Chapter 02

The fall of the evening finally sent the birds to their roosts and the crickets to sing in the once again swaying grasses. The sandy soil was on its way to becoming a rich sable. The cloudless sky promised an unfettered view of the heavens and the season constellations.

Traversing the hills, I grow strong against the increasing winds, muscles working all the more. In the trees is a gusting chorus, a song that is so confidently sung. I wrapped myself in the wool fabric of my cloak that gleamed in the starlight as the gale took fronds of hair and made them into lashes to beat against my face and blow above my head.

Glancing down into the mountain valley, I admired the town residing there. Lyngager is a merchant village with a bad-natured and mundane atmosphere. I find the place dreadful and how badly it takes away the natural beauty it stands surrounded by. I remember a time when there was no village; the thick luscious trees stood tall and proud, some of their trees bearing fruit for the creatures below, big and small.

Wild flora grew everywhere. The number of breeds of plants or flowers was simply immeasurable. I've spent many days and nights enjoying the beauty; meditating and painting some surrounding areas were my favorite hobbies. I didn't have to worry about reckless and needless damage to the site; at first, no one paid too much attention to the site. All they saw was an endless fjord, a bunch of rain, and mountains as far as their eyes could see.

That is until some desperate farmers traversed the land for miles, seemingly to have a finer understanding of the land, and took notice of how fertile the soil became after a decent rainstorm. Of course, being someone who keeps to herself, I didn't make my presence known; however, I've watched these humans expand and overcome many obstacles Mother Earth has thrown at them: Earthquakes, floods, landslides, and even blizzards to rid them from her land.

Mother Earth understands the need to survive. She provides us with so much, as long as you show gratitude. However, as the years passed and Lyngager, the small farming village, grew, Mother Earth began suffering greatly. Although, despite all her efforts, the humans once again proved how persistent they were and prevailed.

Lyngager has become a merchant village supported by traveling traders, leatherworking, crop trading, and wine-brewing. Despite it becoming its society now, I do not associate myself with them or any civilization setting. The mountains were all that conversed with me directly. I grew tired of the disallowing nature humans allowed themselves to live by; having to act a certain way, your class status hovered above your head, and determined whether or not you were worthy of being treated well.

I can be myself in my cottage on the hill and amongst the trees. I can strengthen my bond with the elements without the watchful eyes of judgment or going on in fear of being burned in the name of someone else god.

"Humans are weird and terrifying creatures, aren't they?" A voice echoed off the wind around me. They search for perfection in others, although there's no perfection in them. The voice laughed. "It sounds hypocritical if you ask me."

I ignored the words even when they spoke the truth. Humans were nothing but terrifying and basked in their hypocrisy.

Through the darkness, I began to make out the coarse, unevenly sized-gray stones that made up the walls of my cottage. The wooden roof and cracked stones were covered in a thick layer of moss, an amount so large its growth was reaching the porch roof. Yet, it didn't bother me. It blended well with the environment giving me the solitude I wanted.

The place was so old and of poor quality that it's surprising how it still stands today, yet, despite the imperfections, it was home. The gray ribbon of smoke rose from the old chimney, and the pale dim lighting from the window made it the only sign that someone dared to live there.

I slid down the hill to the back of the cottage and stepped through the fence just as my companion trotted towards me, her black coat blowing in the wind. A smile grew on my face as she touched me with her muzzle, the air from her nostrils blowing the hood of my clock off my head.

Reaching out, I gently rubbed her neck, and the touch made her tail quickly relax. "I'm back, Luna. Sorry fur bein' awa' fur so long."

Luna attempted to her muzzle underneath the cloth covering my basket, and I quickly turned away. "Hey, awright, those herbs' n' berries aren't fur you."

I reached into the basket pulling out a big red apple I had snatched from the farmer's orchard. "But don't worry, I managed to snatch a treat fur you."

Luna sniffed the apple first before taking half the apple in one bite, then took the other half from my hand. She neighed in approval, nuzzling my hair, and trotted back into her stable as the wind strengthened.

"Goodnight!" I called after her and headed towards the door of my own home. I entered the cottage through the backdoor, having to use a lot more strength against the powerful gusts to get the door closed and latched.

