Alice and Averick were walking up a mountain road, following the boy they’d helped last night. His name was Collins and he was leading them to the village of Oldson, where he lived.

He took them through trails that weren’t marked as much as the ones they’d used so far to ascend. Probably because few people were masochistic enough to walk on gravel paths with a forty-five degree incline, but Collins assured them it would make the trip much faster.

“I hate this. I hate this so much,” wheezed out Averick, who clearly did not know yet how to walk on mountains. But, credit where credit was due, he was keeping up, and the path they were walking on was all the more harsh because of the fucking gravel. Whoever had built it knew what they were doing, as in this trail would never be flooded off the side of the mountain, but they were clearly close friends with Satan because god fucking dammit they’d used too much of it.

Alice chuckled, followed soon after by Collins.

“Don’t worry, it won’t take much longer,” said the boy with a small self-satisfied smile, as if watching someone struggling up a path was the height of entertainment.

Which… it was.

“You said that - huff - half an hour ago!”

Alice laughed: “Av, it’s tradition among people of the mountain to say those words. They give you hope.”

“Don’t give - huff cough - much hope - huff - after the fourth time.”

“That’s where you’re wrong! Maybe Collins is right. Maybe in a few minutes we’ll reach civilization. Who knows? You and I certainly don’t. We’re not from around here. Maybe we’ll take that left turn there and be at the village!”

“Fuck - huff - you, Alice.”

“I love you too Av.”

Which sent a pang down Averick’s stomach and into his heart. He knew she didn’t mean it but… no, better not dwell on it. She’d clearly said she wasn’t looking for a partner, not for the foreseeable future at least. Which sucked.

But would it hurt to try?

His thoughts were stopped right in their tracks as they turned the corner of the trail and, suddenly, Alice stopped in her tracks, making him bump right into her.

“What happened?” he asked.

Alice didn’t answer. Instead she moved onwards, her steps much faster than she usually allowed herself whenever she walked in the mountains. She also looked unsteady. As if she’d drunk too much. Or as if she was shocked.

Collins was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, curious about what could possibly reduce the woman who’d icily asked him to cut his hand to show her the color of his blood just yesterday night into such an emotional mess.

They hadn’t noticed it. Mainly because they didn’t care, but also because it was well hidden among the rest of the vegetation.

It was a flower.

No, not just any flower. It was the flower. One of the most important ones to Alice.

An Edelweiss, otherwise known as Alpine Star, or Stella Alpina back home. A rare flower that could grow practically anywhere on the mountains, capable of surviving anything the inclement heights might throw at it. A hardy plant that was said to have magical properties, to be capable of keeping evil spirits away from anyone who had one.

But Alice, even in her hunger for getting more interesting plants, magical or mundane she didn’t care, couldn’t give a flying fuck about those properties. Because where someone might see just a flower, or an interesting specimen perfect for a collection or even a useful ingredient, she saw a symbol. Something from home.

And she saw a tomb.

----------------------------------------

Grandma sat on her knees on the ground, head bowed, hands held together as she spoke to the beautiful flower as if it was a person, as if it could answer her.

Alice didn’t dare open her mouth and interrupt. She had seldom seen her grandma so emotional, and this seemed very important to her.

When, finally, she rose, face still wet from the tears she’d shed while speaking, she was smiling: “Let’s go Alice. I said my hellos.”

When she’d grown up, Alice realized that grandma never said she prayed. Only that she had said hello or goodbye. She also noticed that nowhere in grandma’s house could she find a single cross or religious icon. When she’d asked her why, the answer she’d received had been… unsettling: “God wasn’t there for us during the War. He wasn’t there for the love of my life when the fascists captured him and shot him in the mountains. I have no reason to respect a god like that.”

That had been a great surprise to the then-catholic Alice. And a chip in the armor of her faith. Since then, the chips had turned into cracks, until it had all broken down and she’d come to grandma’s same realization. But that is a story for another time.

As of now, Alice asked her grandma: “Why were you talking to a flower?”

Grandma laughed: “That isn’t just any flower dear. It’s an edelweiss. A rare flower that grows only in the Alps. It is also the flower under which your grandpa wanted to be buried when he died.”

“So grandpa is down there?”

