The night Malina would start her ascension to the glorious heights of the faithful before her, she chose to repay a debt she was owed through a curse. She had everything planned, and most things ready and settled to begin, only passing by the list of items in her mind one last time.

“Candles? Check. Effigies? Check. Empress? Check. Shards?”

Malina bent over to look beneath her bed, where the pieces of the broken mirror should have been, tied in a bundle made with some extra cloth from her sewing practice. Unfortunately, the place was empty.

“Blazing… I told them not to move my things.”

Her attendants had cleaned her bedroom yesterday, after she had ordered it in what at the time seemed like a very clever solution to the constant nagging of her older sisters. With so much to do this close to her Initiation, Malina couldn’t possibly afford the time to do something as mundane as sweeping.

With rituals to make and a timeframe that bordered the impossible, she had been up to her neck in a hundred different tasks this past month. Asking her attendants to actually do something instead of lazing around had sounded like a smart idea – gracious, even, considering the purpose she had given the bumbling fools.

But Imps would be Imps. If she asked them to clean, they’d clean – and if they’d do the most literal and complete of jobs, or end up with a larger mess than at the start, was apparently always decided by the flip of a coin.

Mistake. Malina bit her lower lip and sighed. It was the last item she needed before she left for the evening, and unless she wanted her older sisters to hunt her down across the city if she didn’t return in time, she had to find a solution now.

Resigned, the girl moved to the dressing table opposite to her bed and thought back on her lessons. The large mirror affixed above it reflected her gray skin and purple eyes with uncanny precision, made with enough expertise to minimize any distortion it could have. Still, Malina avoided looking into the amethyst depths of her own eyes, both iris and pupil in shades of the same color, instead choosing to focus on coming up with a solution.

What she managed to think was… risky. She’d need to get a little creative so as not to draw attention to herself – she could hear at least one of her sisters walking down the corridor outside her room – but Malina was fairly certain it would work, even if the idea was untested.

But Gods Below, it got her heart pumping. The young woman had had little opportunity to actually test her magic after the end of her apprenticeship, and this felt like a Gods’ given gift. Malina could almost feel that thrum of power rising from her Core once again, and the smile she gave out would make even her guardians tread carefully.

“Boldness makes the Witch. Let’s see… chalk, maybe?”

She ruffled around the satchel hanging from her belt, stuffing her hand far deeper than it had any right to go, and plucked out a piece of white chalk from within. It had been broken in half at some point, but it would work well enough.

With a quick gesture, the girl drew a perfect circle over the mirror’s surface. The chalk didn’t adhere as well as she expected, but it would work for a quick spell.

Next, the Witch tried to find proper items for the needed silence and breaking. The basic supplies her older sisters had given her as a gift amounted to a fairly complete, if mundane, stash of ingredients – which for a Witch was about as appetizing as a curse to the guts, specially when you had grown up with tales of truly legendary ingredients and rituals that made kingdoms quake.

Her fingers bristled against the chosen Wayholders, and Malina plucked it from her satchel with a grin – a bundle of thick, gray and white hairs, tied with a piece of string.

“Cat whiskers. Hmm… Oh, right!”

She turned on her heels, so quickly her long robes fanned out like a blooming flower, the slits at the hem reaching her knees and ensuring Malina didn’t get tangled on her own clothing. It was a simple piece, made a little more special by the thorns she had embroidered with silver thread all over the hem and the neck-hugging collar of the sleeveless dress.

Practical clothing. The girl took a step towards the chest at the foot of her bed, and opened the latch while muttering a dozen possible Wayholders that she could use. Some she had close by, others she had only heard about, but it was the possibility of one day employing them that made Malina’s eyes widen with each word.

“A hammer, a battering ram, a chisel, a broken heart, a betrayed contract… Would that be breaking? Maybe. Hmm.”

Malina looked outside at the almost set sun, and thought of the open curtains that swayed with the cold breeze.

“Right, windows. Anything glass.”

Possibilities. The girl had spent months doing this same exercise, thinking on how to use a hundred different ritualistic ingredients for a thousand different purposes. Boldness made the Witch, but Malina knew her kind thrived by paying attention and being prepared.