With a heavy sigh, I added more wood to the fire, using the poker to get the bright flame going. I let the flames warm my hands before standing and entering my study. I placed the basket on the table, and with a quick snap of my fingers, I produced fire inside the lamps hanging on the wall and ceiling. As the light illuminated the room, I removed my cloak, hanging it on the hook, and promptly faced the room.

I admired study. Colours varying from yellows, oranges, browns, purples, and blues were thrown into the mix. Every piece of furniture was handmade from the most substantial wood I've seen, and the amount of detail that went into each sofa, chair, and bookshelf was immaculate. On the bookshelves behind my work table, each contained leather-bound books of various colours and sizes, a plethora of titles, and many other fascinating artifacts and moments I've collected during my travel years.

I summoned a small journal to mind, flipping through the pages. Each page, front and back, is filled with marks divided into fives. Counting the days, weeks, months, and years since my retirement, the start of my solitude.

"I can't believe it's been two decades already."

I was more surprised yet relieved I managed to bring my journey to an end after only knowing how to jump from one area to another, avoiding attachments, and making my mission never to look back.

Closing the book, it immediately disappeared from my hand. I went around my workplace to one of the tall bookshelves and removed a book randomly. The book was one of my old sketchbooks; the leather was dry and cracked with age. It smelled of dust, like the inside of an old attic, and the fragile old pages were becoming delicate snowflakes with just the touch of my hand. However, despite the exterior, I couldn't help but smoke as I carefully flipped through the pages.

Each picture was hand-drawn of the beautiful sights I've seen. My favorites are the Whitnia Mountains in the Sillivell Dynasty, mountain ranges so vast it was as if they wished to challenge the skies. They dominated the snowy horizon in every way; the snow reached down from the cap in craggy white fingers. Up close, there were mighty cracks in the rock, intensely packed with ice.

Next was the Autumnade Heights, a beautiful mountain range with a vast forest below; however, true beauty was discovered upon standing on the mountain's highest point. A breathtaking view of many shades of trees; Green, red, yellow, orange, purple, and many other neutral colors that just went on for miles in every direction.

A smile crept on my face as I continued to flip through the pages. Many more sights, the kind people I've met, and everything I couldn't obtain, yet I wanted some record of it being discovered. Upon turning the page, my hand halted, the smile fading as I stared at the sketch before me. It was a dark forest I'd known all through my childhood. The moon was out, revealing all the leaves on the earth's floor; however, a burning cross stood in the middle of that dark forest.

The sketch appeared to come alive on the page the longer I stared at it. The wind began blowing, bringing dark storm clouds and rustling the leaves. The fire devoured the blackened cross, thick black smoke billowing into the skies covering the once-bright moon and plunging everything into darkness. Just as the screams touched my hearing, I quickly closed the book, placing it back on the shelf with a heavy sigh.

There is a better time to reflect on the past but now wasn't the time. Facing my workplace once again, I stepped over to the podium, my spell book resting closed upon it. The decrypted text was bound in dark purple leather; the thick volume smelled faintly of pipe tobacco and dust. It had some weight to it when I went to adjust it, and it had to be at least a few decades old. Although, the leather still felt soft and delicate as I ran my fingers over the faded gold bindings.

I fingered the gold lettering of the book's title, an ancient Wiccan language that has yet to be spoken in centuries. Opening the cover carefully, a twinge of sadness overcame me as a faint glow scrawled across the page, revealing the book's title and current and previous ownership.

Previous Ownership- Arabella and Leighton Ravenshire.

Current Ownership-Scarlette Ravenshire

A wave of sadness crashed into me and squeezed my heart as I swiped my thumb across the names, and before it could take hold of me, I quickly rustled through the pages. The pages rustled quickly, the words appearing only to disappear seconds later. "Here it is.." I said as I came to the section in need.

I touched the blank pages with my fingertips, revealing the section title and contents—Practices for Alchemy: Potions Recipes, Brews, and other Connections.

Alchemy is a relaxing yet ancient practice shrouded in mystery and secrecy and a practice I would never recommend to the impatient. Its methods are…sensitive, complex, and deathly when handled without common sense or care. Practitioners mainly sought to turn lead into gold, a quest that has captured people's imagination, particularly mortals, in the disguise of medical seeking for thousands of years.

