Tears stained her face, her eyelids fluttering open. "This dream again," she whispered, the words escaping her lips as wisps of mist on a hushed dawn. She grappled with the pounding aching in her head. The world around her, a blurry dance of shapes and shadows, seemed to waver and shift as if mocking her futile attempts to grasp reality.
"How long have I been asleep?" She pondered, knowing the answer was impossible to ascertain. She had slumbered for what felt like an eternity, her body burdened with heaviness and her muscles ached.
Her gaze, dulled by fatigue, fixated upon the dim, yellow light permeating her cell. Despite the constraints, she contorted her body, attempting to alleviate the stiffness in her limbs. As she reached out, her fingers brushed against the cold, unyielding floor, sending a jolt of static through her senses.
"It's so cold in here," she muttered, but the sound of her voice was swallowed by the frigid air. Her toes and fingers remained numb, devoid of any sensation. Even the fine hairs on her body refused to stand on end, and her fatigued muscles felt as though they weighed tons.
A metallic creak reverberated, drawing her gaze to the source. The dungeon gate swung open, accompanied by the echoing clicks of heels on the floor. Straining her ears, she overheard a conversation in Finnish approaching her.
"It's freezing in here!" the cracking voice of an elderly woman reached her ears. Fortunately, she understood enough of the language to comprehend its meaning.
"It’s 32 °F," She heard a man answer.
She closed her eyes, trying to focus all her strength on eavesdropping. “Focus,” she whispered to herself.
"And where are we? What is this place?" the same old woman asked.
"This is the Tenth Dungeon of Special Security."
"Wasn't it supposed to be closed down?"
"It is vacant most of the time. It's reserved for special circumstances." She strained to catch their words, struggling with the men's accents. It had been years since she had practiced the language, but this man, in particular, had a very thick accent, she didn’t even know where he was from.
The group of newcomers arrived at her cell, two men and two women. She noted a bald young man unlocking the door, allowing one of the two women to enter. The prisoner couldn't help but notice the resemblance of the two men’s attire to that of the Peacewalkers, though their jackets were gray instead of white. She wondered who they might be.
First, she glanced at the black-haired woman who stepped into her cell, and then at the blonde woman outside. The two elderly women dressed identically in long marine-blue skirts, black coats, mittens, and red babushka headscarves. ‘What kind of uniform is this?’ She wondered.
"Oh goodness!" the black-haired woman shrieked, her eyes widening in shock. She could see the effect her appearance had on the old lady. She had her feet extended forward and arms outstretched to the sides, she resembled a puppet awaiting its master.
She sat on a wooden chair; her complexion as pallid as a corpse. Her neck and ankles were shackled, the fetters affixed to the floor. Additional restraints on the side walls held her wrists in place. While she could slightly move and rotate her head, her arms and legs remained immobilized.
"Niebieski chains? Why?" She heard the blonde woman ask as she talked for the first time. "And what about her clothing?” The blonde woman abruptly stopped, covering her mouth.
She was merely wearing a semi-transparent white robe stained with dust, mud, and blood, but not even underwear. She was practically naked in a damp cell, restrained from almost all movement, freezing to death, feeling delirious, and practically without any strength.
Meanwhile, the black-haired woman inside leaned in, attempting to get a closer look.
"All Sne Fæstning prisoners must be fettered with Niebieski to prevent them from casting Thaumaturgy," she heard the other man, a blond guard, explain. "Aava... Is this the first time you see their uniform?"
"Yes. A prison with only a few convicts... all psychopaths and dangerous murderers, the worst of the worst!" She heard the black-haired woman say, now knowing her name was Aava.
"And who is she?" she noted the blonde woman turning back to talk to Aava.
"A newcomer, she was transferred here yesterday. They call her the Witch of Fairies." The same blond guard continued.
The prisoner, the woman known as the Witch of Fairies, listened as the women gasped, their mouths agape, as if they had bitten their tongues. Their brows furrowed in disapproval.
“Please, water,” the witch murmured. However, her voice was so faint, that not even she noticed herself speaking.
"The mass murderer?" She heard Aava stammering.