Grandmother’s smile became sad and, for a moment, she looked as old as she was: “No, dear. He isn’t. He’s somewhere in the mountains, together with his friends. But he wanted to be buried under an edelweiss, and so I remember him every time I see one.”

“Ok, grandma. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about dear. It’s just life. Now let’s get going. Night is approaching.”

----------------------------------------

Years later, when grandma had died, she had asked to be buried under an edelweiss. Alice spent three days wandering around the mountains looking for one and, when she found it, she buried her ashes underneath it.

Since then she’d never gone back to the place where she’d buried the ashes, even if she remembered the road to that place as if she’d only walked it yesterday. Instead, over a decade had passed.

And now she was in another world, and had come to regret everything she’d done since then.

Apparently, the world had listened to her desires, giving her a chance to see her grandma’s tomb, even if by proxy.

She fell to her knees in front of the flower, just like her grandma used to do whenever she saw one (which was quite rare), her hands locked together so tightly her skin became white.

A few tears managed to escape her eyes, and she forced them back. This was no time for tears. Those could come at the end. Now was the time to say her hellos, to tell her grandma what she’d done in this whole decade, what had changed, what were her hopes and dreams and what she wanted to do now.

So she sat on her butt, because her knees weren’t used to staying bent for long times, and began talking.

“Hello grandma, I’m… I’m finally back.”

----------------------------------------

“What is she doing?” asked Averick who, for one, wasn’t against this sudden stop. It allowed him to breath normally for a while.

“She’s… remembering the dead, I think.”

“...in front of a flower?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, where we’re from normally people mourn in front of a tombstone. And anyways, that can’t be the same flower the person she lost was buried under.”

“It is an old tradition, boy, but you wouldn’t know it. Now shut up,” said a third voice.

Averick and Collins jumped on the spot, the latter nearly falling from the edge of the path, which would’ve led to a most displeasing fall and probably death by broken neck. Luckily for him a hand grabbed his shirt and pulled him back on the path. It felt gnarled to the touch, more like a tree’s branch than a hand.

“Thank y -” he started, turning around, only to freeze when he saw who he was talking to.

Behind them, an old woman stood. She looked old beyond imagination, her face so wrinkled she might as well not have actual features. She wore dark brown robes, a dark green cape thrown haphazardly over her shoulders. On her head proudly sat a crooked pointed hat the color of autumn leaves.

Immediately Collins bowed: “Witch Aria. Good morning. Thank you greatly for the help there.”

The old woman smiled a bit, nodding: “It was no problem, young boy. Now,” and she turned towards Averick, “who might you be?”

Averick, on his part, was stunned into silence. He, like all children, had been told stories of [Witches] and their deeds, both good and bad. He had grown up listening to tales on the kind Witch of Stories and the monstrous Witch of Mirrors. He knew to fear and respect the women who traveled down that path, no matter what.

So he decided to bow just like Collins: “Good morning, Madame. I am Averick, and the girl behind me -”

He didn’t manage to finish his sentence: the [Witch] raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks: “The girl will present herself when she’s finished. Now let us step back: this is a private moment. We should not disturb her.”

She turned back from the path where they’d arrived, her steps light and agile, which surprised Av greatly. He’d imagined the old woman would barely be able to walk, but she was spry! Which actually made sense if she somehow managed to reach them by following the same path they’d chosen.

He turned around to look at Alice, but she didn’t seem to notice anything, still concentrated on the flower, talking to it sotto voce, saying things he couldn’t hear. He hesitated, but then a tree branch he was certain hadn’t been that low smacked him in the butt, moving him towards the old woman.

----------------------------------------

It took her half an hour to say everything she wanted to say and all the things she didn’t think she’d be talking about. It was… liberating. It felt good to finally let go, to say everything she’d always been too afraid to tell anyone else for fear of being labeled as crazy. Well, maybe those people wouldn’t even have been wrong. She was pretty sure that, a few times, she’d walked down the dark path of insanity. Like the time she’d brewed herself tea with foxglove flowers.

Or the time she’d held a knife and been just a step away from cutting her hand to pieces just to see how it would feel like. No, not to ‘punish’ herself or anything like that. She’d just felt so empty, without any feeling, that she’d started to wonder if it would be painful. If it would be worth it.