However, the goals of alchemy went far beyond creating some gold nuggets for the higher monarchy and the greedy. Over time it has come to be used in multiple cultures to refer to any magical power or process of transforming a common substance, usually of little value, into a meaning of great value. In practice, alchemy has significantly contributed to the knowledge of chemistry and medicine, including ore testing and refining, metalworking, inks, dyes, paints, cosmetics, liquors, and many more.

Although the main uses for alchemy are "positive," there's a darker side to the subject. Those tainted by hate or greed would cause harm with poisons, ranging from paralyzes, nausea and even death. It's a reason why in the world of Wicca, only the most knowledgeable can harness its power.

Filling the cauldron with water, I lit the flame underneath and gathered the remaining ingredients and supplies from the shelves as I waited for the water to boil. But an electrifying pulse went down my spine while grinding some herbs and spices. A signal I received whenever someone crossed my wards. I halted my hand, and as I looked up, the galloping hooves' feigning sound broke through the silence.

I removed the pocket watch from my vest and clicked it open; fifteen minutes past ten. Due to the hostile wildlife within the fjord, Lyngager put a curfew in place; once the moon rises to its highest point, the gates will be closed, and no citizen is allowed to leave until the sun rises.

The galloping hooves stopped outside the front of my home, followed by the neighs of a horse.

"Who can be visiting at this hour?" The same embodied voice whispered curiously.

Knocking came moments later; they were rapid and echoed throughout the cottage. I remained quiet and unmoving. What should I do? I'm half determined to stand still until whoever's behind the front door leaves, thinking maybe nobody is inside, but then again, fooling anyone with lamps and fireplace burning would be difficult.

The rapid knocking came again, but with more force behind each knock. Almost as if desperate.

Sighing, I walked out of the room, shutting the curtain behind me. Alchemy isn't favored around this region. I've seen women, men, and children accused, beaten, and detained for petty crimes, but being accused of being or harboring a "devil's advocate" gets one burned alive.

The knocking came once more.

"Alright, Alright! Hold on!" I unlatched the door, opening it part way, but immediately regretting the decision.

A man who hadn't shaved in a while stood before me. He looked like a man who once had muscles, broad over the back and thick in the neck. To me, he's just another man, albeit one with some extra poundage to carry around. The light from the flames in his lantern illuminated his tired, worn face, and wrinkles bore deeply into his skin, highlighting his frustrated and fatigued expression.

I shouldn't be only staring, but I felt safe looking while he was half turned away. "Mr. Thompson, ye better have a good reason fur bein' outside th' village past curfew," I said, opening the door a bit more.

Mr. Thompson turned to face me and tilted his hat. I glanced down at the dark stains on his clothing, most likely from being drunk in an alley again.

"Good evening Scarlette." His gaze slowly trailed to my bodice, resting heavily on my cleavage.

"How can I help you sur?" I asked, closing my robe, acting as if it was the chilly weather for my sudden moment and not his uncomfortable gaze. My voice remained calm, attempting to mask my annoyance.

Mr. Thompson's eyes darted back to mine, clearing his throat. "I understand it's late, but do you have more of that remedy for those headaches?"

"What happened to th' boattle I gave ye?"

He sighed. "I'm afraid I've used it all."

"You best be joking. Th' whole boattle?!" I frowned. "I gave it to you two weeks ago. It should have lasted you at least a month."

I watched as Mr. Thompson's shoulder slumped and his eyes cast down in a mournful gaze. His mouth was set in a semi-pout, reminding me of a child who had just got scolded by his mother. But knowing this man, he's the type if you told him no; his entire personality is being switched.

With a heavy sigh, I opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come in. I might have another."

Mr. Thompson removed his hat and stepped inside. "Thank you, Scarlette."

I closed the door. "Ye'r welcome." I strolled over to go behind the curtain when I heard footsteps close behind. Looking at him, I stopped short of the purple and blue fabric. "Could you wait 'ere, please?"

Mr. Thompson halted, his eyes flashing with resentment and anger. He gulped nervously and tightened his grip on his hat, a clear sign I'd offended him. But his gaze didn't faze me, and I gave him my best fake apologetic smile.

