Iris prepared her bedroll on the floor of Dala’s hut. It wasn’t the most grand of accommodations, but the witches had trained her, fed her, and now housed her, so she had no complaints to speak of. As she placed several lanterns out around her bedroll — as had become her nightly ritual — Dala approached with a curious expression.

“Afraid of the dark?”

Iris looked up from where she knelt, surprised by Dala’s quiet approach, “what? Oh, no, this is to keep the nightmare away.”

“The nightmare?” Dala thought for a moment, “ah, that’s the darkness the bones spoke of.”

Iris nodded, “it’s been haunting me for a while now. There aren’t many options for help with this kind of thing out here, though, so I’ve just been dealing with it. The lights keep it away, mostly, but they don’t stop all the dreams.”

“You must have gone through quite the ordeal to attract a creature like that.”

“I’ve— yeah, I’ve been through some things,” Iris looked away as she answered.

“I believe I can remove it—”

“You can?” Iris replied instantly, snapping her gaze towards the matron.

“—but you’re not going to like the process,” Dala finished.

“What do I have to do?” Iris shot to her feet.

Dala was silent for a moment as she seemed to evaluate Iris, “follow me.”

Though the walls of the small hut were thin and offered little dampening of the noisy nighttime swamp, the discordant chorus of animals still grew noticeably louder as the door cracked open. Iris followed Dala without question, eager to finally be rid of the nightmare no matter the cost.

She was led around and behind the hut, then down a narrow path of raised ground which wound through the swamp like a snake. Though the light of her glow stones and a lantern held out by Abby lit her way, Dala walked ahead in the darkness. The path soon approached a raised brickwork platform of a similar construction to the ancient ruins throughout the swamp, and atop the short steps was a pair stone cellar doors that opened at a wave of the matron’s hand. Inside the doors, steps descended into a dark pit.

Cautious hope was mixing with growing trepidation in her gut, and with every down into the dark chamber her uncertainty grew. Without surge of doubt, however, was a flash of the nightmare's torment. The endless nights of torturous dreams crafted from her greatest fears like clay, the reminders of all those she had wronged and all who might one day return to claim their revenge, the sickening mockery of her mother that visited her in the woods -- she shook her head desperately, hoping to dispel the ongoing battle in her anxious mind.

The room at the bottom of the stairs was small enough that Iris’s light illuminated the four walls, though it seemed to struggle unnaturally to reach the corners. In the center of the room was a ring of bricks upon which Dala took a seat as she motioned for Iris to sit across from her.

“In order to conduct this ritual, you must accept a truly unpleasant request,” Dala spoke as Iris took her seat.

“Anyth--” Iris said quickly, but caught herself, "what is it?"

A curt chuckle escaped the witch’s lips as she extended her hands across the circle, “first, take my hands”

Iris hesitantly and gently grasped the witch's hands. The battle between her desperation and her instincts had moved to her gut, which now twisted and broiled like a thunderstorm. Angry, warning tones emanated from the bottomless bag.

“It’s fine, Abby,” Iris looked down at the bag, "let's just see what this is about."

Still smiling faintly, the matron continued her instructions, "now close your eyes and take deep breaths."

Iris did as she was told, relying instead on her awareness ability to observe her surroundings while she struggled to fight back the tremors in her breath. As her breath steadied and slowed, her awareness grew fainter. It slowly disappeared not unlike vision fading to black, and soon the only sensations she felt were within her own body.

"Find a door," the witch said, "it will be somewhere in the vastness, not quite beyond you -- but on the very edge."

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Iris was no stranger to meditation, having spent many training sessions with Victoria learning its intricacies. The silly feeling that had once plagued her -- the one that told her she was just sitting with her eyes closed and imagining things -- was now only a passing sensation which she easily ignored. It didn't take long to begin her search through the vastness, and only a few moments to find the door.

"Okay, I've found it," she said quietly.

Something knocked at the door. It was gentle, yet set reverberations through her being.

"Open it, and let me in," the witch instructed.

Her heart pounded. Her body pleaded to snatch her hands away, and her mind screamed to barricade the door. The nightmare's mockery of her mother flashed before her, its face contorted into a twisted smile. All the pain of all the dreams piled onto her, mixing with memories and blurring what had been real and what hadn't.

"Don't," a raspy voice spoke only to her, "she is not what she seems."

There was a shaky, shadowy figure standing between her and the door, which she knew to be the nightmare.

"She will claim you for herself," the nightmare hissed, "do not open the door!"