Or even, the time when she’d been a step away from murdering a person she really disliked by putting gardening cyanide in their drink.

She’d… had her ups and downs.

And never had she been able to talk about it to anyone. A psychologist would’ve probably tried to get her interned, her friends would’ve either laughed it off or told her to never talk to them ever again. Her family? Hah! They loved her, but they’d never understood her. Even when she’d fallen into depression.

Only her grandma would’ve listened and understood. And she was dead.

But here, now, she felt lighter than a feather. She didn’t know how long the feeling would last. Sure, since she’d come to this world everything had been much easier for her in… practically every aspect: financially, psychologically, friendwise.

Just… come on! Look at her! She was spending days in the mountains on a vacation and she’d spent only the equivalent of twenty silver coins to get everything she needed! She made that money in half a week working with Herman.

This world was perfect for her. And, now that she knew she could just… find Her resting place… there was nothing more tying her to her original home. Her friends? All sheep, or wolves in sheep’s masks who sometimes forgot they had to wear those masks. Job? She had one here. Family? That… would take some getting used to. She loved her parents but… if she had to choose, she would choose the selfish alternative and stay here.

Sorry ma, you raised an ungrateful little shit, she thought, giggling, not really caring.

“Goodbye grandma. I’ll make sure not to take a decade to come talk again.”

She shuffled closer to the flower and, kindly, gave it a little kiss. The petals caressed her cheek and, for a moment, she could’ve sworn she felt cracked lips giving the kiss back.

Then she rose to her feet and looked around. Where was Av? And Collins? Had they left her here?

“Av? Collins? Where are you?”

She swore under her breath: if they’d gone without her she would be pissed. She could survive up here: she had the knowledge and the supplies to make it to the base of the mountain, and she remembered the road perfectly (if the trails didn’t change. At this point she could actually consider such a possibility). But that didn’t mean it would be pleasant.

Luckily, someone answered her call.

“We’re back here Alice!”

That was Averick’s voice. She sighed and smiled, walking back towards him. Thank Stars he hadn’t left her, because if he had she would’ve found him and made him pay. Probably by making him clean her house and keep the garden in check, unpaid, for a week.

“Hey guys, sorry it took me this lo -” she stopped as she turned the corner and her eyes registered the presence of the old woman standing calmly on the trail besides her friend and Collins.

Immediately, her eyes flicked to the sky, but it was day, so that couldn’t be a possibility. Then she considered the woman’s clothing, her eyes scanning for any kind of climbing equipment or for any sign that she was a traveler like them. Again, nothing.

Finally, she looked at the woman’s skin and face, which were clearly visible. In fact, the woman had taken off the hood of her traveling cape and had raised the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing. As if she wanted Alice to see.

Again, nothing strange came up. Sure, the woman looked like a walking tree from how old she was, which could mean many things, but none negative.

The woman raised her hand to, she noticed only now, her quite colorful hat, tipping it towards her.

“I tip my hat to you, one witch to another. I am Witch Aria, young lady. How may I call you?”

And at that, Alice had to stop as old stories came to her mind. The original tales of Baba Yaga, from before the time christians changed her into a monster that ate children, the stories of the Grimm Brothers, and the many little tales her grandma had told her in her youth.

She raised her hand towards an imaginary hat that wasn’t, and would never be, on her head.

“I tip my hat to you, Witch Aria. My name is Alice. And I am not a witch. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The old woman smiled warmly.

“You’re not a witch you say? Yet you have the air of one, young Alice. And you certainly act like one.”

“You’re most certainly exaggerating. I wear no hat, Witch Aria. I’m too hot headed for one. Would melt my brains right out,” she smiled, and the little girl inside her, the one she kept safe and hidden in a comfortable part of her mind, away from all the hatred and bad things of the outside, cheered and whooped in joy. She’d always wanted to say this.

“Then you should try wearing lighter hats dear.”

Averick looked confused beyond belief and couldn’t quite understand if they were talking in some mysterious code with all this hat talk.

They weren’t.

“As I said, I am not a witch. I’m an [Alchemist]. And I’m not sure what you mean when you say I act like a witch.”