"I don't allow guests past this point. This is ma private area 'n' I would appreciate it if it stayed that wey" I narrowed my eyes, returning a look of my own. "If ye don't mind?"

Mr. Thompson momentarily held my gaze as if contemplating his next move but cleared his throat and stepped back. "Of course, my apologies." He gave me one last look before waiting by the fireplace.

I gave him another smile, this one more sarcastic than the last, then disappeared behind the curtain, the smile immediately disappearing off my face. "Bampat bastard."

Every time that fandan stepped into my presence, I could feel the horrid aura surrounding him in an uneasy volume. And what made it so bad was that he wasn't even attempting to hide his true intentions. Although, What should I expect from a man who only cared about drinking, being unfaithful, and being a pathological liar?

He would drink the day away with the travelers at the pup, and with each person daring to listen, there would always be a new story of a unique situation. According to him, he had an infinite number of childhoods; his parents were happy, divorced, fighting, abusive, or dead. His dad had been a banker, a road digger, or a thief, whilst his mother had been a drunk, a member of the parliament, and once even a tart. All are followed by stories of being an only child, the last of seven, or brought up in an orphanage who worked in the fields.

Everyone in Lyngager knew he was a liar, and the only thing he ever accomplished was being a drunk and possibly a field worker; however, I never really cared what his past or lineage contained. All I saw in my eyes when I looked at him was a crude, sexist, and vile human who should be ashamed even to call himself a man.

"Is everything alright back there, Scarlette?"

I sighed, grabbing the bottle from inside the supply cabinet. "Impatient as ever."

"Beg your pardon?"

I came from behind the curtain smiling again. "Mr. Thompson, whin ye cam to me fur relief o' yer headaches dae ye remember whit I've told ye?"

Mr. Thompson scoffed, "I do, and it's nonsense you would assume it's my drinking. I'm a Thompson. We can hold our liquor."

"Obviously not."

It took some effort to hold back an immediate reaction, remembering some embarrassing and obscene situations Mr. Thompson faced when befuddled.

"Alright, Alright, I suppose you're right." I shrugged and held out the bottle, the red liquid sloshing about. "But ye're in luck. I had one left in stock."

Mr. Thompson reached to take it, but I took it out of his reach, giving him a stern look. A look no woman, other than his wife, would dare give him. "I'm only going to say this once, Mr. Thompson. This is th' lest one 'n' I won't hae anymair fur a while, so please use it sparingly. Tak' it all 'n' I won't be able to help."

Mr. Thompson nodded. "Of course."

I looked him in his eyes, expecting him to tell the truth for once, but I don't know why I was trying to fool myself. I already knew my warnings were falling on deaf ears. Mr. Thompson could never handle anyone telling him what to do, especially if said person was a woman.

I gave him the potion to get this man and his vulgar aura out of my home. I will need to burn some incense when he leaves.

Mr. Thompson turned the bottle over in his hands and then smiled at me. "Thank you, Scarlette. Lyngager would be in a bind without your knowledge of medicine. How much do I owe you?"

"Just this once, no charge. It's late. Just get home safe."

Many seasons ago, Lyngager was hit with a terrible plaque, and since then, I've created myself as a healer and been interested in providing healing and relief. I wasn't interested at first; honestly, I could have cared less about what happened to these people, but sensing and seeing so much death and having the knowledge and power to help wasn't settling too well with me. It had gotten so much that it was hard to sleep at night.

There were still deaths; of course, I can't save everyone; however, to ensure those dark days never return, I took pride in providing incense, teas, pain remedies, and any medical aid. I would refuse money and only accept anything of equal trade where the only exception was Mr. Thompson and any other wayward person.

It took some time and effort to get them to trust me, but I've had them believe I'm an average healer, just wanting to help people and make a difference wherever the world would take me. Yes, it's a bit cheap to be deceiving anyone and profiting off their struggles, but I'll do whatever it takes to keep my secret a secret and me off the cross. And besides, supplies for my potions and remedies are costly. I have to fund them somehow.

"You're such an angel Scarlette." Mr. Thomspn said.

Why is he still here?

