonight?" Romina questions, sounding somewhat angry.

"Indeed. Nyx found her a few days ago. A warlock was about to catch her. But finally, she is at home. I'm going to introduce her to everyone tonight. It's her birthday," Leonora declares with determination.

"Freya won't like it," Romina warns, but Leonora's response is fierce.

"Eileen hasn't done anything wrong," she snaps, an edge of cold fury in her voice.

"I must tell her, Leonora," Romina replies. "Also, she doesn't..."

"Ahem," a voice interrupts from behind me, causing me to whirl around to face the seamstress. She raises an eyebrow, looking puzzled as she takes in my crouched position in front of the red door. "What are you doing?"

"Uh..." I stammer, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. "I, um..."

"That's where the hats are. You'll be able to see them once I take your measurements. Come back to the dressing room, please," the dressmaker says, her tone firm but not unkind.

"Right," I mumble, following her instructions and returning to the dressing room. Luckily, she seems unaware of what I’m actually doing – eavesdropping on a conversation that isn't meant for my ears.

As the seamstress finishes measuring my shoulders, the doorbell tinkles sharply once again. "See you tonight," Leonora says, her voice carrying through the shop. The other woman replies, too soft for me to hear, and then footsteps approach my direction. I can feel the tension building in the air, but I try to keep my expression neutral.

Leonora gently knocks on one of the changing room panels, as if asking permission to enter. "Is everything ready?" she asks, poking her head through the curtains.

"Ready," the seamstress replies. "We'll have the gown in time for tonight.”

"Oh, that's perfect. Can we look at the hats now?"

"Sure, over here." The seamstress gestures for me to follow her.

I pull my sweater back on, feeling the weight of unanswered questions bearing down on me. I want to ask Leonora about Romina, Freya, and everything else I overheard, but I can't admit to eavesdropping on their private conversation. Why all the secrecy? What are they hiding from me?

The shop owner opens the red door with a dramatic gesture, raising her arms to proudly display the contents within. "This is our collection of hats!" she exclaims enthusiastically.

The sight before me is nothing short of breathtaking. As I step into the room, my eyes widen in astonishment. Towering walls lined with shelves surround me, and on each shelf sits a witch's hat more beautiful than the last. As I take in the sight of all the colourful hats, my heart flutters with joy. It's like I've discovered the enchanting collection of a mad hatter.

"Wow, that's... that's a lot of hats!" I exclaim, unable to contain my amazement. "Do people wear witches' hats in Witchwood? I haven't seen anyone wearing one."

"Only on special occasions," Leonora explains with a smile. "For example, for a formal occasion like tonight's banquet. It's a long-standing tradition for witches to get their first hat once they turn thirteen, but since we missed that chance..." She speaks softly, her tone hinting at a deep sadness, and then shakes her head in resignation. "Anyway. Once we buy one, you can add your own decorations to the hat. Go ahead and pick whichever one you want."

I gaze around, utterly overwhelmed by the choices before me. A lavender-coloured hat with a veil captures my attention, followed by a black one encircled by gold chains. Then there's a blue hat adorned with seashells and another pink one embellished with lace and tulle. I simply can't decide – each one is stunning in its own right. How could I choose when every hat has its own charm, and none are prettier than the others?

"Eileen, how about this one?" Leonora suggests, holding up a plain white witch's hat. The brim is just the right size, while the crown is neither too wide nor too narrow. Its beak falls gracefully back, soft to the touch. "If you can't decide, you can choose a white hat and dye it later."

"It's wicked," I say, grinning from ear to ear. As I take the hat from her, a shiver of anticipation runs through me. I've never been more excited for a piece of clothing in my entire life. Maybe it's stupid. But I don't care.

***

We emerge from the charming little shop, bags full of clothing. The sun bathes the town of Witchwood in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows that dance at my feet. Nyx, patiently waiting by the door, raises an eyebrow as we approach.

"Took you two long enough. Did you buy out the whole store?"

"Almost," Leonora replies, the corners of her lips reaching up to her sparkling eyes. I laugh. It's kind of true.

"You know you're late, right?" Nyx reprimands Leonora. "People's been asking for you."

"I know," Leonora says, her expression turning serious. "Let's go."

She takes off in a run, her long hair streaming behind her like a river of gold. Without hesitation, I follow after her, clutching my bags. Leonora and Nyx quickly go inside a nearby cherry tree in full bloom. The vibrant pink blossoms seem to dance around me as I, too, go through it right after them, which takes me directly back to the Spring Palace entrance.

"Wait!" I call out. But Leonora doesn't slow down; instead, she picks up her pace, forcing me to do the same. I can tell she's in a hurry but there's so much I need to ask her. About Freya, Romina, the fairies... And those terrifying warlocks who might still be lurking outside, waiting for me.

As we reach the doorway, Nyx greets us with a nod, his sleek black hair gleaming in the sunlight. How the hell did he get there so quickly? He was just behind Leonora a moment before.

"Why such a hurry?" I pant, struggling to keep up with Leonora's brisk pace. How fit is she?

Nyx, who's staying by my side, casts a glance at Leonora, who continues to trot a few feet ahead of us. "She should have been supervising the preparations for the banquet and attending to her duties," he explains, "but she's been gone for a few hours. They're kind of mad at her."

They? Who are they and why is she needed so urgently? Who exactly is Leonora for the witches at this court? I ponder these questions as we navigate through a maze of corridors and rooms, each more enchanting than the last. But before I can get any answers, we turn a corner and I gasp in disbelief.