At this, the old woman laughed, a loud, crackling, sound, like a tree falling to the ground, the trunk breaking apart under its own weight. Averick actually looked around to make sure there weren’t any actual falling trees nearby.

“You’re too humble, girl. How about this: last night the forest was delighted, saying that a passing girl had fed it. Now, imagine my surprise when I go checking and, instead of finding the remnants of a dead body, I find what’s left of some actual, cooked, food, and this right besides a campfire. It was unexpected.”

“Wait,” interrupted Averick, “What do you mean ‘instead of finding a dead body’?”

“Well,” answered Alice instead of the Witch, “The Mountains are big. And filled with animals and monsters. If I wanted to get rid of a corpse without anyone finding out, this place would be perfect. Remember Av, we’re nothing but food to be for the earth.”

Averick looked grim and slightly offended that Alice could say such a thing while looking so jovial.

The witch began cackling this time, a sound like a murder of crows cawing.

“As I said, you even talk like a witch, with a wisdom beyond your years too sometimes. And to that, add the fact you were remembering the dead with a flower. Not exactly a witch tradition, but certainly unusual with other folks.”

Alice sighed: “My grandmother taught me everything I know, Witch Aria. And she wasn’t a witch. She always said she was just a healer.”

The Witch’s smile became a bit more tired: “Alice, that is just another word for witch. An old one, for sure, but the meaning is the same. Maybe your grandmother was just tired of her Class and chose to go back to its roots, maybe she even burned her hat, but it was always there.”

Alice wanted to laugh. If only this woman knew she was from another world, a world without magic and wonder. It wasn’t a place for witches, not anymore. Not after the wars, the witch hunts, the death of the self in favor for the dream of capitalism or the impossible utopia of communism.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Her head felt dizzy for a moment. Those thoughts… didn’t feel quite right. As if they weren’t hers. And yet at the same time… they were. Gods her head.

She raised her hand to hold it, then answered: “No matter. My grandma was my grandma, she could be anything she wanted. The important thing is, she was there for all my youth, and she taught me a lot of things. Like, a lot. And now she’s gone. The rest… it’s unimportant.”

The witch nodded.

“Well, I have a proposal: would you like to come meet my coven. Maybe we could change your mind,” she smiled a hopeful smile.

Alice thought about it for a moment. On one hand, she didn’t want someone to try indoctrinating her into joining a coven. She liked being free, and joining a coven would take that away. Also, again, she wasn’t a witch, and had no intention whatsoever to become one.

On the other hand, this would certainly be interesting.

Having come to these conclusion, the answer was a no brainer: “Sure, I’ll gladly come with you, Witch Aria.”

The old witch’s smile brightened slightly: “Very well then. Follow me. As for you, young man, go with the child. He knows the way.”

“But -” he started, only for Alice to stop him.

“Don’t worry Av, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you when the guided tour ends!”

Everyone looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“...What is a ‘guided tour’?” asked the witch.

Alice sighed.

----------------------------------------

“Well, this is not what I expected,” said Alice as she looked at the house hidden away in a clearing in the woods. It was, as expected, built entirely out of wood, probably using trees that had once covered this clearly artificial clearing. There were many windows, although, from closer inspection, Alice realized none of them had glass, unlike her house. It surprised her at first, but then she remembered how far up the mountains they were and just how difficult it would be to bring actual glass up here, especially in this world where the best infrastructure on these mountains were damned gravel paths.

(A.N: I know they’re useful and probably the best alternative for making trails in the mountains, but if any of you have ever tried climbing down a mountain on a gravel path that was filled with loose gravel you’ll understand my hatred)

The house had three floors in total and a terrace, which was more luxury than she’d seen since she’d arrived in this world.

The outside was filled with gardens, from simple flower beds that practically looked like a rainbow to small vegetable and fruit gardens. At this height keeping those in good shape must’ve been difficult.

“You’ve got yourself quite the cozy place. I actually envy you,” she told Witch Aria with a small smile.

The old woman nodded: “We’ve been good to the villagers nearby for many years. In exchange for our services they’ve helped us build our home.”

If only the world back on Earth would’ve been as easy: do something for someone and they will do anything to repay. In her entire life she’d only ever met one person who thought that way, a silent boy who rather liked listening to people but was never much of a talker.

