The Home

Nightingale walked in the Mist.

In it, she could see the world had only two colors, black and white.

The outline of all things turned vague, and the lines that used to be straight were folded, and curved, as incomprehensible and abstract as doodles painted by children.

The feeling was hard to get a sense of, and it took her a long time to distinguish the different types of lines. If she handled them well, there was nothing that would restrain her, and she could travel unimpeded in the Mist. Though the wall seemed to link up into one stretch, with a little change of the angle, she could see a gate to the real world, a gate that never existed in reality.

In the Mist, the concepts of up, down, forward, and backward were not consistent, and they would shift and even overlap. Now she did this again and sneaked into the castle under guards' noses, following the changeable lines. Step by step through the void, she went through the ceiling and entered Anna's chamber.

For Nightingale, it was an absolutely free world.

The Mist was the only place where she truly felt at peace. Quiet and lonely as it may be, she enjoyed the safe, unthreatened feeling it gave her.

Mostly, it was black and white, but sometimes she could see other colors.

Such as the color of Anna who was in front of her.

Different from ordinary people, the witches were an aggregate of magic power which was the only color in the Mist, and Nightingale could see how the power flowed and faded.

However, she had never seen colors as strong and rich as Anna's. There was a dark green light glittering on her that led to a dazzling bright white core. Nightingale was confused. Generally, the color of magic power was connected to the owner's performance of ability, and for the witches that she knew in the Witch Cooperation Association who had the power to control fire, the light that shone out of them was dark red or orange and shaped like a fireball. Whether in size or radiance of light, Anna's fire was far above theirs.

In addition, there was something even more miraculous.

How was she still alive with so much powerful energy converging on her?

Of all the witches in the Witch Cooperation Association, no one had power as strong as Anna, not even the adults. And when Anna became an adult...

Nightingale sighed. She knew that Anna no longer had any hope. The bite grew with power, and she was afraid to even imagine what horror would come to Anna when the Demonic Torture began. She knew the feeling too well. From your skin to your guts, the constant sharp pain tore at you, keeping you conscious until the moment you gave up and accepted death.

Stepping out from the Mist, she restrained the depressed mood and braced herself up, greeting, "Good morning, Anna."

Anna, who had been used to Nightingale's abrupt and uninvited visits, nodded. She did not reply but continued practicing with her fire.

Rubbing her nose, Nightingale headed to the girl's bed and sat down.

She had seen Anna practice many times, from the beginning when she set fire to her own robes accidentally and had prepared a full bucket of robes in a shed in the backyard garden till later when she could easily make the flame dance on her fingertip, and Roland had to dismiss the supervision and take down the shed to make room for afternoon tea and sunbath.

Even so, Anna still followed the old instruction of Roland and kept practicing two or four hours every day in her own chamber.

"I've brought some fish cake, do you want some?" Nightingale took out a little bag and unfolded it, handing it over.

Anna smelled it and nodded.

"Go and wash your hands." Nightingale smiled, feeling lucky that Anna did not hate her but was simply bad at talking. In fact, Anna barely even talked to Nana who she cared about so much. She scarcely talked to anyone except Roland.

In contrast, Roland talked too much of his endless principles. Even for dinners, he had many rules, like washing hands before eating, eating slowly, and never putting anything that dropped on the floor into your mouth, etc. He could go on and on about every principle.

Though Roland's sermon sounded annoying to her at first, she had to listen and obey because Roland, the fourth Prince of Graycastle and the lord of this land, had accommodated her under his roof. Now, she actually formed those habits and somehow, felt a sense of odd fun when competing with Roland and Nana to be the first one to wash hands.

Anna washed her hands in a pail and lit a little fire to dry them before she pinched a fish cake and returned to her table and ate it slowly.

"Did you really make up your mind not to return with me?" said Nightingale, trying to start a conversation. "We have a lot of sisters there and they would take care of you."

"Over here, the castle is the only place you can stroll and roam. It's quite boring, isn't it?"

"Indeed we don't have much food or goods, but we're a family having joined together for the same purpose."

"A girl like you who has such power will be most welcome."

"I'm afraid that you'll not make it through this winter..."

Nightingale's voice lowered. "Maybe it's too late," she thought. Even if she went back to the camp, Anna's power was so strong that she would never survive the adulthood. All Nightingale could do was to watch her die.

"Where did you live before joining the Witch Cooperation Association?" Anna asked.

Nightingale waited for a little while, for Anna barely asked her anything. "I... used to live in a big city in the east, near the capital."

"Were you happy?"

"Happy? No." It was a piece of memory she would never recall. It was when she had to depend on others for a living, being despised and mocked. And things turned worse when she found out she was a witch. She was watched and chained around the neck, just like a cat or dog, forced to follow their commands. Nightingale shook her head and asked softly, "Why are you asking?"

"I used to live in the Old District." Anna briefly went through her story. "My father sold me for 25 gold royals to the church. It was His Highness who released me. I'm very happy here."

"But you cannot get out of this castle. Except for Roland Wimbledon, everyone still hates witches."

"I don't really care about it, and he promised that he would change them all, didn't he?"

"As long as the church stands, witches will always be treated as evil, and that will make the change extremely difficult."

Anna did not contradict her and was quiet for so long that Nightingale thought she would never speak again. Then she asked suddenly, "What place makes you happier to live in, the Witch Cooperation Association or here?"

The question caught Nightingale unprepared, and she was flustered. "What, what're you talking about? O-of course, it's..."

The Witch Cooperation Association? Honestly, she did not have much interest in searching Holy Mountain, but in the association, she had some friends who she would never leave behind.

Border Town? She would not have been here if she hadn't heard the news of endangered witches!

The answer was obvious, so why was she hesitating?

This time, a smile appeared on Anna's face, the smile that Nightingale had hardly seen. Her eyes were as clear as water in the lake twinkling in the early sun, and brought her a feeling of odd relief – even though she did not walk in the "Mist". "Roland used to tell me that you girls are looking for the Holy Mountain among the northern mountains, and I've found mine if it's the safe and home that you want to find there."

Nightingale realized Border Town was Anna's Holy Mountain. However, death was coming upon her, and her spirit would approach the next world earlier than most witches.

There were hurried footsteps outside the door. Listening carefully, Nightingale figured out it was from Nana.

The door was flung open before Nana dashed in.

She ran into Anna's arms, weeping, and said, "Anna, my sister, wh-what should I do? My father has found out I'm a witch."