Once upon a time, there lived an ordinary girl in the heartlands.

The daughter of a shepherd and a tailor, she lived a quiet youth in a village known for its cows and songs. It was a small village, set atop the gentle rolling hills of the countryside, graced with fertile fields and clear blue skies. She spent most of her time in nature, relaxing among the trees and fields.

However, the village had a long and storied past. In the center plaza was a disk of polished obsidian that had been there since the founding of the settlement.

Nobody was sure where it had come from. Rumors that had been passed down through the ages said there was a great beast sealed in the black rock. Unwilling to incur the wrath of a terrifying beast, the people kept the monument appeased with offerings of food and music.

SHINE BRIGHTLY, REFLECT WITHIN said the inscription at the rock’s base. But few knew how to read. This inscription perked the girl’s interest — she began to teach herself how to read. There were characters and runes inside of the obsidian, which she happily practiced redrawing in the forest.

Many girls sang songs and trained in their youth to become worthy minstrels capable of calming the beast. At fourteen years old, the girl happily became one of them, having been afforded the opportunity by hard working parents.

The girl, having trained her voice by dealing with many younger siblings, had a singing voice that enraptured the minds of those around her. After she began to rehearse publicly with the other minstrels, she received no shortage of gifts and marriage proposals.

But one day, scary men riding on big black beasts of war arrived. They carried a banner with three leaping lions that fluttered in the wind.

Bring ye songbirds, they declared, for the kingdom has need for your talents. And clutched in the warrior’s palms was a holy sacrament that depicted a grand prophecy:

Divided in faith, a century of war shall arrive.

Chivalry will rot and saints shall burn:

Sing the requiem for a fallen empire,

And usher in the end of darkness.

They sought the voice that could bring the end of an era.

The village was ecstatic. As a farming village, they were poor and could barely afford taxes some seasons. The mere idea that they could live easy lives sent the people into a frenzy.

They herded the minstrels and prepared them for examination. The girl was excited — if she could reward her parents and siblings for treating her kindly, she would happily take the opportunity. Together, the girls wrote a song and prepared for the trial.

A week of practice later, and they held a choir in front of the king’s magisters. The girl in particular held the highest notes, for her voice was one of a songbird. Each minstrel had a part to showcase their vocal strengths. When it came to the girl’s turn, she held her head high, closed her eyes, and sang for the future.

At the climax of her song, something shattered. The other minstreals ceased their songs, but she kept singing, quietly hoping that she could be the one.

When she opened her eyes, the audience was horrified. The girl didn’t understand what happened — she didn’t recognize the horrified faces of her neighbors, her friends, her family. Slowly, she followed the villager’s gaze.

Behind her, a crack had formed in the obelisk. It was a ragged split that drove a line straight through the middle, a terrible omen. A mere freak accident of nature, a tone that just happened to resonate on a particular frequency. But to the villagers who had no knowledge of twenty-first century science, it was a sign from God himself.

Then, from somewhere in the crowd came the accusation. Witch. She was a witch. The girl who had done nothing but sing was a witch who could enchant others with her voice. A witch. A crone, a hag, a devil in disguise.

But that couldn’t be right. The girl was a good person who loved God. There had to have been some sort of mistake.

There was a hearing. Soon came the rumors. Then came the accusations. They called her a traitor, a hexworker, a practitioner of pagan beliefs. A dog. An ally of the beast, an agent of the devil. A succubus who could charm others with her voice.

There was a trial. They found the places she had redrawn the symbols from within the obsidian. They forced her to sing again; one more, the obsidian fractured further. It was obvious now — this girl’s destiny was to break the beast out of its seals. They weren’t just outing a witch; they were doing their part to save the kingdom’s future. They cut out her tongue so she couldn’t cause any further damage.

There was an execution. The girl’s father, who desired to save his daughter, took it upon himself to save her the painful death that awaited her. With eyes brimming with tears, under the watchful eye of the full moon, he wrung her tender white neck until she stopped struggling.

The next morning, the magisters praised the father for doing the work of God. They set to burn the body at the stake at the sunset.