The people in her class knew that, if you asked him something, he would do all in his power to help you, but at the same time everyone knew that any debt accrued with him would, sooner or later, be called back. And you better be ready to pay back without a second thought.

They’d been best friends until she’d moved away to england for university.

“The people at the village must be really kind.”

The witch nodded: “They’re people of the mountains, of course they are. Do you know what some call them?”

“I heard it in a bar: the dwarves of Eva, am I right?”

“Indeed. They’re industrious, know many things and like alcohol.”

“Then I’d fit right in,” she chuckled.

“You most probably would, especially after helping that boy. He’ll be telling the tale of how you kept that Skinstealer at bay.”

Alice froze on the spot: “How do you -”

“I am a [Witch], Alice. Knowing things is my Class. We’ll talk about that inside.”

Suddenly Alice didn’t want to enter anymore.

“Don’t worry, you’ve done nothing wrong. You saved the boy after all.”

And at that, Alice sighed in relief… internally. She didn’t know about the deal she made with the Skinwalker during Palaver.

“Come on in. Please take off your shoes, we’ll give you slippers.”

Of all the things the witch had said so far this was by far the one that, somehow, managed to shock her the most. Remove her shoes. Get slippers.

Well, I officially like them, she managed to think when her brain unfroze, before she chuckled and walked inside.

She found herself in a small hall surrounded by warm wooden walls. She’d always loved the aesthetic of simple wooden walls. In her opinion they made everything look a lot more homey. There were a few little hooks embedded in the wall on which three other cloaks were hung. Aria put her own there as well, and Alice did too.

Then she removed her boots, as requested, and was pointed at a pair of comfy looking slippers made from… was that a rabbit’s pelt’ And were those the ears, still floppily hanging at the front? Oh. My. Stars.

“I love these,” she said in a whisper as she put them on.

They were also comfortable beyond belief.

“You’d be one of the only ones. Our guests always find the ears unsettling for some reason.”

“They’re idiots,” she immediately said, not even thinking.

The witch cackled: “That they can be. Beria! Commodora! Lili! Come here. We have a guest!”

The moment she said those words the sound of feet padding on a floor resounded from above. A few seconds later someone walked down.

She was a young woman in the prime of her life: her hair was blonde while her eyes, in contrast, dark blue. The color didn’t feel natural to Alice, but then again, apparently in this world finding someone with purple eyes was normal. Her world had a much more boring color palette when it came to corneas. Her lips were full and painted dark blue thanks to some lipstick.

I’ll have to ask her where she gets all her beauty products. I want some, thought Alice

She was wearing a dark blue dress with many small yellow dots, as if someone had dropped gold glitter all over it. All in all, if Alice hadn’t been straight, she would’ve wanted to bed the woman in a moment. Hell, she could’ve probably made an exception just for her.

Alas, she didn’t swing that way. So instead she just found her beautiful.

“Hello! It’s nice to meet you,” said the woman jovially as she completely ignored the hand Alice proffered and instead went for a hug, which was given back.

“I’m Witch Beria, but you can just call me Beria.”

“I’m -”

“Shush, not now. Wait for the others to arrive. Then you can present yourself only one time,” she stopped her, winking.

This is probably the most confident person I ever met, and I met a guy who thought he was better than anyone in school because he had already lost his virginity. For that matter, didn’t he end up impregnating that girl? Bah!

“Alright, I’ll wait,” she agreed.

Not a moment later, a little girl came rushing down the stairs, clearly a bit flustered, probably because she hadn’t been expecting someone to come and she was still wearing her pajamas. Well, if one could call them just that. They were like a stereotypical mage robe (Or not. Apparently it’s the norm in this world), with big puffy sleeves that were clearly padded to increase the heat retention and the comfort factor, reaching all the way down to her feet. It even had a lined hood!

“Lili,” said Aria with a small frown, “What did I tell you about meeting guests in your bed clothes?”

“I am really sorry Witch Aria, I wasn’t expecting a guest to come.”

“You should’ve. A [Witch] is always prepared for anything and everything. You don’t have to girl yourself up like Beria here does every morning, which is frankly too much work for such an early hour, especially in a day of rest and festivity, but at the very least you can wear house clothing.”

