The Lucky Wine Of The Witch

Every time a young girl came forward, it caused those guests to talk.

The lucky wine came in handy at this time. The lady served by the girls opened and sealed the casks, and the girl called would be given a goblet first and poured a sip of the wine to strengthen her nerves.

The birth wine is full of the goddess's blessings, and powerful magical inspirations are born from it, like a gradually filling stringed moon, and the young witch is about to be transformed.

Dill saw that Kristina was the first to go up to the stage; she was the oldest and most mature girl, but even so, Dill could see her shaking hands.

When Kristina drank the first cup of the Lucky Wine, which was served on a silver-rimmed white ram's horn, Dill realized that her hands had stopped trembling, and when she looked up again, her eyes had never been brighter, and there was an incredible excitement in them, as if she were learning about the world for the first time, and her face was full of hopeful confidence.

Each of the shy and restless girls came back glowing, seemingly renewed, and as the Grand Witches had said, from now on they would no longer be younglings cowering under the wings of the Moon Goddess; they would be fierce and beautiful hunters.

Helena nearly stumbled nervously but finally managed to fish a set of sterling silver saddles out of the cold water; even Veranica drew a gleaming sterling silver bishop. When Gnesse got a silver crossbow, it drew loud cheers and applause from everyone in the room, and Amber even went up to her and hugged her.

When she heard her name, Dill took a deep breath. Her body and brain were completely separated; her body was still functioning, but her brain was a blank slate, not knowing what to do next.

It was as if there was a mist of water around her, the countless faces ambiguous and blurred. The exotic black-haired girl slowly walked out of the silver sea, and everyone's eyes followed her. Then there was the big white goose swaying behind her, walking. White hips, raised head and chest, as if showing off the saffron knot on her neck. Once again, the turnips came into play, sharing the pressure of the little master's gaze.

When a goblet full of wine was handed to her, Dill didn't even think twice about reaching for it and taking the first sip.

The night of the wine flowed into her throat; at first, it was as gentle as milk, but she did not taste sweetness; instead, a sourness suddenly spread from the tip of her tongue. The refreshing and tingling taste for a moment made Dill think of the wine Amber had sent her, but soon, too much freshness and fierceness struck the teeth, and the violent waves of the sea lapped at her mouth, annihilating Dill to the very top.

Dill's hand began to tremble as she held the glass, but the wine wasn't finished yet, and each sip was nearly acidic to the roots of her teeth. Dill couldn't help but wonder if this was the moment the test began.

Just before Dill dropped the glass and vomited, perhaps it was the witch's fire taking effect in her body or the goddess's mercy, the last sip of the wine gently wrapped around her fragile tongue like honey and then caressed down her bruised throat.

As if the sourness of the beginning had dispelled all distractions, the sweet aftertaste lit a small fire in her chest, granting her courage.

Dill emptied her glass back onto the silver tray in front of the crowd, with not a drop left.

She walked steadily up the flower-covered steps, recognizing Amber's face at once. The woman was covered in a strangely beautiful jeweled mask, in which a pair of glittering emeralds gazed down at her.

You did it. Dill said to herself mentally, in Amber's voice. It was as if she were back in the moonlit forest, peering into the night under a hidden fan of leaves, and it gave her more strength.

Dill had never felt so strong.

The black iron crucible was filled with molten silver, and the girl took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the crucible tongs in her hands.

If the legend of the Lucky Wine is true, then Goddess of the Moon, please grant the inspiration of magic to your loyal followers!

She slowly poured the mold in front of the Moon Goddess, and the silver slurry flowed, and when the cold water instantly boiled and gathered a mysterious mist, she fought and fished out an item from it with her iron tongs.

???? What the hell?

Dill's first thought was that she was drunk, and as someone behind her reached out and nudged, Dill reacted by immediately displaying the concocted item in front of the crowd.

Her mind was in turmoil, thinking only that she could at least make out the shape; at least it was an item, not food. But the murmurs around her quickly brought her back to her senses. A mountain of oddly curious stares nearly overwhelmed her.

The young girl was holding a delicate silver cup in her hand.

Dill felt like she was announcing to the crowd and the werewolves:

Fresh Witch with Fat White Goose is a value-priced deluxe meal, and now it comes with a drinking cup.

When the last maiden had completed the ceremony, the women's revels began.

A witch took a silver cauldron and cracked open the vat, and a fountain of fresh wine gushed forth; there were more fresh pies than could be counted, and a wagon carried mountains of rye bread; and the spoils of the hunt on the night of the new moon were set on the fire and coated with honey and spices in a rich, golden color.

Helena rushed excitedly into Dill's arms. She gave her many blessings and praised the moon god upside-down. Dill looked at her slightly red face and wondered a little what had been added to the birth wine that had been brewed for more than ten years.

But judging by Helena's and the other girls' reactions, they seemed invariably inspired in ways they had never been before, perhaps by the magical inspiration brewed in the birth wine.

Dill's head was still spinning; perhaps it was confusion, disappointment, or the alcohol, or all three? She had gotten used to the feeling of rekindling her hopes every time she was all warmed up and then quickly cooled to the bone.