Which is why her cheeks darkened a purple hue when she caught sight of the small bundle at the bottom of the chest. Yellow cloth, tied with a piece of hemp string with a note attached. It read “Don’t move!”, and the fact it was utterly ignored made Malina pout her lips and sigh for the incompetence of her attendants–

–and with a bit of disappointment as she looked back at the already drawn circle on the mirror. The girl palmed the satchel, untied the knot to check inside, and saw the mirror shards positioned just like she remembered. An uncanny similarity that Malina would have scoffed at, rendering an impossible trick or a twist of her nervous mind, but knowing those Imps…

She wouldn’t put it past them to have followed her orders in whatever way they interpreted. And if their understanding involved not moving the contents within the satchel, then Malina couldn’t possibly blame them.

The girl shook her head.

“Demons.”

***

With all the ingredients in her magical satchel and the promise of great change coming with the next day, Malina felt a bit disappointed at how easy it was to leave the house. She had made different preparations, of course, but enacting on a plan that performed with no hitches turned out to be surprisingly boring for the young Witch.

With a decoy on her bed – just a few well-placed pillows wearing her clothes with a trick stitched onto the pillowcase – and a long rope made of tied blankets to help her escape from the first floor window, Malina had to actually come to terms with a fact that made her bite her lower lip and hang her head low.

No one had been paying attention. Her escape attempt had been impressive, she was certain of it! Not everyone could actually climb down a rope, regardless of what her books told her, and Malina would even risk saying that the common person actually had no idea how to do it in the first place.

Even with her many nights envisioning how to do it and the fairly strict fitness regime her sisters kept her on, even Malina still made a mistake or two when the time came. The tip of her boots had scuffed the wall hard with each of her swings as she climbed down, and thankfully the damage only went as far as the leather and didn’t touch any of the stitches, but that had been a harmless error.

Falling on her butt at the tail end of her climb had been far more problematic. Malina was glad no one had been around to see it, far too busy with preparations, because her cheeks still burned from shame.

All in all though, it had been a success. Now she just had to walk past the unprotected garden – there’d be none of the usual servants outside, Malina had bribed them all with biscuits – and she’d be off into the city. From there, it’d be a quick jog through the roofs to her hideout, then an hour to perform the ritual and return home.

She’d get back before the Witching Hour. Malina grinned at that, previous worries forgotten as she breathed in the night air of Pleariss. The City-State had the perpetual smell of blooming flowers and incoming rain, a blessing that was far different from the smaller town Malina had spent her younger years in – which smelled like manure and the sweaty bodies of an infinite number of miners.

Coupled with the beautiful sight that was the garden her sisters tended, Malina felt her mood improve by the second, excitement making her rub her hands like a schemer as she walked towards the gate. So lost in thought she was, the young Witch didn’t even notice the darkness of the early night deepening around one of the bushes.

Then another, followed by a slight rustling of leaves. Malina continued on, and the shadow at the base of a vine-choked tree seemed to turn blacker, coating the grass underneath it like oil instead of absent light. The Witch took a set of keys from her satchel as she approached the gate.

And her heart nearly stopped when a voice sounded from underneath her feet, Malina’s shadow no longer her own.

“And where do you think you’re going, my devilish protegée?”

She felt the paralysis before seeing his face, only her eyes able to move as the grinning demon locked her shadow in place, rising from the darkness beneath her feet like a corpse out of a grave. Nintrakilous was thin and long, his arms dragging low to his knees as he used them to support his rising, a mask of silver covering the upper half of his face and leaving the demon’s perpetual grin visible.

Watching him move around her, joints popping and turning as he twisted up her body, flexing his spine in angles that should have killed a mortal, made her heart beat loud on her ears; even if Malina knew he’d never do something untoward, being pinned in place like a hex doll was still disconcerting.

Not because she felt like the prey of a constrictor snake as Nintrakilous body tightened around her own, but because he was more than a simple demon. She felt her Guardian loosen the paralysis on her tongue, and tried to show a placating, toothless smile at him.

Her muscles only worked halfway, making the demon’s grin turn sharper in silent mockery. Malina tried not to care about the sting of that realization; there were more important things to worry about.

“Nin, I didn’t expect you here.”

“Neither did I, but the night has been full of surprises. Tell me, did you really think that trick with the pillows would work?”

The Witch’s smile took on a mocking edge of her own.