As it spoke, its face flashed rapidly between all the forms it had taken -- a brass mask, the fish wizard, Jacquie the thief, a lightning wizard, a scarecrow, her mother. Iris screamed and blipped past it, lunging forward and swinging the door open.

The door and the nightmare disappeared as an icy hand grasped Iris’s heart. Though merely a sensation, rather than a physical occurrence, it felt more visceral than anything she had ever experienced before. She could not see the witch, yet her visage was clearly present in Iris’s mind. Her smile was wicked and her eyes hidden by shadows that didn’t extend past the sockets.

“You are a fool, Iris Orion,” Dala taunted.

Iris couldn’t feel her heart race, her breath catch or her muscles tense. The overwhelming fear and dread fell on an unresponsive body and a nearly absent mind.

“Abby,” she tried to scream, but it came out as a monotone mumble and had with no response.

“Your monster cannot help you now,” Dala launched into a cruel and wicked cackle, “with your soul in my grasp, your abilities are mine to control — and without them, the monster has no path to escape the void.”

“Why are you doing this?” the words were once again flat and emotionless.

“To teach you a lesson.”

Iris felt the grip tighten on her heart.

“Please—” she would have gasped the word if she were still breathing.

“You are too trusting, child,” the grip loosened, though it did not release, “with so little promptly you allow a stranger — a witch, no less — into the very essence of your being, the capsule which contains all that you are and will ever be. This is a folly few will ever live to make twice.”

The grasp released, the witch shrunk away into the distance and the door reappeared only long enough to slam closed. The light flooded back as Iris gasped for breath and tentacles erupted from the bottomless bag, flailing around the room and smashing through a shimmering image of Dala to pummel the brick upon which she sat into rubble.

“If I meant you any harm,” the shimmering visage spoke as the tentacles continued bombarding it, “I would have already committed it.”

The tentacles didn’t stop their attacks, and Iris let them continue for some time while she caught her breath before finally telling Abby to stand down. Angry, overlapping roars continued to escape the void as the tentacles slowly withdrew into the bag, only stopping when the last one slipped inside and the bag cinched itself closed. The shimmering image of Dala faded, and the witch appeared on the steps.

“What the fuck was that about?” Iris demanded.

“I told you, it was a lesson. I cannot help you with the nightmare, it is beyond my expertise. I can — and have — however, aid you in understanding the risks of this world.”

Iris dizzily climbed to her feet, “by attacking my soul?!”

“Had I attacked it, you would not be standing. What you felt was only a gentle hold, the most minute application possible of the immeasurable power over yourself which you granted me.”

Iris shouted with as much breath as she could muster, “I trusted you!”

“Yes,” Dala nodded, “and that was the mistake from which I want you to learn. You trust too freely, Iris, as if you expect everyone in this world to be as good of heart as you. I assure you, most are not.”

“You don’t know me,” Iris spat.

“Don’t I? Who else has touched your soul, but perhaps your own dreams and nightmares themselves?”

Iris blipped past the matron and out into the swamp, where she quickly stomped off back towards the huts without waiting for the matron to follow. When she arrived, she quickly gathered her things from Dala’s hut and shoved them into her bag with the help of Abby’s tentacles.

“You shouldn’t leave at night,” Dala said, having entered the hut without alerting Iris’s awareness ability, “there are things more dangerous than me in this swamp.”

Iris intended to argue, but in truth she was overwhelmed with fatigue and doubted she could actually fly right now if she tried. The last thing she needed was to crash land in the swamp again. Instead, she pivoted to an alternative and pretended it was the plan all along.

“I’m not leaving,” she said as a tentacle placed the last of the lanterns into the void, “but I’m not sleeping under the same roof as you. The message is clear, you’re not to be trusted.” Iris blipped past the matron, stomped a few steps forward and skipped the stairs of the porch entirely with another blip.

“That was not the lesson you were meant to learn,” the matron called after her, “though, it is sound advice.”

Iris ignored her and barged up to the door of Ellie’s hut, at first raising her fist to angrily pound before pausing, taking a breath, and knocking gently. She could sense the matron still standing on the porch of her own hut and watching her intently, but Iris did not acknowledge her further.

A groggy Ellie opened the door while rubbing her eye, “Iris? Is something wrong?”

“Your matron pissed me off, I need a place to sleep.”

Ellie laughed quietly, “yeah, she’ll do that. C’mon,” she left the door ajar as she crossed the small, single-story hut and collapsed back into her bed. A hand stretched out to point at nothing in particular, “pick any spot you want, I clean the floor every evening.”