> "You need one book—the correct book." - Merlina Maria Allatori.
"You're not the right wizard? If you're not, who is?" Nord was taken aback. She'd always assumed the process would be straightforward, like someone sketching out a pentagram or a cross. She wasn't looking for anything intricate, just a light-hearted spell to brighten people's moods.
"Miss Morningstar, you don't need a wizard. You need a Spellmaker," Merlin clarified, straightening his back as he sat on his bed.
"And where am I supposed to find a Spellmaker?"
"Well, demons are known to be quite talented at spellmaking. I'm sure you know one," Merlin suggested, stroking his beard playfully.
"I know one? No, I don't know anyone!" Frustration tinged her voice, rendering it almost shrill.
"You're covered in spells. Surely you must know who crafted those?" Merlin observed a note of amusement in his voice he couldn't quite suppress.
"I... I..." Nord looked down at her inked arms. The jarring realization struck her: she had no idea who had designed the magical aspects of her tattoos. Sure, she'd drawn them—the style, the lines, they were all hers. But the essence of the designs, the spells imbued within them? She was clueless. It was as if her memories were a jigsaw puzzle, missing crucial pieces.
Finally, she managed to compose herself. "I'm sorry to have bothered you for nothing. Thank you for your time."
Merlin glanced from her to Baal, then back at her. He sighed. "Baal, please take Miss Morningstar home."
"No, it's alright. I can walk," Nord protested.
"Nonsense. Mulan needs to stretch her legs," Baal interjected, his face ripped with the biggest smile.
The cartwheels squeaked and groaned, yet Mulan moved it in slow motion, with the landscape barely changing. Baal sensed Nord's silence wasn't empty; it was charged, filled with thoughts she was too overwhelmed to put into words. He could almost feel the gears turning in her mind as she contemplated her options for finding a Spellmaker.
Finally, she broke the silence. "Maybe this was a bad idea."
"It's not," Baal responded, not taking his eyes off the road.
"I feel so lost, like everything's piling up on me. I'm supposed to run a store, manage an inn, organize events, provide entertainment, and, on top of all that, feed whatever Hallow is inside me." She turned to him, her eyes almost pleading. "How?"
"You'll manage, I'm sure of it," he assured her, his eyes shifting towards the night sky, where stars were beginning to make their appearance.
"That's easy for you to say. You're not tied down by anything," Nord shot back.
"I am, actually," he said softly.
"You are? Like what?"
A rich silence filled the space between them—a silence that somehow managed to say more than words could. "I am," Baal finally repeated.
"You're awfully quiet tonight," she observed.
"Would you prefer it if I talked nonsense?"
"No, but you always seem like you're walking on eggshells around me, but at least you talk," she said, mimicking his upward gaze at the sky.
"I am," he admitted after another drawn-out silence.
"What are you doing?" she chuckled, finally breaking the tension.
Her laughter seemed to ripple through the night air, affecting him too. "What am I doing? I'm doing nothing. I'm taking you home, watching the sky, and listening to you." He paused, reining in his laughter. "And that's enough for me," he finally said, locking eyes with her, "at least for now."
"You're so weird," she commented, a faint smile touching her lips.
"And you love it," he retorted, smirking.
"You're so full of yourself."
"I have my reasons," he said, a mysterious glint in his eyes.
As Mulan continued to pull the cart, the two shared another weighty silence. Still, this time, it was different—charged with a newfound understanding and, perhaps, a subtle kindling of something more.
The road ahead was still long and uncertain, but for that brief moment, they were content just being there under the burgeoning night sky.
They finally arrived and Nord pushed open the heavy door to her manor. "Thanks for the slowest ride ever. Goodnight," she said, offering Baal a half-smile.
"See you tomorrow, Morningstar," Baal replied.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow!" Baal urged Mulan forward, and the cart creaked away into the night.
The house was enveloped in an eerie quiet. Nord surmised that Adamastor was probably out "hunting" for a new mark of lipstick in his shirt's collar while Finnea and Kirara had probably surrendered to sleep.
She made her way to her room and began the nightly ritual of disrobing. The corset was especially confining, and she sighed in relief as she unlaced it. Off went her blouse and trousers.
She stood before her mirror, examining her reflection. Her olive skin was a canvas of black ink, each intricate design interlinked with another, like a finely wrought tapestry—but a tapestry that seemed to be unravelling.
Her neck was marred by naked skin, and so was the area under her shoulder. It looked like the rash had given way to strip her skin, mirroring a similar emptiness on her forearm.
Nord tried to remember why she had chosen each tattoo and what each design represented. She was coming up blank. Those on her back—were they even her designs? They had to be; the lines and style were unmistakably hers. She sighed deeply, resigning herself to yet another mystery. Could the transition from Earth to Nyu have left gaps in her memory? Selective amnesia?