“No, but it would make you confused at the audacity.”

And no one confused would ever notice the small charm she had left behind. Malina had few spells to her name – only well learned cantrips, the few rituals her sisters allowed her to cast and a dozen half-formed ideas on her personal grimoire – but her [Befuddle Sight] would have held at least once against whatever divination Nintrakilous could perform.

It should have worked perfectly, Malina thought. Nin, if he had ever found her missing, would have freaked out in fear of her sister's retaliation and searched for her on foot instead of magically. It would have taken him a while to turn back around and try to find her through spellcraft, which would be time enough for Malina to do all she needed and return, risking only a short berating from him before the demon relented in face of much more important events.

A nearly perfect plan. Malina had even accounted for Nin’s position before leaving, making sure that her lazy Guardian would have been bored out of his mind and unwilling to make himself useful around the house.

But… Malina could hear Rivia’s sharp tone as her sister’s lesson echoed through her memory.

Fate mocks all planning.

The Witch pouted at the injustice.

“So, will you tell me what you had planned, little spider? Or must I bring you to the Coven for that?”

“I’d much prefer it if you didn’t.”

Malina spoke through gritted teeth, watching intently as Nintrakilous moved for her Bag of Holding. It was useless to struggle against the magic that kept her immobile, she knew that, but she couldn’t help but try to fight against the spell.

The demon hmmed after she spoke, shooting her an unseen glance from behind his mask before looking into the seemingly small pouch.

“Hm. Money, components… you even took Empress with you, Malina? Gods Below, you weren’t planning on running away, were you? That’d be just sad.”

The Witch scoffed at the notion, rolling her eyes.

“I wouldn’t. I just had to do something before the ritual began.”

“And what could possibly make you risk the Coven’s wrath on this day of days, you impish–Oh.”

Nintrakilous pulled one of the items from the bag. A small doll, made without the great techniques that made Empress so beautiful, but filled with the dark intentions of purposeful evil. From the stitched on hair to the painted features, the small toy was made of rough hemp and filled with straw, grave dirt and whatever item Malina could get to bind it to whoever it represented.

There were five of them inside the bag. Slowly, the demon turned towards Malina, and the Witch felt the mantle of centuries fall onto Nin’s shoulders and dim his grin. Not erasing it, never that, but the pained edges of his black lips trembled slightly.

Malina refused to look away from her Guardian.

“The folly of Witches. Must you, child? Tonight?”

“There was no time to do anything sooner. You know the requirements. I need a clean slate, Nin – I refuse to risk losing more because of them.”

“They are children, Malina. Mortal–”

“So was I!”

Malina felt the heat growing across her neck, darkening her gray skin and climbing to her face as her rage grew. The Witch gritted her teeth, tensing like a coil with barely-contained rage.

“So was I. It doesn’t matter. Even children can be cruel, you know that.”

“...I do.”

Malina saw the flash of hurt pass by the demon’s half-covered face. It was a slight thing, only correctly interpreted due to the years spent together – but the dimming of his smile, the hesitant flick of his forked tongue in the air, and the way his long ears pointed to the ground made a clear image for her.

“Good. Now will you let me go? I must do it, Nin. They have to pay.”

The demon seemed conflicted, and with a sigh, unrestrained Malina. The Witch didn’t notice the method, quick as it was, but she felt the paralysis fading through a short tingle across her limbs that soon faded. When she looked at him again, Nintrakilous stood with his arms crossed, pensative, and she noticed his dimensions were a lot more proportional than they originally were.

“Will you kill them?”

His voice was clear, with none of the hissy undertone that sometimes took over the demon’s tongue when he was angry or playing a prank. The Witch froze as she began to rub her arms to dispel the rest of the fizzy feeling. Her face turned conflicted, but Malina shook her head.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

She had answered this question months ago, within the privacy of her personal mental ledger after calculating the debt such action would incur.

“No. I… can’t. That’d be too much, even for them.”

Nintrakilous did not speak further. Instead, the Demon took a step to the side and cleared the way for Malina. The street outside the bronze gates was empty, this area of the city being largely residential.

Unlocking the gate, Malina tried to keep an eye on her Guardian, trying to glimpse if he’d move – but Nin was still, a silent monument. She turned her back to him one final time and turned right on the walkway, following a familiar path.