I chuckled. "I wouldn't say that, but thank you, and ye're welcome. Now if that is all, I have a lot o' wirk needing to be done."

Mr. Thomspon reached up and caressed my face, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "What's the hurry? Why don't we sit and chat a bit more."

I sighed. Not this again. "Mr. Thompson, as flattering as that sounds, I suggest ye get home to yer wife. Ye don't want to worry her."

"You don't have to concern yourself with her." He said. "I can assure you that she's fast asleep." Mr. Thompson shortened the distance between us, and a strong smell of liquor clung to his clothing.

I stepped back but was met with the wall. "That isn't th' point. I'm telling ye to lea."

He closed the gap between us, his arm resting above my head and his face getting close to mine, and I almost gagged at his breath. "Mr. Thompson, please–oh my!" I gasped as he touched my hips and lifted me almost effortlessly onto his shoulder. It had taken me off guard that a man his age was still so vigorous.

"Put me down this instant!"

Mr. Thompson released me, and I collapsed onto the divan. His body hovered over mine, his hands pinning my arms above my head, and my body reacted instantly, tensing as his cold hands roamed underneath my skirt onto my thighs.

"I suggest ye put a stop to this," I said.

Mr. Thompson leaned down, kissing my neck with his rough tongue. "Don't be shy, Scarlette. There's no reason to put up with this facade anymore."

"What are you going on about?"

He pressed his body against mine, his fingers curling in my hair, and he got closer, taking in a breath as if taking in my scent. "I've heard many stories about women from your region secretly enjoying this treatment from a man."

"And who told you such a jesting lie?"

Mr. Thompson grinned. "From the many ranges of travelers at the tavern. But the amusing thing is that some seemed to have recognized you whenever you were in the area."

"I used to be a traveling medic," I said. "It's not surprising a few may recognize me."

He chuckled. "Sure, whatever you say…." He leaned down, whispering in my ear, "Azalea…."

I froze, taken aback by hearing that name once again. "H-How…"

"How do I know that name?" Mr. Thompson smirked. "That's what the travelers referred to you as. Said that's the name you used when you were a whore at a brothel of all places."

I quickly masked my surprise with a laugh. "'N' ye're going to believe th' wurds o' a few blootert men who think a' wummin look th' same?"

Mr. Thompson began kissing my neck again, licking my throat and collarbone before kissing just above my cleavage. A shudder went through my body at the sudden touch.

"How your body reacts to the simplest touch, the rumors must be true."

I could feel it rising in the pit of my stomach. It was like a volcano erupting, fury sweeping off me like ferocious waves. The wrath consumed me, engulfing my moralities and destroying the boundaries of my loyalty to my convictions.

"Let me kill him…."

The words surrounded me in the form of a whisper. A deep, almost commanding voice that seemed to embrace, hanging in my mind like a skulking mist.

"Just say the words, and I shall punish him for putting his vile hands on you."

With the adrenaline coursing through my system, threatening to shut down my ability to think logically, I almost gave the command, but I held firm and ignored the temptation of ending this vile man's life.

"Why the hesitation? Please do it. Or will you lie there and let this bastard violate you?"

My face burned hot with a rage that I struggled every day to keep suppressed to the point the expression caught Mr. Thompson's attention, and he halted his movements, a mixture of fear and confusion in his eyes.

I took the opportunity which presented itself to me. I brought my leg up between Mr. Thompson's legs with such force that it caused an immediate reaction.

Mr. Thompson's eyes bulged from his sockets, and an ungodly wail of pain escaped from his mouth, so loud I feared anyone around could have heard. He released his hold on me and collapsed to the floor in a fetal position, his hands clutching his groin.

"Bloody hell!" Mr. Thompson groaned, his whole body trembling in agony. He inhaled sharply as he tried to move. "You bitch, you kicked me in the bloody groin!"

"Pathetic…trying to play the victim."

I sat up. "'N' I would do it again!"

Mr. Thompson finally rose to his knees in a painful attempt to get up and glanced at me. "You're going to regret that, you damn whore." He used the fireplace mantel to pull himself to his feet, his body hunched over with a pained expression.