She dressed in her nightgown, a sense of exhaustion and defeat washing over her. She sat on the edge of her bed and picked up her mobile device from the bedside table. She turned it on and began sifting through the folders. One was labelled "The_Keys," another "2013/23," and a third, "Must_Play."
Curiosity getting the better of her, she tapped on "Must_Play." It opened to reveal a series of numbered videos, with no other identifying details provided. She hesitated for a moment before selecting "01.mov."
Nord watched the video, her heart pounding in her chest. On the screen, the past version of herself was framed from the neck to the waist. A voice rang out from off-screen.
"Do you need something?"
"No, I'm good, Baby," video-Nord responded.
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"Okay, I'm going to the grocery."
Video-Nord then settled into a chair, her hands reaching to adjust the camera's angle to frame her face. Just as she was about to speak, the door burst open, causing her to jolt up from the chair and inadvertently shift the camera view to the ceiling.
"I said I'm going to the grocery!" A male voice—soft but tinged with playfulness—interjected.
"I know, I heard you."
"Nord, say you love me!" The voice was almost imploring.
She laughed, a genuine, carefree laugh. "I love you."
"Do you need anything?"
"No, Baby, I'm good."
"Okay, I'll be back in 10 minutes!" His voice receded as he moved away, but she called after him, "Love you!"
"Love you more!" And then, the sound of a heavy door closing reverberated through the video.
The past version of Nord adjusted the camera again, a warm smile lighting up her face. "He can be so silly sometimes," she said, chuckling softly to herself. She took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera. "This is video 01. I'm Nord Morningstar, and I will travel from Earth to Nyu."
The video ended, but Nord sat there for what felt like an eternity, her mind swirling with a mix of emotions she couldn't name. The man's voice, the banter, the 'I love yous'—it was all so profoundly familiar and yet entirely elusive. Who was he? How could she not remember someone so obviously important to her?
A realization dawned on her—the video was not just a record. It was a breadcrumb, a clue left by her past self. But to what end? Did she know then that her memories would be snatched away?
Suddenly, the sense of being lost, the feeling of drowning in her responsibilities, seemed insignificant next to this massive black hole in her memory. She knew she had to dig deeper to unravel the mystery that seemed to wrap around her life. And for the first time in a long while, Nord felt something other than confusion or despair.
She felt purpose.
She scrolled to 02.mov and pressed play. Her face again, this time, her clothes were different, her hair was held by a hairband, and the image was properly adjusted.
On the screen, Nord cleared her throat, a hint of unease in her eyes. "This is video 02. I'm Nord Morningstar, and I will travel from Earth to Nyu soon. Very soon." She coughed briefly, taking a sip of water before continuing. "The Morningstars are known as guardians...or keepers of a magical entity called the Hallow. To be frank, I'm not quite sure what it is—only that it can't remain on Earth.” She moved her fingers, miming a walking motion. “So, as a good Morningstar, we ship it away to another place."
"The mission for such a task—let's call it that—is very noble. I think the whole idea in the beginning was okay. It's the method that's questionable."
Another pause, another sip of water. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. "So, if you—you being my future self—ever question whether Dad left because of us... Yeah, the answer is yes. There's no way to sugarcoat it. Dad was different, like me." She gestured at herself, her eyes meeting her own gaze through the camera. "And you can see what I mean in the mirror. So, let me break it down."
Nord from the video adjusted her sweater, making her present self anxious with all the pauses and sips. "The Hallow can't be deposited into a witch; witches have magic and wouldn't be able to control it. That's my understanding, at least. So they need vessels. Vessels are special; they're empty witches. There is no magic—just a huge void to fill. Vessels are born from humans and witches. Well, Dad wasn't a human. Do you see where this is going?"
She sighed, a weariness settling into her features. "I don't have more information about him. Just know that when we said we saw a unicorn, they took it as a sign they needed to create another vessel."
"South," Nord mumbled under her breath, her eyes widening with realization.
"So yeah, Dad was shunned by the Morningstars, and Mum had to marry some random guy with no magic. I don't have any more details, but this is why I've taken it upon myself to destroy the Hallow. This whole cult thing—it's wrong, it shouldn't be happening. So if they're going to call me a witch, I decided I'll behave like one."
"Behave like a witch," she whispered to herself, echoing her own words from the past.
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The autumn night was chilly, with leaves twirling in the air before settling onto the ground with a papery rustle. The clock had long struck bedtime, but Nord was indifferent. The Library was best visited at night when the whispers of the world quieted down, and no one from her high school was prying around.
The door creaked open with a sound that almost resembled a sigh. As expected, the store was vacant except for the cashier—a woman who seemed to have stepped out of an '80s movie, her voluminous hair sculpted to gravity-defying heights by copious amounts of hairspray. On her blouse, a tag name pinned - Merlina.