The Witch’s shadow rippled like oil as it followed her.

***

From the Spiraling Gardens where she lived with her sisters, to the Riverdocks where her hideout was located, Malina usually took about a little more than an hour walking through the large streets and its corridors of merchant stalls.

Tonight, past the usual working hours, the trek cost her only a quarter of the time. A record in her books, but not only because of the emptiness of the streets below. Smiling as the wind buffeted her face with every step, Malina grinned at the gift she had been given by her sisters for graduating as an Apprentice Witch.

Longstrider Boots. With an already great quality on its base form, the pair of heavy, brown leather boots had been enchanted and changed by the power placed within – mainly the shoelaces, which resembled an arrow pointing to the tip of Malina’s toes through a series of interlinked knots.

She had no idea how Rivia had done it, weaving in the spell like this – not counting the other smaller charms she had placed on the very thread that kept the boot together – but it would have been easy for a Sorcerer of her sister’s caliber. Malina had squealed with joy when she had been given it, and using it for the first time out in the streets made her raise her arms and blitz through the path.

The young woman took another step and the space covered by her feet folded within itself, making her appear meters ahead of where she should have landed. The perfect breaking of reality’s laws drove the young Witch into a haze of quick jumps across the city, turning minutes into seconds as she stepped past those still awake.

Past open restaurants and smiling couples, who blinked whenever she disappeared from the corner of their eyes. Past animals grazing in the front of parked carriages, chewing on the bountiful green life that suffused every centimeter of Pleariss. Past even open brothels and half-nude women that called out for whoever passed in front of their establishments, marking her approach to the Riverdocks.

Malina slowed down then, feeling reality assert itself as she stopped channeling through her feet and into the enchantments. The Witch passed a hand through her short hair with a grin, baring her teeth against the night sky as she watched the moon take its throne in the center of the firmament.

Looking back to the streets, Malina drank in the air of the Riverdocks. Although one of the most important areas in all of Pleariss, the neighborhood was also one of the most impoverished ones, inhabited mainly by workers from the docks and their families. Its proximity to the Central Market also limited its space, turning the Riverdocks into a landscape of short buildings and cramped apartments, connected by thin alleyways that cut through it all like veins and leaving only a pair of large streets where merchandise came and went from the docks.

Malina smiled at it all like it was home. The sudden corners and dead end alleys made every turn a mystery, and it was as easy to lose oneself within the Riverdocks as it was to drown on the currents of the Great River. Sometimes, when she wasn’t pouring her sweat and heart into her grimoire in her little hideout, she would climb onto the rooftops and scare the passersby half to death with well-placed [Minor Illusions] before scampering into the shadows like a spider on its web.

The Witch’s excitement even made her want to do this again, the feeling of power coursing through her veins calling to Malina like a mermaid’s song – but the girl shook her head and continued forward, promising to herself there would be great magic performed this night and there was no need to dwell on small cantrips.

Through the cramped streets she went, towards a building as decrepit as all the others, though this one had the benefit of having a small tailor’s shop on the ground floor instead of another set of apartments. The old owner waved at Malina from behind the half-open doors, a human woman with enough age in her to have gray occupying most of her head, and the girl noticed the candlelight illuminating the symbol etched on the store’s door.

A rose coiled around a man’s arm, thorns digging deep. The Family of Thorns kept their own people safe in these streets, far from the Wildguard of the city, and Malina knew that Miss Jakelyne had a long standing accord with the many bawds that occupied the gang’s upper echelons.

Malina waved back at her, smiling as she walked past the door to the side of the building, where an external flight of stairs would take her up to the small apartment she rented. With one room and a single window that led to the incredible view that was the street below, Malina could afford its cheap rent without making a great dent to her monthly allowance.

Her hand searched for her key and the simple mechanism turned without a sound. Malina took a step into the apartment, looking at the different wards she had made and left hanging from the wood supporting the upper floor. The small bags moved with the draft coming from the door, and Malina almost didn’t notice when one of them began to smoke. Then another.

Then three more. The smog coalesced into serpents, nibbling and slithering through the air as the spell searched for whatever had breached Malina’s wards. The Witch stood frozen, wide eyed as her smile disappeared, her mind blanking at what was going on. A second passed, and the young woman nearly threw herself out the door when a voice spoke.

