After all that had happened in the past two days, I had more or less figured out how my brain worked. Old Elsa's memories were all stored inside my brain and there were three ways to access them. One, either I saw things and let relevant memories get triggered on their own. Two, I looked at something and deliberately tried to recollect those memories myself. The third way was a bit vague and worked like an autopilot function. It was how I had managed to weaponize Yazara's Abyssal form at the graveyard.

The first two ways of retrieving information weren't all that bad. The third way was almost a gamble to rely upon. It had worked in the graveyard. But I wouldn't expect it to work so well again.

The bottomline was: my memories were still hazy. I had to dig as much vital information I could in order to fully become Elsa Grimly.

And so I took all of her belongings from her pack and laid them out on the bed in front of me. I had to familiarize myself with all of it in order to understand who she was, what she had collected and what all this stuff meant to her and if it meant anything at all.

First I dug into her clothes. She had four blouses, six skirts, three pairs of trousers, three waistcoats, two sweaters and a long coat. The colors of all the clothes ranged from black, grey to dark blue. I learnt that colors were dull because I liked to be unnoticeable. I remembered moments of paranoia when I felt like I was being watched and pursued. I also had a vague memory of almost getting caught. That was what had made me want to make my wardrobe understated in order to blend into the shadows and at times, get lost in the crowds.

I put the clothes aside and looked at a small handbag thingy that had been in my suitcase. It was made of leather, had a thin drawstring and a bronze clasp to hold it closed. This was supposed to be a reticule. I knew that word when I held it up and examined it. I opened it to find something that surprised me a bit. There was a hairbrush, a bottle of rose water, a box of cold cream, a small handheld mirror and a vial of perfume. I scoffed at the assortment of belongings. I realized that I was into looking pretty even though I dressed to remain inconspicuous.

I remembered the reaction I'd had the first time I'd seen myself in the mirror. I would've been obnoxiously humble or just straight up lying if I said I wasn't pretty. Well, now I knew the secret of my beauty.

But looking at the things I remembered something else. The cold cream had been a gift from Madam Smokewell. I even remembered her telling me that this was a home made formula that had let her age so gracefully. I'd used up half of the cream. So it was probably true. The next thing I remembered was that the perfume was a gift from Lily.

I took a whiff of it. The fragrance was rather mild and smelled of lavender and a dash of lemons. It was an oddly refreshing scent. I dabbed some on my neck because I really liked it before slipping the bottle into my pocket.

Next I opened my coin purse. There wasn't much inside. There were two steambolt coins and ten firebolt coins. I remembered that one steambolt was worth one hundred firebolts. Conclusion: I was still poor–even though that wasn't going to be for long. Without dwelling on either of those thoughts any further I closed the purse and put it aside.

It was time to go through my witchcraft gear next. The good stuff. I had my knife, my broom, my hexonomicon and another notebook. There was also a box of miscellaneous things that were probably ingredients for brewing potions and performing other rituals. This didn't trigger any specific memories so I put it aside and focused on the other items.

I knew the purpose of the broom and the knife. The former was for cleansing the ritual area and if I got better at witchcraft someday, I would be able to fly it. The latter was for carving out ritual patterns and also stabbing someone to death.

The hexonomicon was the book of curses. Witchcraft had several schools of practices within itself. One such school was the school of curses. The one that Smokewell practiced and had trained us in.

Flipping through the pages of the hexonimicon, I gleaned that there were dozens of different ways to apply curses. As I skimmed over the ritual processes and incantations, I found them all familiar. But I knew I would have to perform them all at some point to really absorb them right.

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I would probably get in some kind of trouble someday that won't leave me enough time to look into my hexonomicon or dig into Old Elsa's memories. I kept turning the pages, looking for a specific ritual. But I was surprised at what I found.

Liberation Ritual

It was just a heading on a blank page. There was no description. No procedure. No apparatus. No inference or notes listed down.

I looked at the pentacle tattoo on my palm. Then I looked at the empty page. I remembered something. The act of writing or drawing things is an important aspect of witchcraft. It is one of the key aspects of adding strength to a ritual.

Thinking of this information reminded me of something else. The second notebook. I put the hexonomicon aside and grabbed the second notebook. This was Old Elsa's journal. This is where she had written her personal notes on curses and her studies.

Her memories told me there was a specific entry that I had to see. I flipped to the very last page. And I finally found what I was looking for. An entry from two days ago. Right before I woke up as Elsa. I started reading.

If you found this page in my journal it means one of three things. You are either someone who happened upon my belongings and you are snooping around. Or you are one of the witch hunters from the Inquisition who killed me and my friends and are pawing through my things. Or the third alternative, the ritual was a success and you woke up as me.

If it is the last case, which I hope it really is, first of all, congratulations! You now own my talents at witchcraft and also my infamy. I would also like to apologize for the fact that you are probably on the run to save your own life now.

I know living like this is rather hard. But I left behind a little gift that just might make things easier for you.

That gift is called the ‘liberation ritual’. I'm in a hurry so I'll keep this explanation brief.

That little mark on your palm. Yes, that is the sign of the ritual. You must've figured out by now that when a ritual is written or drawn, the chances of that ritual failing are significantly decreased. Well, there's an even more effective way of carrying out a ritual.

That is by embedding that ritual onto yourself. And that's why I carved the pentacle on my palm.

But that's not it. The reason for making that ritual sign on my skin isn't all about giving the next possessor of my body an easy access to a powerful magic. But also to keep you in check.

There are certain conditions that I had to set for myself in order to make my body capable of performing an effective liberation.

The first condition is: whoever inherits my body can't hurt those that I consider my friends. This mainly involves Lilian and Madam Smokewell.

The second condition is: the liberation ritual can only utilize an Abyssal being for one job. The Abyssal beings can't be kept as servants once they've finished their job.

The third and final condition is: if you try to abandon Lilian and Madam, another soul will inherit my body and yours will be damned into purgatory.

If that sounds harsh, then that's because it is meant to be. Liberation ritual is a potent weapon. I wouldn't hand it over to someone who would just exploit its powers for their own gain.

That's all that I had to say. I've explained further details of the ritual in my journal. I hope you'll find them useful.

Whoever it is that has inherited my identity, I hope you live the kind of life that I never could.

Signing off now,

Elsa Grimly.

I went through the rest of the journal and read through Elsa's notes on the liberation ritual as closely as I could. When I put the notebook down, my head seemed to be slightly heavy with information. I let out a long tired breath before packing all my belongings and carrying the suitcase out again.

I'd spent an hour and a half familiarizing myself with all the things that Elsa owned. But what I had learnt wasn't nearly enough. You can only learn so much about someone from what they owned.

I stepped out into the living room. Lily and Smokewell were still asleep. I watched them quietly as another thought dawned on me. Old Elsa really valued these two. She had safely kept the little gifts that they had given her. And the main conditions of the liberation ritual all revolved around these two people.

I realized something else. Old Elsa had killed herself right before the Inquisition was about to raid our house. Every ritual needed a little offering in order to charge it. And since liberation ritual was so powerful that's why it needed a live soul as an offering. So Old Elsa had given up her own. Whoever would inherit her identity would be able to use the powers of the ritual but they couldn't hurt Lily and Smokewell nor could they abandon them.

"Elsa," I whispered, "you were looking out for them…till the moment you died. Even after you died."