“I’m sorry Witch Aria, I will go do that right away,” she bowed, turning around towards the stairs, but was stopped by the old woman.

“No need for that now. But remember it for the next time.”

The girl nodded, then turned towards Alice. She bowed slightly: “I’m apprentice Lili. Nice to meet you.”

Alice EEEEEEEEd in her mind and smiled: “The pleasure is all mine.”

And then, finally, a middle aged woman walked down the stairs. Or rather, Alice guessed she was middle aged. She was covered from head to toe in a dark, fur lined, cloak that showed only part of her face.

No, wait, that cloak wasn’t fur lined. It was all furs. Wolf fur.

A shiver went down Alice’s spine. She didn’t know how to feel about this woman.

“I am Witch Commodora. Welcome,” she said with a dry, small, cold voice.

Alice nodded, suppressing the sudden instinct to gulp. There was something strange about this witch. Something… wild.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you all. My name is Alice, and I am not a witch.”

At that, Aria chuckled, while the others smiled.

After a moment longer of silence, Beria clapped her hands: “Who wants tea?”

----------------------------------------

The tea was exceptionally good considering it was simple mint tea. It was refreshing at least, even if it was scalding hot.

They spent a few minutes going through the events of the prior night, a storm cloud hanging over the heads of the witches (except for Lili. She was a cinnamon bun who drunk her tea in a very prim and proper way). When she reached the part about her conversation with the Skinwalker, Beria stopped her.

“Wait, you talked with one of… them? How did you make it listen? Also, I believe you got it wrong: they’re called Skinstealers.”

“Nope, I got it quite right. Not to say you’re wrong, naturally. Their race has many names: Skinwalkers, Skinstealers, Skintwisters in some rare stories and cultures. And in regards to the how, I called on Palaver.”

When she said those last few words, the eyebrows of all the witches in the room were raised in unison, curiosity on their faces. Well, all except for Lili, who was staring at Alice with wide eyes filled with curiosity.

In the end Aria asked: “What is this… ‘Palaver’? I never heard of such a thing.”

Alice’s eyebrows shot to the sky. What? How was this possible? Clearly if the Skinwalker had agreed to join her in Palaver then he must’ve heard at least once about it. How could these witches not know of it? Had perhaps nobody told them?

“I’m sorry, Witch Aria, but are you sure you never heard of the rite? It is quite simple.”

The witch shook her head: “I am quite old, Alice, and I’ve never heard of such a rite. What does it consist of?”

Alice described it, confused. But maybe they just called it by another name.

She was even more surprised when Aria shook her head: “I have never heard of such a thing. But it does sound quite interesting. And useful.”

And at that, Alice began wondering if she was having a stroke. This was simply impossible.

Remember Alice, everything follows its own set of rules and traditions. Every single story and legend. Call upon the wrong gods, or the wrong rites, in the presence of the wrong beings and, at best, they’ll be confused, or at worst, which is the most likely case, they’ll be angered. And you don’t want to anger stories.

The words resounded in the back of her mind.

The Skinwalker had answered to Palaver. Which meant that was the right tradition to call upon, because it was bound, even if just partially, to its very being. Had it been wrong, the Skinstealer wouldn’t have been bound by the rules of the rite, and the deal it had made with her would be null.

And yet, while surprised, the thing had agreed immediately, and when the time had come to pronounce that final oath, he had known the words.

But these witches didn’t know of it.

Now, there was a chance they really just didn’t know because nobody had told them: after all, witches collaborated seldom in their stories, and always only against a common enemy or goal.

But she could clearly feel it in her bones: this wasn’t the case.

Which could mean only another thing: the Skinwalker, somehow, knew about Earth. No, not just knew: it must’ve come from there. But.. how? How could an entire race have left a world to appear in another? How was this possible?

“Well, don’t worry dear, I’m sure it will work,” reassured her Aria with a kind smile on her face.

Meanwhile, Beria was staring right at Alice, her eyes… were they shining? Again, Alice wondered if she was having a stroke.

Then Beria calmly asked: “Tell me, Alice, how would you define yourself as a person?”

Without missing a beat Alice gave the witch the answer she always gave to her friends back home: “In one word: dysfunctional!”

She began cackling. And Beria’s eyebrows raised slightly. She wasn’t smiling anymore for some reason.