“Ah, that’s unfortunate.”

Malina couldn’t help her reaction as realization dawned on her. She stomped her feet over her shadow, trying to turn the Demon within into a paste with the heel of her boots. She’d apologize to Miss Jakelyne for the noise another day.

The bubbling tar within her shadow zipped from her anger, Nin choosing to manifest himself from one of the many shadows within the room. When he appeared, the demon was rubbing at the top of his head. Seeing him, the serpents of smoke swarmed the demon, coiling and biting around his neck before Nin waved a hand and made them disappear.

“Gods Below, what was that for?”

It took Malina another second to find her words as she pointed at the fallen satchels of her wards, still smoking. She couldn’t tell if it was the waste of resources or the lack of significant effect that hurt her the most.

“You burned my wards!”

“I’m sorry, alright? You weren’t supposed to know.”

“They took me weeks, Nin!”

Malina grabbed one of the burning spells by the rope it had been suspended by and flinged it at the demon like a flail. She kept hitting him until he managed to hold her wrist from the other corner of the room, the remnants of the spell thrown all across the floor.

“Ow, ow! Enough!”

The Witch contained the desire to snarl at him as Nin sighed.

“This is the night of your Initiation, Malina. You’re supposed to be home, resting! Allowing you to leave was already plenty dangerous, I wouldn’t let you go out by yourself–”

“I thought you understood. I need to do this!”

“Listen to me first. I understand you wish to enact your revenge, but I will not let a sixteen year old, especially a ward of mine, go out into the deep night to cast spells and rituals. I am your Guardian and you are not your sisters.”

That struck more painfully than a blow. Malina’s air was knocked out of her chest with those words, and she managed to pull herself free of Nin’s grasp with what sounded much like a whimper.

“No, wait, that’s not what I meant–”

Malina couldn’t hear it. She cut him off with a gesture, looking down at her boots.

“I know. I know I’m not them, Nin – I’ve always known that. But… there’s no one left.”

And it has to be me. Malina left the last part unsaid, but Nintrakilous understood the implication better than almost anyone.

“I haven’t been tested like them. I’m not a Sorcerer, an old Witch of stories, or a Priestess. But I know my purpose, godsdamnit. If I have to suffer like they did to save us, then I will.”

“The day you go through even a quarter they’ve gone through is the day I fail, child.”

“Then don’t, Nin. Don’t fail. You are my Guardian, act like it. You knew our purpose before I even did. You know I can’t stop.”

And wasn’t that the bitter truth? Malina chewed on her lower lip, almost buckling at the weight of remembering all she still had to do. All that burden and she knew she still didn’t understand it completely.

The demon sighed.

“This is risky, Malina. Really risky. Witches are not well loved around these parts, and the Wildguard wouldn’t hesitate to send you to the Order if they found out.”

“But that won’t happen.”

She spoke with certainty. The possibility that the Wildguard could ever capture her had never crossed her mind, at least not in any meaningful way. Her sisters would never let them, and neither would Nin.

“No, it won’t – but that doesn’t mean we can deal with that heat on us.”

Malina shook her head. She refused to back down.

“We must. I must. You heard Stella. ‘A focused heart or none at all.’”

The demon took a deep breath and shook his head, his smile the smallest she had ever seen.

“Gods save me from stubborn mortals. Fine. Fine! But the moment I think you’re going too far or doing something too risky I’ll stop you and take you home, understood?”

The Witch nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. There wasn’t really much Malina could have done if Nintrakilous was set on taking her back to the Coven, but she was glad she managed to make him give her a chance. It was all she needed.

One chance. The Witch didn’t hesitate further, having already lost precious time with all this discussion.

“Help me push the table to the corner. I need the floor for this.”

“All of it?”

Malina grinned at him, feeling calmer as she dove into her element.

“All of it.”

***

There was, in fact, no need for the entire floor. Malina, however, appreciated the grandiosity of a lavish ritual, especially when it took so much effort to cast even a simple curse when you were a Witch.

The idea behind the ritual was not simple, of course, but also not so complicated that Malina would be unable of doing it. The Witch had spent months refining it, using the few magical tomes she had been granted access to – and much of what had been taught during her apprenticeship – to expand on the basics she knew.