But the girl hadn’t been killed. Her father’s hands broke something in her neck — she was left paralyzed, unable to move. Unable to cry. Unable to scream. She spent the entire day laying in a burial pyre, weeping inside, lamenting her pitiful existence. The eyes that once regarded her with happiness and joy now gazed at her with nothing but passing scorn. Not a single tear was shed, not even from her family.

She begged God for help. She begged for death. But, of course, this was a world without any gods. She lay for twelve hours, watching the sun rise and set one last time, rotting in the prison of her body.

In her final moments, as the magisters came with torches and tar, she got to see the village gathering one more time. She listened to the last curses of her peers and family. She became the scapegoat to all of their problems, an object of hatred, a thing to be.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Not a single person loved. Not a single person cared. Not a single person mourned. Cold eyes, endlessly reflected in the obsidian black mirror.

As the flames consumed her, the girl succumbed to soul-shattering hatred and cursed this world.

But not even death would give her the peace she desired. The disk, through some infernal machinations, trapped her soul with chains of real sorceries and hexes. Over time, the girl turned into a helpless wraith that could do nothing but watch, even as a hundred years of war razed the village.

Whatever humanity remained was quickly stripped away. She became a writhing spirit, a mad beast that blighted the lands. At the turn of the century, there wasn’t even a single trace of the girl left.

And one day, a real witch came along. In the middle of a storm, she arrived after wandering through the countryside, stumbling upon the remains of the black obsidian disk. With a voice like thunder, she offered a choice:

“Oh my, what a poor thing. I can offer you a choice. Do you wish to move on, or do you wish to get your revenge? You have quite the history — I can make something grand out of you.”

----------------------------------------

I wake to the sound of thunder. Fading images pass through my mind; I’m vaguely aware of the dream I just had.

A girl who was cruelly executed. A senseless death. A sacrifice. I’ve had recurring dreams before, but this is a new one. I rub at my eyes, nursing them open.

Black clouds above, still pouring. Red sofa. I take a deep breath, glancing around.

The tools of the planetarium catch the shadows of raindrops. Symphony of thumb-sized drums plays against the domed roof, scratching my eardrums. In the center of the room, the armillary sphere spins and casts irregular phantoms across the walls. I force myself to awaken fully by biting the inside of my cheek.

The mall. The mirror realm. The dream. All of these happened.

Across from me, Erika sits in a dark wooden rocker, eyes cast downwards into empty hands. I have to actually wave at her before she acknowledges me.

“Sorry about earlier. I got carried away.”

She doesn’t look at me when she says that.

It takes a few moments for me to remember how to speak. “Evening.”

It takes even longer for her to reply. “...Evening.”

I try to push myself up, only to be met with an abrupt rake of pain. Like a cloth with bristles of knives, it feels like pieces of my skin are peeling off. Although my wounds are healed, the technique used must’ve been pretty rough — I grimace to keep myself from screaming and quietly stare at Erika.

Of course, Erika isn’t her real name. Technically, she’s supposed to be my familiar — a creature whose existence is dedicated to helping their master. But as I’ve mentioned before, our relationship is one step more complicated than most.

She hasn’t told me her true name yet. Erika Weiss is both a cover identity and an alternate reference; whatever she’s really called still remains a mystery to me.

Then again, that’s all I’ve ever known her as. And really, I am not one to care for the little details. Erika is Erika. Marie is Marie. Roses are red, violets are blue, and I can’t be arsed to critically think.

“Oi,” I groan, sitting up, “everything alright? Usually you’d make a snarky comment by now about something.”

Erika’s jaw clenches. Her fists tighten against her lap.

I try to continue the conversation. “I’m a bit banged up right now, so I might be low on the witty rhetoricals. Never knew that it hurt this much to be… hurt. Ouch.”

“...Please stop.”

The request is earnest. Softer than a mouse’s squeak. It shouldn’t be something that comes from Erika.

I reach out towards her with numb fingers. “What’s wrong?”

She looks up at me with tired eyes. Then she just laughs bitterly. “Are you really alright with this? What isn’t wrong? How can you be so nonchalant about everything that’s happened to you?”