"Those are... misunderstandings. She is a criminal, indeed, but not a mass murderer," the bald guard clarified, she heard how he stuttered.
"Are you sure?" the Witch of Fairies strained to hear Aava. The blonde woman's words came out as a faint whisper.
"She's been drugged with Zielony. She’s unable to use any Thaumaturgy. She’s practically a ragdoll," the same blond guard said. ‘That explains why I feel like this,’ the Witch of Fairies thought.
“We checked her before bringing you here.”
‘The drug has been very effective,’ she thought the two guards might have come to check on her while she was sleeping, but she didn’t even notice.
"That's not very reassuring."
The prisoner noticed how the blond guard turned to Aava. "Why do you care so much?"
"She’s a Sne Fæstning prisoner who has survived until the end. Isn't that bad?"
"Well, most Sne Fæstning convicts die before completing their sentences," the bald guard explained, the Witch of Fairies couldn’t agree more. "That's why the Tenth Dungeon is usually vacant."
After a short pause, the Witch of Fairies realized Aava wrinkled her nose, pinching it between her fingers as she drew nearer. "She reeks!" Effectively, not even the witch could remember the last time she had a bath.
"Shall we proceed?" the other woman asked.
The Witch of Fairies noticed Aava nodding slowly as if frightened; the elderly woman’s mouth poised to speak but ultimately remaining silent. Then the guards released the witch’s fetters, unhooking her limbs.
The witch noticed the weariness in Aava’s green eyes after catching a glimpse of her emaciated face. To say the least, the witch had lost her will to live, all beaten and shaken. The moment she was released, her whole body slumped down without any strength. The witch hit her head against the hard floor, fortunately, she didn’t get wounded.
The two guards lifted her by the arms and guided her out of the cell. She lacked any strength to stand on her own, staggering down the corridor with the guards' support. She was forced to march forward, although not with brute force, but with a gentleness befitting a fragile creature. The witch relied on the guards' burly frames to bear her weight, swaying like a newborn foal finding its footing. Every step she took sent a painful shiver down her spine; it was as if she had forgotten how to walk.
They guided the prisoner along a corridor adorned with white ceramic walls, leading her toward a gate adjacent to a staircase. ‘It's warmer here,’ she thought, relishing the sensation as the warmth permeated her chilled skin, awakening her cells.
The blond guard opened a door. The two men took her to the showers, allowing the witch to lean against the tiled wall. She stood motionless, striving to maintain her balance. Her hands pressed against the white tiles of the shower walls as she inhaled deeply, holding her breath for a minute. In the sepulchral silence, she could hear the rhythm of her heartbeat. Steam rose from the showerheads, the hot water enticingly warming her body.
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"We are Beautifiers, the cleansing personnel of the Courts of Jäävarasto. We're here to wash you and make you presentable for your trial. Alright?" the blond woman asked the witch in broken English. She stared at the old lady; her mouth slightly agape. Her chapped lips trembled as she attempted, in vain, to form a response. Then she nodded.
"The Unseen City prides itself on accepting all individuals, regardless of race, religion, or nationality. No matter what you have done, you are welcome to rejoin our community," the other woman stuttered, her voice barely audible.
“Let’s begin.”
Then the prisoner's robe was cut with scissors.
"Bita… Is it just this robe? No undergarments?" She heard Aava asking the other woman. At the same time, she noted how the two women turned their heads back to stare at the guards, but the men merely shrugged. "How can they bear the extreme cold?" Not even the witch was sure how to answer that.
"That might explain why only a few survive," she heard the black-haired woman, Bita, mumble.
Aava circled the prisoner's nude body, inspecting her like a relic in a museum. Blood, mud, and dirt marred her skin, and her protruding bones gave her a skeletal appearance.
"Please, have a seat," Bita requested her, pointing to a stool. The witch struggled but she staggered to the seat. Bita used the scissors to trim the prisoner's waist-length hair to shoulder-length and proceeded to clip her nails.
"Stand up!" Bita commanded her. "Take a shower."
The Witch of Fairies remained seated, lost in her thoughts, immobile, without even blinking. Aava forced her to stand and turned on the shower, the warm water jolting her back to reality. Overwhelmed, she collapsed to the floor, curling up in a fetal position, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed.