It was no compound ritual from the oldest Witches, slowly prepared for days as ingredients were cursed and remade again and again by Will, Word and Way. No, Malina’s idea was a curse that fit her capabilities.

She was not so foolish as to risk a Core Break. Madness was not something Malina was eager to face, nor was death, so the young woman adhered to the principles and rules her sisters had drilled into her mind through countless repetition.

No Will beyond the clearest, no Word beyond the rhymes, no Way beyond the third. Her limitations as a Novice Witch, Malina thought, were sensible ones, even if they stung to think about.

Still, it was with such rules in mind that she designed what was to be her magnum opus. She threw one last look at Nintrakilous, standing on a corner of the apartment, holding Empress against his chest as she had ordered and took a deep breath.

Opening her grimoire on the floor, the Witch saw a Circle occupying the span of two pages and stopped to reevaluate her work. The words that made the triangle within the Circle were the same rhymes she would use to cast the spell later on, and the designs she had drawn on the outer rim were decorations no one could blame her for drawing.

With a hand on her Bag of Holding, the kneeling Witch took a long piece of red chalk and began to draw on the wooden floorboards. It took her a minute to fully set the circle, having to redo a part of it after the piece of chalk slid off at one of the cracks on the wood, but it was complete before Nin could start complaining.

The verses that shaped the triangle were harder. Malina had to pay attention to keep everything symmetrical, and that took a surprising amount of time and constant checking from far away to ensure the ritual wouldn’t end up lopsided. A proper flow of the mana she’d use was paramount to success.

Next, were the effigies, and there were five of them. Not a suitable number, as the limitations of her Core meant she would be running a risky gamble by stretching it so much further, even with her prodigal capabilities, but Malina knew of ways to turn many into one.

With a piece of red string, the Witch began to tie the little dolls in a chain of dangling effigies, making loops around their necks before tying it all off with a proper knot at the end to form a circle. Malina took some small satisfaction in ensuring their necks were as tightly bound as a gallow’s corpse before listening to Nin’s huff of amusement from his place in the shadows and clearing her throat, feeling a little heat rise to her cheeks.

Setting the bundle of dolls in the middle of the triangle, there was only one other Wayholder that Malina needed to set. Already, the Witch was honing her mind to lock on the necessary Meaning she’d steal from each object, slowly calibrating herself to the needed truth like a Bard tuning their lute.

Effigies. Dolls. Representations. People. Identityidentityidentityidentity…

Thread. Bindings. Connections. Relationshiprelationshiprelationship…

The bundle of cloth where the mirror shards were was heavy on her hands, and Malina took the first piece in a fugue state, barely paying attention to the world around her as her Core began to churn. Her mind was split, caught in the loop of Meaning she was calling for, magic already beginning to drip from her fingertips in purple drops. The Witch felt it coating her tongue like a film of fizz and infinite possibility, and barely saw the moment the shard pierced the first effigy to the ground without snapping, glass diving into hemp, straw and wood as if it were air.

By the time the fifth image was pinned to the ground, Malina no longer needed to keep the loop of Meaning that supported the other two Wayholders, keeping the elusive understanding still with a grip of iron and leaving ample space in her mind for her to work the last – and most dangerous of Meanings.

Slowly, the young Witch honed the last part into a song charmful enough to convince Reality of the new truth. To allure magic itself into following her through a melody propelled by centuries of built Meaning.

Her targets proved themselves aloof.

Mirror. Reflection. Resonance. Amplification. Retribution.

Malina groaned as the Meanings struggled to fit what she desired. They were all possibilities, a written list she had penned on her grimoire – and most would work well enough with the clarity of her Will – but now that magic was coursing through her veins they didn’t suit her needs as well as she expected. The world was not convinced.

Beauty. Truth. Parallels.

Now the Meanings grew wild, struggling against her attempt at a grip. Every object had dozens of them, every creature a world of possibilities, but a Witch’s job was to choose one. Malina felt more than saw the liquid magic dripping on top of the Circle, sizzling as it began to circulate across the drawn words and lines, and put more of her focus on the Wayholder.

Mirrors. Shards. Broken. Sight. Parallel. Truth. Broken Parallels. Bitter Truths.