“Would you say you’re a kind person?”

At that, Alice stopped laughing. Jokes were over it seemed. Time to give her a serious and measured answer.

“What are these questions so out of the blue? Well, whatever.

“Kindness… I’d say there’s quite a lot of it in me, for those deserving of it. But there is a very finite limit to it. I’ve learned the hard way that, if you show too much kindness to someone, they’ll always end up exploiting you.”

“That seems like a pretty grim view of life dear,” said Aria.

Commodora grunted: “A realistic one, I’d say.”

Beria said nothing. She just kept looking at her with those catlike eyes.

“Think what you want, I know it helped me stay alive. People knew they could ask me for help, but they also knew that if they asked too much I would show them my less pleasant side.”

“What kind of world did you live in to be like this?” asked Aria, her eyebrows raised, genuine curiosity in her eyes.

Alice wanted to laugh. She wanted to tell her. But how much of it would they believe?

Instead, she just shook her head: “One I have no desire to go back to, trust me on that.”

Alice chuckled, then added: “You could say I’m made of two halves: one of dark, the other of light.”

And then Beria spoke: “I wouldn’t say halves. Your light is more like a candle flame shining in a void of darkness.”

Hearing this, everyone in the room fell silent. Even Lili became suddenly serious.

And Alice… Alice was displeased. Displeased that someone had seen through her.

Still, appearances: “It only means it shines all the brighter.”

“But it also means it can be snuffed with great ease,” rebuked Beria.

“You are absolutely right. In fact, it was snuffed a few times in my life. But I always managed to rekindle the flames before anything could go wrong.

“Also, since I’ve arrived here, I’ve been working on turning that candle into a bonfire. Small steps, am I right?”

Beria’s face was marred by a sneer: “Don’t play games with me. Looking at you is like looking at one of those damned Skinstealers. No, I’ve seen some of those monsters with more light than you. Maybe that’s why the one you encountered yesterday was so keen on speaking to you. Maybe we don’t know about this ‘Palaver’ because you just came up with it to cover your true allegiances with those monsters. Or maybe it’s some kind of dark ritual that could corrupt anyone who performs it.

“Stars know what dark knowledge lurks in your mind.”

…

Alice decided she had had quite enough of this. They wanted dark? She’d show them dark.

The kind, gentle, flame of the bonfire in her soul, the one that kept at bay the darkness all the time, rarely burning out, was snuffed out.

Alice stood from the table, walked around it, and kneeled so that she could be face to face with Beria. After all, she was the one holding a grudge, judging her the most.

“You want to know about dark rituals? Cursed knowledge? Here’s one then:

“Take a little girl, one who’s reached the age of three usually, old enough to remember and understand emotions, and turn her into a pariah, a social outcast. Have her parents treat her like she’s a disgusting thing, convince the kids that she should be bullied and disliked, and when she goes to ask someone for help punish her, saying she’s a liar. Take away her toys and her every joy.

“Leave her lonely, punish her every tear and give her nothing without her first paying some kind of high price. Rinse and repeat for years, more than a decade.

“And then, one day, change everything. Make her parents love her, make everyone become her friend, let every unkindness made towards her be repaid tenfold by everyone. Watch her smile for the first time in forever. And then, on one night, bring her deep in the woods and torture her. Don’t answer her screamed question. Instead let her blood drip and commingle with the earth and the mountain underneath. Make her pain turn into hatred, a hatred so deep that it will persist even in death.

“And then kill her, slowly, making sure to prolong every moment of pain.

“Then, when her soul inevitably encounters something willing to let her get said revenge, bind her with chains of steel and silver carved from the heart of the mountain. Care to guess how many?”

She smiled, and there was nothing kind in her expression.

“...Three,” tried to answer tentatively Witch Beria.

Alice laughed. Three? Really? Only three? And this woman called herself a [Witch]? She should’ve taken her hat and burned it into a fire.

“Wrong. Seven chains. Seven chains with hooks at both ends. Two hooks in her head. Three in her heart. The last two in her uterus. Then, bind the chains to other things.