Bita crouched down to wash the witch’s body with soap. "How did you get this?" Bita murmured; her voice filled with concern. She then recognized Bita was referring to her gruesome scar.
The scar extended from her right shoulder, stretching across her back and down to her pelvis. Bita tried to reach with a sponge to cleanse the dirt, but she flinched, hopping sideways in trembling fear.
Pressing her back against the shower wall, she shielded her body with her arms, resembling a scared animal trapped in a corner. Her eyes reflected sheer terror as they darted around, taking in everything and everyone; her every movement gave the impression of vulnerable prey.
Bita handed her a bar of soap and a sponge, while Aava provided a bottle of shampoo. The witch washed her body and short hair, still crouched on the floor. She vigorously wiped away the dried blood, dirt, and mud, as if trying to scrub away her own skin.
The Witch of Fairies noted how the two Beautifiers anxiously looked at the clock, counting the minutes until she finished washing. Once she did, Aava waited for the steam to dissipate before handing her a towel. The witch dried her body with delicacy, taking her time to attend to every nook and cranny of her emaciated and bruised frame.
Bita handed her a toothbrush with toothpaste. When the witch finished brushing her teeth, Aava instructed her to sit on the stool again. Aava proceeded to cleanse the witch's face, gently moisturizing it with a white lotion, and then brushed her hair. Finally, Aava handed her a set of new clothes—one after another. Undergarments, stockings, a trapeze-shaped dress with long sleeves, and a pair of loafers, everything black. The Witch of Fairies dressed in less than two minutes, the loose-fitting dress accentuating her vulnerability and helplessness.
Aava called the guards, and they escorted the witch to a small room with a table and a chair. "Sit down!" They ordered.
Bita brought her food: a cup of chicken and potato stew, and some bread. Aava handed her a wooden cup filled with water, napkins, and a wooden spoon. The prisoner squinted at the meal, perplexed. She wasn't yet eager to eat. "Is the food drugged with Zielony?" she whispered.
"Zielony? No. Although you must have been sedated before being transferred here. We don't want to overdose you. The effects will wear off in a few days. After that, you should be able to cast Thaumaturgy," the blond guard told her.
“You’ve been deprived of food,” Bita coughed, interrupting her. “You’re malnourished, so it’s suggested you eat very small portions and then increase their sizes gradually. You should refrain from getting more than a cup of food at every meal. Keep this in mind when you get back home.”
The witch nodded, still cautious. She marveled at her food; she couldn't believe what lay before her. Slowly, she began taking a spoonful of the stew and nibbling at it, as if still suspecting the drug. Gradually, she started taking larger bites, eating with the primal fervor of someone who believed it could be their last meal. Tears streamed down her face. "This is the best food I've had in twelve years. Thank you," she said, wiping away her tears with the napkins.
"Stand up!" the blond guard ordered after she finished eating. The guards grasped her arms and helped her to her feet. “Thank you, Mrs. Bita and Mrs. Aava.” She stumbled out of the room, feeling the warmth of the food invigorating her senses. Despite her lingering hunger, her body felt satisfied and heavier.
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Meanwhile, Bita and Aava stayed in the room while exchanging nervous glances at each other, beads of cold sweat glistening on their faces.
"A mass murderer," Bita stammered, her voice filled with uncertainty. "But after seeing her fragility, I don't know what to believe anymore."
"It's strange, isn't it?" Bita cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. "She appears fragile and innocent, like a girl who spent her youth in prison. In the worst prison."
"A mass murderer," Aava reiterated, her conviction wavering.
“It’s so sad.”
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The guards grabbed The Witch of Fairies by the arms, and she squinted around at the cold and foggy corridor of marble walls. Despite the chandeliers casting a white light, the atmosphere still frightened her. It was her second time walking in that place. She had been there before for the trial that determined her punishment, but the bitter feeling of returning overwhelmed her. Her head throbbed, and the energy she gained from the food seemed to fade away.
