It was Prin’s turn to gasp. He had forgotten he was watching real life play out, and not some sort of dramatic play. Real life with real stakes.

Luckily for him, in the moment, the sounds inside the room were loud enough that no one seemed to hear his sharp intake of breath.

He readied himself to burst in if the witch-girl made a move toward Valor. But at the same time he held himself back, hoping the others would leave first. It seemed doubtful, for sure, but who knew if they could come through the smoke and the fire, from whatever far flung continents they may be on. Then, he would be terribly outnumbered.

The witches began to argue and protest among themselves, but soon enough they had come around to the idea and began to discuss how it should be done.

Poisoning, stabbing, drowning, smothering, being pushed in front of a carriage, thrown off a cliff, abandoned in the woods to die, and others were all floated as possibilities.

Prin could feel his blood pressure rising until he began to shake all over like he was running a high temperature.

Kill her. As soon as the others go. Kill her.

Prin shook his head, but it’s not as though he could fling the voice away out through his ears by doing so.

He wasn’t sure what he planned to do, except keep her away from Valor.

Whatever it takes.

Prin’s vision began to blur, he wondered if the person-filled smoke was getting to him. He looked away from the fire, watching his sleeping friend. Anger filled him up, just as the smoke filled his vision. What had Valor ever done to deserve this? This hideous fate? Fifteen years of suffering, not even allowed a friend in the world, as such a person may come between the unfortunate and the curse. Even his eyesight had been taken from him, probably as a result of the curse.

Just to punish his father? Who reacted poorly, or not ideally in any case, to a bad situation that he otherwise had in no way caused?

Prin clinched his fist until it hurt, purposely digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. He could feel himself shifting, flittering away. It was the first time he had consciously felt it. He thought? Or it seemed to be happening in slow motion, it seemed to be something he could resist. But he was like a fish fighting on the end of a strong piece of line, being pulled in by an experienced angler, the hook firmly embedded. Nothing he could do but wear himself out until he was drug into the net.

The witches of the fire said their goodbyes, seeming in good cheer to get this done with and move on to other things. They were confident that Lissabet could finish the job. Doing a bit prematurely what the curse was bound to do eventually.

But didn’t this mean that the curse would stop if she wasn’t there to “improve” it, to strengthen it?

Not yours though, not yours, the laughing voice told Prin. Your - Our curse is of an entirely different type.

The burner was extinguished, and the girl, remembering that she did work in this house, or in any case destroying the evidence, went around with a wet sponge and wiped up the chalk symbols.

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When she turned back towards the door, Prin thought for sure he would be spotted, but no, not yet anyway.

The girl had a grim look on her face. A face that was nothing like how Prin remembered it. Her eyes were intelligent and dark, her features almost pretty. It seemed the mousey appearance was camouflage of some sort. Was this something all witches could do? A minor form of shape shifting? Or something more basic?

Prin stood still, he was still angry, waging an internal battle that he wasn’t sure he could win. But he was also curious. Here was a witch in the flesh, a young witch. Maybe not much older than himself? Potentially full of answers to questions he hadn’t even thought to ask.

Lissabet finished cleaning up, and walked toward the bed. She drew back for a moment, then, seeming to steel herself for the unpleasant task, went forward again with more determination. She looked around herself. It probably wouldn’t be much longer that the household was affected by whatever had knocked them out.

The kitties underneath the crate began to yowl and bang around even more when she stopped to cast her eyes in their direction.

The girl picked up a pillow off Valor’s bed and held it in two hands. She held it up over the sleeping Valor.

Prin shoved open the door, it felt light suddenly, like it was made of paper. “Stop.” He thought he had been yelling it, felt like yelling it, but it came out firm and authoritative, but calm. As though he meant business. But was still somewhat hesitant to wake the rest of the household?

The apprentice witch swirled around, eyes wide, and a weird shimmy in the air between them as though she were trying to put her suit of plain, forgettableness back on and failing. It fell to the floor like a rain soaked slicker.

Until this moment Prin had not been sure she hadn’t known he was there, maybe baiting him into a confrontation for her own reasons. But no, the surprise on her face, the vivid color raising in her cheeks, was too genuine.

Her first instinct was to go back to her role as house maid, as though she had never left it. She fluffed the pillow and placed it back down on the bed beside Valor.

“Just straightening up a little bit.” She said. Not even convincing herself with that tone.

“I know who you are now.” Prin came into the room. He didn’t recognize his own voice, was barely cognizant of the words he was speaking. Both of him were angry.

“Why aren’t you asleep!?” Lissabet yelled. “It worked perfectly every other time.” She was angry too.

“Your tricks won’t work anymore, it’s over.” Prin said.

The girl picked up the pillow again, holding it aggressively, as though it were truly a weapon and not just an oblong of fabric filled with duck feathers. “Leave me alone and we can both be free of him. Aren’t you tired? Of his clinging and his whining. And his insulting words? I’m surprised he even lets you go to the bathroom by yourself! If you aren’t yet, you would be soon. He’s a boy born of ill will and bad vibes.” She shuddered. The apprentice witch had truly convinced herself that she hated her victim. That she had good reason to. “He would have never been born if not for the necessity of a son to fulfill the curse.”

She turned pale, realizing she said too much. Not knowing how much Prin already knew.

“So you condemn him? For a sin he had nothing to do with?” Prin asked. “What gives you that right?” He walked towards her, slowly and deliberately.

He snuck a closer glance at Valor, relieved to find him breathing evenly, rust-blond head nestled against a pile of pillows.

The cats had gone quiet. Prin could see the glow of their eyes through the slats in the crate. Doing what cats do best. Watching.

Lissabet shrugged. “It’s got nothing to do with me. It wasn’t me who condemned him. Or me who caused him to be born just for this.” There was a flicker of something in her eyes, she had doubts about what she was doing. Or just doubts about her ability to get away with it now that she had been caught. And the gears were turning, trying to parse out her next move.

“You will release him.” Prin said, in his new, not Prin voice. “It doesn’t matter why he’s here, he’s here now, and this unnatural suffering is over.”

“I can’t.” The girl said.

Prin continued his stride toward her at a quicker pace and snatched the pillow out of her hands. “It wasn’t a request.” He smiled, his mouth stretching almost painfully over his teeth.

Oh gods, what am I doing. Shhh, you’re doing fine.

The apprentice witch squinted at him. “Who in hell are you anyway? What are you?” She backed up toward the window. Prin being between her and the door.

“It doesn’t matter.” Prin said. “Do as I say or I’m going to eat you. Just like I did the other one.”