"Sorry," Nord muttered as she entered, her boots softly padding on the worn wooden floor.
The cashier didn't lift her eyes from her book. "Shouldn't you be at home, little girl?"
"I'm fifteen," Nord retorted, moving further into the dimly lit space. "I need a book."
"We're fresh out of Harry Potter," the cashier said, still not looking up.
"No, I need a… a real book," Nord clarified, her voice barely above a whisper.
The cashier's eyes finally flicked up, meeting Nord's. "What do you consider a real book? I'm not selling you fairy porn if that's what you're after."
"I need something…witchy. Like a summoning book," Nord stammered, her fingers fumbling nervously at the edge of her jacket.
The word "summoning" seemed to strike a chord. The cashier closed her book with a snap and looked up. "ID. Now."
Nord unzipped the front pocket of her backpack and fished out her school ID card. "Here," she offered, handing it over.
"Morningstar," the librarian read aloud, her eyes narrowing. "You're aware of what your name implies, I hope?"
"It depends on who's reading it," Nord replied cautiously.
The librarian smirked, handing back the ID. "There's something about you, kid. So, what do you need to summon?"
"A demon for a pact," Nord said, finally articulating the audacious plan that had been spinning in her mind.
"Please tell me you're not trading your soul for good grades or a teenage crush," the cashier said, arching an eyebrow.
Nord locked eyes with her. "I want to destroy the Hallow."
“Oh!” The cashier studied her for a moment as if sizing up her resolve, her capabilities, and maybe even her soul. Then she nodded. "Alright, Morningstar. There's a whole section downstairs that might have what you're looking for. Come, I'll show you."
Nord felt her pulse quicken, a cocktail of trepidation and exhilaration coursing through her veins. It was reckless and potentially ruinous, but it felt like the first real step towards altering a destiny that had long been preordained. And as she followed the librarian down the creaky stairs, each step felt like a small but seismic shift in the world as she knew it.
The staircase descended into a room awash in shadow, its corners drowned in darkness. It was as if they'd stepped into a secret chamber forgotten by time. And there, at the centre, stood a single bookshelf—empty but for a lone hardcover, its spine facing outward: Witchy Things 101 by Merlina Maria Allatori.
"There's only one book," Nord observed, her voice tinged with incredulity.
"How many books do you think you need to summon a demon?" the librarian shot back, her eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"I don't know, it's my first time," Nord admitted, feeling both novice and neophyte in this clandestine world.
"The answer is one," the librarian declared, plucking the lone book from its pedestal and handing it over. "You need one book—the correct book."
Nord took it cautiously as if half-expecting it to burn her skin or unleash some arcane force. The weight of the book in her hands felt almost sacramental, heavy with the sort of knowledge that was both tantalizing and terrifying.
The librarian leaned in, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "This book is both an introduction and a guide. It's not to be taken lightly. It can bring you immense power, but remember, it comes with a cost."
Nord met her gaze, her fingers gripping the book tightly. "I understand," she said, her voice edged with resolve.
"Good," the librarian said, nodding. "Then you're ready to pay the price, in whatever form it comes."
As Nord ascended back up the stairs, the book clutched to her chest, the gravity of her decision began to set in. It was a singular act of defiance, a claim of agency over a destiny that had been scripted for South and her since birth.
She couldn't shake off the sensation that she was teetering on a precipice, but for the first time, it felt like she had a say in which way she'd fall.
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The video continued, and her past self, framed in the small screen, emptied the cup she was holding and paused.
"I don't know how we got the courage to do this all alone," Video-Nord said, her eyes looking straight into the camera. "But I did. I gathered all the ingredients—red candles, red salt, something old, something new, something stained in blood."
Nord gripped her mobile device tighter. Her heart raced as she hung onto every word. This was it. The missing piece of her puzzle.
"The book had only one page," Video-Nord continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "All the other pages were blank. The only demon I could summon was—"
The screen of Nord's mobile device flickered, and a message flashed: Low Battery – 1% Remaining. Before she could even react, the screen went black, plunging her into darkness and silence. She was left staring at the lifeless device, her mind racing to absorb what her past self had just revealed.
"Are you kidding me? Now?" she muttered, her words tinged with frustration. She looked around her room, its corners shadowed in the night, wondering how much she didn't remember about her own life.
"One percent battery. One damn percent, and now I'm left hanging by a thread. What did I summon? What pact did I make?"
Her eyes caught the glint of her reflection in the mirror—a tapestry of ink sprawled across her skin, each mark a riddle, each line a story she couldn't recall. The empty spot on her arm and the stripped skin on her neck felt like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"Something old, something new, something stained in blood," she muttered, recalling her past self's words. She looked down at her hands, holding the dead device as if expecting them to provide an answer.