However, I was already on my feet, summoning one of the bigger kitchen knives in my hand. I pointed the weapon at Mr. Thompson, the newly sharpened trip brushing the skin under his chin. I held still, staring at Mr. Thompson, eyes locked on his.

I became intoxicated with an emotion I've vowed never to feel again, the acidity of it residing in my stomach waiting to be spat out in fowl and vulgar words. Or violence. But I held back; I wouldn't destroy all the changes I'd worked so hard to obtain by bringing myself down to this mortal's level.

Mr. Thompson glanced at the knife with wide eyes. "Where'd you get–"

I pressed the blade harder into his skin. "Silence! How dare ye trespass on my kindness. I invited ye intae my home, helped ye whin ye wur in need' n' this is whit ye do in return? Take advantage o' me 'n' poison my safe space wi' yer bloody perversions?!"

"I-I…" The color drained from his face, white as a sheet, and his eyes went wide with fear as he stumbled over his words.

"He has every right to be scared. He should be afraid of you." The embodied voice chuckled. "Show him who he pissed off."

My hand tightened around the hilt of the knife. They were right; this man's life was currently in my hands, and his not understanding or realizing that was laughable; however, with whatever willpower I had left, I relaxed, taking a few deep breaths.

No, I will not allow myself to fall to their gree.

The voice sighed, and I felt the heaviness of their disappointment. "That's a shame…."

I turned to face Mr. Thompson, and he stepped back as I approached. "Mark my words Scarlette. You will regret threatening and laying your hands on me."

"Oh, pure? I could have sworn ye leid yer hands on me first."

"It's my word against yours. Who's everyone going to believe?" He asked. "Me? Or a whore disguising herself as a doctor?"

I narrowed my eyes and closed the gap between us. "Careful sur, yer forgetting that this whore gets to decide whither ye walk out of here with ye baws intact."

Mr. Thompson pushed past me, running for the door, stumbling embarrassingly on the carpet and his feet.

Sighing, I slowly followed him. "Don't let him leave. I'm not finished with him yet."

A shroud of dark mist manifested around me before curling around Mr. Thompson's ankle, causing him to fall onto the floor, and the fog wrapped around the rest of his body, halting his movements.

"W-What is this?! Tell me!" He demanded, struggling to pull himself free, only to be unsuccessful.

I knelt, looking at him. "I wouldn't concert wi' my companion 'ere, but I advise not to struggle too much," I smirked. "I've bin told it gets…uncomfortable."

Mr. Thompson's eyes went wide, "T-This…This is the work of the devil. Y-You're one of them…Those…Those devil's advocates."

I sighed. "I prefer wiccan bit thank you fur reminding me o' yer ignorance."

Mr. Thompson frowned. "I knew there was something strange about you. If you're going to kill me, you better do it now because when I get free, you will burn."

I chuckled. "Normally, I wouldn't hesitate to murdurr ye fur whit ye'v dane, bit jammy fur ye I'm not that body anymair so ye kin rest assured that yer life wull remain intact."

If he keeps pissing me off, I might partake in a late-evening snack.

"You're lying."

I gave him a smirk. "If I wis lying sur, we wouldn't be huvin this chat richt now."

Mr. Thompson stared at me. "W-Who are you…?"

"I'm just a woman who enjoys spreading th' knowledge n' trying desperately for the sake o' her health and sanity to stay out of retirement," I said, lowered onto my knees, and reached for his head. "Now, enough of this. Let us get this over with."

"W-What in God's name are you doing?!"

I frowned, instinctively wrapping my hand around his throat. "Please don't use yer god's name in my home. Yer tyrant god insae welcomed here." I placed my hands back on his head. "Now please hold still, or th' outcome wull be worse fur you."

Closing my eyes, I peered into Mr. Thompson's mind shifting through his memories, sneering at some of his ill-fitting memories, and picking out the ones that were important to me. With each memory in my grasp, I took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and recited the enchantment.

Let memories of these events

Cease even to be past tense

Wipe the slate as clean as the air

Purge the mind of recent sorrow and damnations

Of memories dark and grim.

Erecudo Coremum

I opened my eyes to a dark purple aura surrounding my hands. "Listen well, Mr. Thompson. Yer to tak' whit ye cam 'ere fur 'n' lea my home. Dismiss tonight's event 'n' whit ye hae seen 'n' heard from yer mynd. Do ye understand?"

