Months passed under Andreaki’s tutelage. She taught me how to channel other elements in elemental magic, but later switched to simple control of what I could already do. Through her lessons, I reached the level of mastery expected of me.

When I achieved what my parents set out for me, the news of my success did not come to me the way I expected it to.

My day started like any other, with my maid coming in to wake me up. She tore off the sheet of my bed and threw open a window to let Winter Russian assist her in rousing me from my sleep. When she dressed me in thick clothes meant for outside use rather than inside, I realized what they meant.

I shuddered in anticipation as she buttoned up the front. I could do nothing to hold back my smile. The only reason she would dress me in such clothes was to head into town, a village, or another noble’s residence. At that moment, I did not care which. What mattered was the prospect of going somewhere different from the same repetitive wall of the house I spent years confined within.

“Really?” I asked, looking up at Dragoslava.

“A carriage is waiting in the front. Your father wishes to take you into town to remind the serfs you exist. Apparently, they think you’ve come down with a plague or were cursed by a witch,” she explained, her voice lacking any notable emotion in stark contrast to my own.

Upon her finishing her sentence, I bound towards the door, fumbling to grab the handle in my rush to leave. At the last moment before I threw it open, I turned around and threw myself at my maid, wrapping my arms around her. For a variety of reasons, I was yet to make a proper apology to my maid since the incident, and while a hug still did not make up for it, it was the next best thing I could think of.

Before Dragoslava could recover from the shock of receiving a hug from the little girl who made her job harder than it had to be, I pulled away and resumed what I was doing before. Once I threw the door open, I crashed through the door frame and took off running.

“No running!” Dragoslava stammered, still recovering from her shock.

I paid her no mind as I sprinted as fast as I could. My maid’s warnings would not taper my excitement, and it did not take me long to make it to the front entrance, where my father waited for me.

“Are you ready?” my father asked.

“Yes I am,” I declared, struggling to stay in one place. “Is mother not joining us today?”

“There is no need for both of us to go to announce you are not dead. In order for one of us to go at all, the other would have to stay behind to keep up with The Nest’s work.”

My smile diminished upon hearing such news, but I was quick to regain it. In the past few months, work kept my father from being present for longer than a hello and goodbye. There was plenty to smile about sharing a carriage ride with him.

With a smile only half as strong as mine, he opened the door for me, revealing the carriage we would ride in.

As when I exited my room, I scrambled into the carriage, leaving my father in the dust. Each second I waited for him to catch up felt torturous, and when he gave the coachman a telekinetic order to go, I let out an audible sigh.

After my parents cooped me up in the house for longer than I ever wanted, every little detail was a novel experience to me. Even the sights I could see out the windows of the mansion came across as new as I viewed them from a different angle.

Leafless trees that once bore me fascinated me, each looking like a new person with their branches like arms, twisting and turning in some kind of static dance. Ferns provided one of the few sources of color and stuck out like sore thumbs, a welcome addition to the monotone snow. Prior to my lessons with Andreaki, I loved the snow, but after dozens of failed spells covering me in the flaky substance, it tested my temper.

“It’s fine to look Guinevere, but do not stare,” my father advised.

Only then did I realize I had pressed against the window of the carriage, smudging my nose on the glass.

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Remembering my position, I pulled myself back but kept my eyes glued to the outside, unable to take them away from the pristine, empty fields that surrounded our home.

“I hear you have been doing well in your lessons,” my father chuckled, trying to hold back a smile.

“Yes I have!” I boasted.

“Care to show me?”

This was enough to peel me away from the outside world, and I saw a spark of intrigue in my father’s eyes.

His intrigue was infectious, leading me to concentrate my magic in front of me to form an icicle the length of my hand, floating in midair. The look of pride I had on my face is something I can only imagine.

My father twirled the ice around in his hand for a few seconds as he passed silent judgment on the product. Once he came to his conclusion, he tossed the icicle into the air. Before it could begin its descent, he waved his hand towards it, and the ice melted into water, where it continued to float.

The water flowed in between his fingers, snaking through them like an eel and moving as any living animal would. After dancing around his fingers for a few seconds, he thrust his palm toward me, and with it went the water snake. Out of reflex, I lifted my hands toward the serpent, and with a little luck, I caught it with magic of my own.

The difference in our skill was obvious to everyone but the blind, as the stiffness of my snake stuck out in stark contrast to my father’s. Not only did his serpent move with elegance while mine moved with lethargic grace, he kept his hands dry while mine became soaked. Even when I refroze the water to make it easier to manipulate, the serpent was stiff and clumsy.

We spent the next half hour tossing the eel between the two of us, switching it from ice to water and water to ice as it danced before I lost focus, and a puddle of water fell onto my lap. As it soaked my clothes, the magical enchantment of the carriage became my saving grace, keeping me protected from my frigid fate outside. I shivered at the thought of exposure to the bitter winter winds.

“Not bad,” my father praised, snapping his fingers to dry my clothes in an instant.

“Thank you,” I giggled, still high on the adrenaline from our game.

“Do you want to try it with fire?” he offered, igniting a small flame from his fingertip, one small enough to be mistaken for a candle by any onlookers.

The small size of the flame was a tempting proposition, but the pain from the last time I played with fire was still fresh in my mind, and my fingers curled up in remembrance.

“I think I will pass,” I answered. “Besides, we are almost here.”

A smile told me he was expecting such an answer, and he put out the fire, turning his attention to the window to see the first few buildings of our destination pass by.

The houses were not new or eloquent structures deserving of the residence of a noble. They were decrepit, and there was no other way to put it. Rotting wood was all too common and identifiable to someone such as myself, who didn’t know a thing about carpentry. How some buildings remained standing was a mystery to me. Some homes caved in on themselves, while others lacked complete walls. A few buildings were so old my father could pick out ones that stood when he was a boy.

I asked my parents why the serfs lived in such wretched housing when I was younger. The reasoning was that it was what the neighboring nobles were doing, and with our family’s desire to remain in the background, we followed suit. Going out of our way to improve their standard of living, either through secretive magic or through genuine efforts, would draw attention from other nobles or, worse yet, the Tsar.

Not long after we passed the first house, we passed the first person, a woman who stopped everything when she saw our carriage pass. Knowing the purpose of why we were there, I waved at her with a smile that made her freeze more than she already had.

The reaction of the woman was not unique, and everyone we passed mimicked such behavior.

“They really thought I was dead,” I muttered.

“At least they’re not fleeing or trying to burn the carriage down,” my father replied, his tone sour compared to mine.

Before I could ask him to elaborate, our carriage came to a stop, and the coachman opened the door for the two of us.

“Try to stay close. While no one in this village is stupid enough to attack a boyar’s daughter, drunks are rampant during the wintertime,” my father's voice rang out through my head as he exited the carriage.

Telepathy was not new to me. My family used it whenever they needed to get in touch with me or wanted to communicate in private when Pangeans were around, but no matter how many times I experienced it, I jumped whenever it happened. Having a voice projected into my head was not natural, an idea I still hold on to.

Pushing my discomfort to the back of my mind, I followed my father out of the carriage with the smile on my face that was expected of me.

“It has been a while since you’ve been out here, hasn’t it?” he said as he waved to the growing crowd of peasants, just loud enough for them to hear but quiet enough to make it sound private.

“Indeed,” I agreed, mimicking his tone and action.

Doing so caused our serfs to murmur amongst one another, their voices mixing among one another, making it hard to tell what they were saying. Out of everything I heard, I could make out one word amongst them all: witch.