That’s a pretty sudden outburst. Maybe it’s just the person I’ve become, but I don’t really consider the past in my day to day goings.

Erika does have a point, though. I probably shouldn’t be this relaxed after she tried to kill me. Then again, even though I shouldn’t be, I’m happy to see that she’s still here.

I’m not a genius, but I can put a few contextual clues together and figure things out eventually. As far as I can tell, something about our contract allows for some equivalent exchange. Humanity for magic, magic for humanity. Maybe I've lost enough of mine to give Erika a conscience.

“Meh.”

I don’t know what else to say to that. I guess I could go on a tangent about fate or duty or love or whatever, but I can’t find the emotional energy to vocalize it.

Instead, I pat the seat beside me expectantly. “C’mon. Sit beside me if you want to get emotional.”

“How can you just—”

“Listen,” I snap, “I really don’t care for your guilt. I know you have your reasons, so I’m willing to leave it at that. You didn’t even fix me right, so come comfort me. That’s an order.”

I’m fully aware that I’m being selfish and irrational. I’m tired and exhausted and overwhelmed by the ecstasy of battle. But right now, my desire to make up with Erika overwhelms any logic left in my mana-fried mind.

Slowly but surely, metaphorical tail tucked between her legs, she trots beside me and gingerly takes a seat. She’s beyond stiff — I can sense the air freezing around her.

I give into my desires and press up against her. My hands find their way around her waist and I drag her down with me. She lets out an adorable little yelp of surprise as I cuddle up against her warmth; I bury my face in her silky hair and breathe in. Faint rain smell. After a long battle, heaven.

Erika places one of her hands over mine and squeezes. “Marie…?”

I’m definitely not in the right mind in this current moment. The usual filter that keeps me from constantly doing things that are obviously bad ideas — my desires are my actions, plain and simple. I pull Erika closer and mumble into her ear.

“That’s right. You made me into this, didn’t you? Take responsibility.”

I feel her tense up. Lungs heaves, throat clenches, trying to find a response. Then, as I find a spot of bare skin to rest my chin, she resigns herself to my affections.

It feels better to speak like this. A real heart to heart, crammed together on a sofa on a rainy night. I don’t have to hold back. “You’ve been looking over for me for so long. Let me look over you for a little, too.”

“I’m supposed to be your mentor,” Erika grumbles.

“You’ve done a good job. You did well.” I reach up from the tangled couch cuddle and gently pat Erika on the head. “I don’t want to be witch and familiar. I don’t want to be coddled, but I don’t want to be abandoned, either. I want to be equals. And that starts with me getting to do this once in a while, ‘kay?”

I reiterate my point by poking her cheek — her serious demeanor devolves into a pout.

“Are you aware of just how insane that is?” Erika says, not even bothering to look at me. She has also given up the serious talk; she leans into me, intertwines her fingers with mine, gets real comfortable.

“Yep. Don’t care. Shut up and nap with me. This is your punishment for tonight.”

The bane of all philosophers is an apathetic retort. Maybe I’m just taking the coward’s way out by ignoring all of my problems, but it’s not like I’m a particularly heroic individual. I have simple desires and simple motivations. Magic isn’t anything more than a tool to help me achieve my goals — I’ll use a gun if I have to.

I hold true to my selfish promise: I’m going to think about all of this tomorrow. I’m going to think deep and hard and figure out my life plan. But for tonight, I’m going to take vengeance by submitting her to love and affection. She’s always been the type to tease and taunt. About time somebody turns the tables.

I close my eyes and sink into the embrace, listening to the gentle thrum of the midnight rain. Always wanted to do something like this. Think I’ve earned a bit of a victory lap-hug-cuddle.

Erika goes limp in my arms, surrendering herself to me. The only punishment I can muster is a tight hug.

If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost see that rainy day in the darkness. A fateful meeting between a doomed soul and a witch — we are more alike than I thought. But this is the only thing I can offer from my worthless hands, a fractured moment of peace sheltered from the cruel rains. I curl up a bit closer against Erika, wondering if this is the peace she’s been searching for.