The door slammed shut as soon as Addison had both feet across the threshold. The noise was a surprise, but she was thankful that she managed to not let her body jump off the ground at every single thing around her like a nervous mouse. Inside looked the same as it did every time she arrived, except this time the witch had managed to get her supplies not too long ago. Above the fireplace, the shelves were filled with stuffed jars, oils, herbs, and the corner of a brown-ish fur peaked out of a corner of a wooden box.

The cauldron sat on the table with whisps of steam floating out the top with a dozen towels and a blanket sitting underneath it to protect the table. A fire smoldered in its stoney home, and she wondered how the old woman moved the heavy thing by herself. It wasn't the first time Addison had the thought since she did all the lifting when she was around.

But she knew it shouldn't be that surprising. There was only an errand girl around a third of the time or so. Probably a nasty surprise when the details of her mother's deal became known. Mathilda had bargained for full-time service and gotten a door prize.

"Don't get blood on the floor," Mathilda said from the kitchen.

Addison pulled her finger away from her mouth, having forgotten that she was still holding it there. The prick was almost invisible without the blood, which didn't seem to be coming anymore. "I won't."

She wouldn't need the help to heal, it seemed. The pain had seared red hot when she had found the thorn that her mind must have assumed it was much worse than it was.

"More of a general rule, girl." Banging followed the statement.

The witch was playing the drums on pots and pans, Addison thought as her eyes continued to sweep around the home. She couldn't find anything that had changed. It felt so alien for her to have walked in without being demanded, pushed, and pulled. Her heart was beating hard in her chest, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't home at all— that she was in a stranger's house and had to figure out what to do with herself. Should she go help in the kitchen? Or sit on one of the chairs around the dinner table?

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

She could go down the hallway. Sit on her bed and try to come up with a plan. Maybe rummage around to find a new pair of clothes.

The last thought sounded the most appealing as soon as it crossed her mind. It would also give her a place to put the flower in her hand since she started to feel foolish still carrying it around. She started walking forward and had just hit the hallway's border when she heard the voice from the kitchen again.

"Excuse me."

Addison sighed. "Yes?"

"You didn't explain what the hell you are doing here?" Mathilda said. Loudly. Much louder than she needed to over the banging that she was continuing even during her forced conversation.

"Can I go change, first?" Addison asked.

The words left her mouth, and she felt even more foolish. It sounded like a strange request, rather than answer a single question. But she had been through multiple forests and three realms in the same outfit and was feeling rather caked with…

well, things she didn't want to pinpoint. And she knew on a deeper level that it was unlikely to be just the one question.*

She waited there at the space between the front room and the hallway, waiting for an answer. Several minutes passed, agonizingly slow, and no answer came. She rolled her eyes, already tired of the mounting tension two minutes after arrival, and made her way to her bedroom. Thankful that this space hadn't changed either. It was always hard to tell what the woman did when she had to be alone, and Addison always expected to come back one time with her stuff moved around, or gone, or replaced with whatever the witch thought would be funny.

It never was, but Addison always expected it. She laid the flower down gently on the chipped wood dresser next to her bed and began opening drawers to find something clean and decent to put on.