Brokenparallelsbittertruthsbrokenparallelsbittertruthsbrokenparallelsbittertruths…

Her Core was spinning out of control. The young woman gasped as the double loop tried to assert itself where only one fit, stretching the vacant place and sending sharp jabs of pain to her brain. Malina felt wetness on her cheeks, and couldn’t tell if they were tears, blood, magic or all of them.

“What are you doing? Mal? Malina!”

Malina barely heard her Guardian’s voice. She just had to combine the damned Meanings into proper shape. Stitch them together like Rivia did all the time. Weave a web of complicated ideas until she could convince magic itself that she was right.

It came as Nin edged closer to the Circle, ready to break it apart. The despair made the last of her ideas spin along her Core, dozens of possibilities opening in front of her eyes, retrieving notions that came from way back and bled through her sight like pages of open books. Malina saw the answer in a memory not from afar.

The folly of Witches. Revenge’s other name for what has commonly been the downfall of Casters like her. All because there was an injustice, a slight, and it was a Witch’s job to set it right. After all, everyone was surrounded, in the end, by an–

Uncaring Reality. Uncaringrealityuncaringrealityuncaringreality…

Malina gasped like a drowning woman. She hacked and coughed as the faulty Meaning settled down, her Core no longer bruising her insides with its velocity. The Wayholder felt like a dissonant note to her, not properly tuned to the melody she had set, but the Witch could compensate for it with sheer magical power. An advantage of her larger Core.

Her eyes traveled downwards, and her dress was dirty with blood and magic – the liquid arcana already dissipating into the air. The Witch didn’t hesitate further. With the Wayholders in place, it was easier to combine the Meanings she had accrued into a proper vision of Will – a creative image of the effects of her curse, growing and rotting her targets from within, breaking long standing relations as poisonous truth infected their vision. Now came only the Word, and Malina spewed the rhymes with a tongue coated in thick magic.

“[Mirror, mirror, that true shine, let all hearts taste their vice].”

A chunk of her magic bled freely from her, pulled from her Core by veins that existed only in the ethereal and deposited on the red chalk lines in front of her. Too much. Malina gasped at the sudden influx, but there was no stopping now.

“[Joy that rots, hate that blooms, in this garden now bear fruit].”

The words came with the taste of copper. Her throat felt abused by the intensity, and her Core – even with its larger size – struggled to provide the sheer output the spell required. Reality tried to assert itself around Malina, unconvinced by her plea and offering until the last of the words were spoken.

“[Bindings five, hearts that sway, by your names I–]”

Not enough. Malina tasted a chunk of her tongue get loose, broken from the intense casting, and the piece of flesh dropped from her open lips in revolting purple. Her vision grew dark at the edges, the Word eating more and more of her as she held the incantation back in shock.

Malina didn’t have the energy to feel surprised when Nintrakilous pulled her head back and spilled some bright liquid on her open mouth, red and tasting of spring, before cutting his own wrist and letting his green blood coat the remaining of the Circle. The mix of purple magic and poisonous, emerald ichor fed the spell the magic it needed, but Malina felt her Wayholders convulse even further at the addition, the dissonance growing louder.

Nin’s own Meanings, though he was no Witch. She had no time to stop him, the Healing Potion already doing wonders for her wound and leaving Malina with precious seconds to finish it all.

“[Bindings five, hearts that sway, by your names I change your ways!]”

The Witch’s eyes cracked the colors of twilight, and her sight grew even stranger. Her voice, however, was clear.

“Voster.”

A Cheshire boy choked on his own blood as a transparent lance impaled him from above, his beating heart pumping green toxin across his body.

“Andrika.”

A blonde girl tried to reach for her friends, harboring sympathy for those that knew nothing but malice and unable to speak with the glass in her throat.

“Lero.”

A large boy regretted ever raising a fist to the Drow girl they had tormented for so long, images of her now standing over the foot of his bed as he struggled against bindings made of green smog.

“Enia.”

A black haired girl regretted lying about those she didn’t like, her skin rotting with every false accusation as a brand for her deceit.

“Falin.”

The oldest of them learned that the lips he tried to kiss were coated with poison.

With a snap, the cracks faded from her eyes. Reality keened as the magic convinced it of new events with no before. Malina Vizar fell forward as the Wayholders turned to ash, consumed by the power used, and saw no more.