After nearly five minutes, she arrived at her destination. The courtroom stood devoid of an audience, with only three witnesses, a male prosecutor, and his secretary. The latter two men glared at her with venomous eyes, their brows furrowed in anger, but compared to Sne Fæstning, their gazes felt almost kind.
The courtroom itself was a vaulted chamber in baroque style, adorned with golden columns, intricate moldings, and statues of the blind goddess of justice. Epic battle frescoes adorned the ceiling, giving the room a cathedral-like aura. The prisoner couldn't help but wonder, 'Where is God when you need it the most?'
The guards guided her to a seat. She observed the formality of the room, her hair standing on end this time, feeling like a stray kitten surrounded by hounds.
Then, a memory resurfaced. It was a question she asked an old lady in prison long ago. She recalled the old woman's unique laughter, high-pitched like that of a little girl. "She might have been my only friend in prison, I guess. I never saw her face, though," The prisoner muttered to herself.
"Why are you here? What exactly did you do?" She had asked the old lady back then.
"That's the wrong question, my dear. I did many things, but not the things I needed to."
The prisoner had struggled to understand the answer then, and even now, as the sound of heels clicking on the floor brought her back to reality, 'What did she even mean?' she wondered.
Having lost track of time for over a decade, the minutes she waited for her hearing felt endless. 'How long have I been waiting?' she pondered.
An elderly judge entered the courtroom, followed by his assistant carrying several folders of documents. The prosecutor, as his face contorted with disgust, addressed her with disdain. "Miss Habondia Xana, the Witch of Fairies! After twelve years, your sentence is over. Do you have any words for our small group of witnesses?"
She remained silent, her gaze steady and resolute.
"I hope you can follow the rules this time," the prosecutor sighed, closing his eyes as if trying to contain his disappointment. He shook his head slightly as if denying what he was about to do. "I don't agree with this. However, the law is the law."
She nodded, acknowledging his statement.
"Recite the Oath," the secretary instructed. A guard handed her a one-page document titled ‘Oath of the Unseen City of Paasilinna.’
“I, Habondia Xana, the Witch of Fairies, swear to God that I am committed to extolling the Law and Order of this city. I swear in my life that everything will change from now on. I shall live for the sake of my heart and the sake of us, Arlos and Janas. Keeping safe our society and culture; not interfering with those non-thaumaturgies, the Mågiats, as we are slaves of our secrecy and community. I swear upon my heart that I will receive punishment if I don't!" she read, her voice weak, although filled with determination. Her lips trembled as she bit them, her left fist clenched over her right breast.
“Lords and Ladies of the Unseen City, who have withstood me all these years with my sins, but you have had compassion on me despite this,” She continued, closing her eyes. “I have gone astray, but now I don't want to sin anymore. I have wronged you and I have been unfair. I won't be anymore. I renounce my sin and my free will to the city; I renounce the iniquity that dirties my soul, my free will, to let it be gone. I beg you to save me from all evil that I have committed and from all falsehood that corrupts my heart and spirit, my Aether. I beg you to let me return to this city, as I shall abide by the rules of it. Otherwise, shackles will befall me and my heart will be crushed by the weight of its sins," Xana concluded, her head bowed, tears welling in her eyes.
“I, as judge of The Courts of the Palace of Jäävarasto in the Unseen City of Paasilinna, and in front of our honorable witnesses, determine your release. You are free now." The old judge paused, clearing his throat. "Your confiscated belongings will wait for you in the next room." The judge pointed to a wooden door in the east wing of the courtroom, where a tall guard stood at the entrance.
As the judge spoke, one of the witnesses, a black woman with parti-color eyes, observed the Witch of Fairies with a meditative expression. The woman sat apart from the other two witnesses, leaving two empty seats between them. The woman detected a semblance of discomfort on the Witch of Fairies’ face—almost a look of remorse. It was an expression she had seen before.
Yet, despite the emotions coursing through her, everything had turned out better than what Habondia Xana had anticipated.
"It's your time to rule... At last!" Those words exploded in Habondia Xana’s mind, acting as a catalyst for change deep within her. A long-forgotten feeling ignited within her—excitement. Her tears subsided, and a grin spread across her face.