“The first three, to the three witches who tortured the girl and held the knife that ended her life. They will forever control what will come back. One chain to the mountain itself, that no matter what she may never leave it. Another to the fragments of her lost hopes and dreams. Usually, this is the hardest step. The sixth one must bind to her hatred of all that lives. As or the seventh… Tradition wills that I say this: you do not want to know the seventh’s place of rest.

“When all this is over, you will have a being fueled by hatred and a desire for revenge and destruction with the powers of the greatest [Mages] to ever exist.

“After this is all over, one must hope for one last thing…”

She let the words hang in the air, waiting for someone to ask what was there to be hoped in such a dark story. Surprisingly, it was Lili who asked. For a moment, Alice felt guilty for telling this in front of her: “What must we hope for?”

“That one of the three witches discovers a way to become immortal, because if all three die there is nothing to keep that thing from doing whatever it wishes.”

Silence fell on the room.

“Was this ever performed in the past? And were you there?” asked Aria. Her tone was serious, without a single hint of a smile.

Alice nodded: “That my grandma knew, this happened only once, in the past, and it backfired so greatly that for centuries after witches and… the less savory sort who dislike light, shall we say, formed an alliance just to keep the thing at bay, just to be able to make it sleep in an unmarked grave dug in a hidden place in the woods of a great mountain, making it believe it was dead.

“I know the steps and the words for this abominable rite. My grandma taught them to me through warning tales. You say I’m a woman of the dark. Well, know that I have more things like this hidden away in the recesses of my mind. And know that I would never use them, not even in my darkest moment.”

Again, silence fell on the room.

Surprisingly, Commodora was the one to break it: “I don’t smell anything but truth in what she said so far. Calm down Beria. Or I will throttle you down the side of the mountain.”

Beria turned to look at her fellow witch, grimacing, but saying nothing else.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, after this warm welcome I’d rather like to go back to probably my only friend. Have a nice day.”

She smiled, stood from her kneeling position, her knees making it very clear what they thought about this choice, and began walking away.

…

Only to walk back blushing slightly: “Uhm… I don’t know the road to the village.”

----------------------------------------

“I’d like to ask you to forgive Witch Beria. She is young and hotheaded, and… well, one of her parents was taken from a Skinstealer. You can probably guess the rest from that.”

Yep, standard Deceased Parents are the Best Trope.

“Yeah, I can see. And hear.”

Aria chuckled.

“As a sign of forgiveness, would you like to take something from one of my gardens?”

She motioned at the expanse of flowers and vegetables and fruits, and Alice knew this was probably some sort of test.

A test that fit her perfectly. Somehow, this [Witch] had gotten a better read of her than anyone else in the house.

“I’d love to, Witch Aria.”

And she began rummaging around the flowers.

“May I ask, what kind of witch are you madame Aria?”

“Hmmm… a fair question: I’m a [Witch of the Forests]. The woods the world over may speak to me, and I can understand them. They sometimes tell me old secrets. And there’s a special place over in Irevia where one may hear them speak clearer when the winds blow and bells ring.”

That last part made no sense to her, but alright.

“Thank you for sharing,” she said genuinely.

And then her eye fell on something: a rose. It looked like any rose around it, and indeed, had she not been trained by years of playing ‘Spot the Difference’, she would’ve never noticed.

For this rose had exactly eight thorns, all placed in such a way as to remind her of a compass rose.

Immediately, she pointed at the flower: “I’ll be taking this.”

Witch Aria looked at her in disbelief, then at the flower, then back at her: “Really? Just… a rose?”

So she doesn’t know this too.

She… decided to explain: “This is a Wanderer’s Rose, Witch Aria. With the right rites, one may ask the rose to guide one’s way anywhere they desire. Although, they do tend to be quite mischievous in their answers. Like genies. Or faeries.

“But it doesn’t matter, these are exceptionally rare. I’ll take this, if it’s no problem.”

The witch didn’t understand, but she agreed nonethless. If the girl wanted the rose, let her take it.

She made a movement with her hand, activating a Skill, [Command Vegetation: Medium], and the flower uprooted itself.

Then she lifted her hat and put it on top of the small plant, like a magician would do before performing a disappearing trick. Luckily, the rose didn’t disappear when she lifted it.

“I gave it a little boost. It will survive for a week more. Now, let us go to the village.”

And on they went, to celebrate at the village.