Mr. Thompson didn't say anything, only nodded his head slowly.

"Good." The glow disappeared from around my hands, and I let go of Mr. Thompson's head.

The black cloud around him untangled itself from Mr. Thompson and swirled around me before disappearing.

"It would have been better to kill him."

"I know, but we don't need a repeat o' lest time I lost my temper," I said. "A missing villager, that's going to cause a lot o' problems fur us."

Mr. Thompson stood up unmoving at first, his mouth was slightly ajar, and his eyes had this thousand-yard stare as if he was looking at something behind me. I stood up, calling his name, and he blinked, his eyes refocusing, and he looked around startled before eyeing me weirdly. "W-What…was I doing?"

"While we wur heading to th' door, ye wur telling me yer adventurous tales whin ye went silent," I said. "And whin I stopped 'n' keeked back at ye, ye hud this intensity in yer eyes as if reality escaped from ye."

I place my hand on his shoulder, feigning my concern. "Perhaps ye should be going home, Mr. Thompson."

Mr. Thompson cleared his throat, shrugging off my hand. "I suppose I should. It's getting late."

I guided him towards the door. "Indeed, I would like to retire myself." I opened the door, the wind blowing through the cottage passionately.

Mr. Thompson put on his hat, glancing back at me. "Thanks again, Scarlette. Have a good night."

"Likewise."

Without saying much else, Mr. Thompson left, getting onto his horse, the magnificent creature neighing loudly before his galloping hooves echoed down the thoroughfare.

I closed…well, more like slammed the door shut and leaned my head against it, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Well…that went well… I know it's a dumb question, but are you alright? I mean…do you think it's wise what you've done?"

"I didn't have many options, given my situation."

"You could've just let me handle it."

"I could've, but," I chuckled. "Ye would've killed that human if I just let ye handle it."

I took a few steps forward, my study being the destination in mind, but came to a halt, my whole body tensing and pulsing as pain erupted in my back. The pain wasn't sharp, as if I was being stabbed or a needle being forced into my skin. It burned like a scorching fire. I attempted to take a slow step forward but gasped, collapsing to my knees and biting on my tongue to keep a scream from escaping. Sharp pain raced through my head, and colorful spots flashed against my vision.

"Scarlette-"

"I-I'm…fine…" I gasped, legs unable to carry my weight, and painfully crawled to the steps. I waved my hand, extinguishing all the flames from the fireplace and lamps and bringing the cottage into complete darkness.

"You're not okay, Scarlette. The curse is starting to flare up."

I didn't say anything as I concentrated on pulling myself up the wooden staircase to my bed champers. Once in my room, I quickly removed my robes and bodice and turned my back towards the mirror, grimacing as the curse mark on my back blared a violent red, blood beginning to run from the outer edges of the brand.

"As I said earlier, you should've known this was coming. It happens every time you use forbidden enchantments on a human."

"Shut it…I don't need to hear any gloating about you being right.." I wheezed, collapsing onto the bed. My breathing became heavy, and my body perspired as my body temperature went up unsafely a few more degrees than it should.

I rolled over, curling into a ball. All I could do was writhe in self-loathing and pain, with an occasional whimper of immense discomfort escaping, echoing off the walls. Soon after, the tears poured from my eyes, spilling down my face, only evaporating against my hot skin. I felt my chin tremble like a small child as I tried to hold on to my consciousness.

The beads of water fell one after another without giving a sign of stopping. Muffled sobs wracked through me as I hugged the pillow until the world began shifting, my vision clouding and unclouding, and eventually, it all started fading, the darkness pulling in from the edges. The pain was still there, but my consciousness was not, and it was as if I had lost all sense of feeling.

I felt air caress my cheek, wiping the fresh tears from my face. It was soft, delicate, even, and warm, reminding me of my mother's touch whenever I would fall asleep with my head in her lap. My eyes began closing, and amid everything growing dark, I heard the gentle hum of a tune my mother would sing to me whenever I had trouble falling asleep.

My body relaxed as I listened to the quiet, gentle melody, even as everything darkened and I passed into the oblivion of unconsciousness.