The Witch

The woman pounced, claws poised, ready to rip the young man apart.

"Wait!" the boy raised his hands, showing the witch an object.

She stopped in midair, melting back into her black fog, only to reappear directly in front of the young man, face pressed up to the object.

"This...I've never let it out of my sight. How could you have it?" the witch snatched the object away from the boy.

"You gave it to the previous me. That means you must do it again in order to preserve the timeline, right?"

The witch growled. "Then why can't you use this one?"

"Because it's broken. The last owner broke it, trying to send someone back in time."

"You-! It was that girl, the one not here, isn't it?"

The boy thought for a moment. Then he nodded. "So can you give it to me?"

The witch glared at him. She disappeared back into black mist, slipping into one of the back rooms of her house. She reappeared with the object the boy was looking for in her hand.

"You know the rules of this, don't you?" she probed, dropping the object into the boy's hands. "In case you forgot, I have the instruction manual right here."

The witch pulled out a thick booklet with the words "rewind nine" written in her choppy handwriting on the front. The young man took it, stuffing the booklet into his cloak.

"One more thing before you go," the witch said, turning around to pick up an old and weathered picture frame. "Bring me Medea du Ciel when the son of Viscount Borealis dies."

"May I inquire why?" the boy asked, opening the door to leave.

"We wouldn't want a paradox, now would we?"

Nodding, the young man left the small cottage. The witch turned back to the picture frame. She blew the dust off of the glass. She stroked a gangly, clawed hand over the picture.

"It's been so long. I've almost forgotten who I am."

The witch closed her eyes as her black, smoky hair faded slowly into forest green. Her eyes, glowing with inhuman power, faded until they were a dull teal. Her ghostly white skin regained its liveliness and color. She walked away from the picture, moving to the curtained window. She pulled the curtains open.

"It's almost time. One more adventure. One more spell. Then we can be together again."

The sunlight streamed into the small cottage, illuminating the entire room. The witch turned back to the picture. She looked at it, but this time, it was not the image of a stranger. It was a mirror of herself. She reached out a hand, and the curtains snapped shut once more. As the light faded from the room, the witch melted back into her original appearance. She picked up the picture frame, gingerly extracting the picture from inside. She placed the faded image into her pocket. A few days ago, she had sensed the disappearance of two powerful spirits from the world. At the same time, she had sensed a strange fluctuation in magic near the beginning of the story. The witch understood completely.

"Your move, my dear regressors."

***

Zechariah was very thoroughly drunk. It was probably not the best idea to stay in the ballroom in his state. He stumbled out into the hallways of the palace. He could barely walk straight. The walls and columns blurred in front of him. Reaching his hands out, he felt around. Despite his desperate efforts, he could not prevent himself from smashing into a statue that had been strategically placed in the middle of the hallway. Zachariah stumbled away from the statue, hand caressing his face.

"Are you alright, sir?" a small voice peeped from behind him.

He turned around, slipping over his own foot and falling into a young girl's arms. She screamed, dropping Zechariah onto the floor.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, sir!" she apologized, kneeling down to make sure that he was alright.

"I'm f-fine."

The girl examined the young man. He reeked of alcohol. She looked around to make sure that nobody else was around. Now that she was sure that they were alone, she began quietly chanting a simple spell. A light glimmer of sparkles descended over Zechariah, and he was immediately lifted from his drunken state.

"Hi, I'm Medea du Ciel. What's your name?" the girl said, lifting the young man up to a seated position.

"I'm Zechariah Borealis. You can call me Zeke if you want."

"Do you go to Eldritch Academy? My sister goes there! Her name's Marianne. Do you know her?"

Zeke laughed nervously. "Yeah, I do."

"Isn't she so cool? She can do magic! Isn't that so awesome? I can barely cast a single spell!"

"Didn't you just-"

"Oh," Medea's voice dropped to a whisper. " It's just a simple chant to get rid of drunkenness that I learned from my stepmom. Please don't tell anyone about that. My mother will get really mad at me. I'm not supposed to be able to do that."

Zeke nodded. "Why aren't you allowed to use magic?"

Medea stiffened. "You know my brother, Icarus, right? Well I'm not supposed to be better than him, since he's supposed to be the next duke after my father. He also tried to get into the academy, but he didn't and Marianne did, so my mother is really annoyed right now."

An awkward moment of silence passed.

"Anyways, let's be friends, Zeke!"

He nodded.

"Just promise to never leave me alone, okay?"

He nodded again. But that was one promise he could never keep.