Conjured - Chapter 2

Welp, I immediately went over the 2000 word count limit I was imposing on myself. Ah well! :p

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Roch was back to normal, in body if nothing else. 

The witch had restored his height as soon as she’d collected herself enough to do so, and he’d led her up the stairs from her basement workshop into the cottage above it. Still sniffling, she’d packed herself tightly into the corner of a massive sofa—it looked bigger and softer than Roch’s bed—and buried her head against her knees. 

Roch left her like that as he stepped into her kitchen. He was struck by how… normal it seemed. A modest oven, a cupboard with various dishware, two small pantries, and little else. Roch had always imagined the Witch of the Pale Moon living in an old shack made of rotting wood, men dangling by the ankles from meathooks hung from the ceiling as their blood drained down into her cauldron. The reality was that her home didn’t look all that different from his own.

At least, not at first glance. As he opened one of the pantries, he was stunned to find that it was cold as Winter within. The shelves were filled with various cuts of raw meat, chicken, beef, venison, and a few he didn’t recognize, all coated in a thin veneer of frost. There was so much! Surely she couldn’t eat all of this before it spoiled… no, of course, that was what the cold was for. It was just like how they’d use snow to preserve food in the winter, but her magic let her do it year-round.

He closed the enchanted pantry and checked the other, which was far more mundane. It contained exactly what he was looking for: a kettle and tea leaves. He didn’t know the Witch, didn’t even know her name (do witches have names?), but he did know that a nice cup of tea was the first step, a small but important one, to mending heartache.

…Why did he care? The woman had kidnapped him from his home, worked her magic upon him to begin stealing his life away. He’d grown up hearing horror stories about all the terrible things she did out in the woods, stories that even his grandparents had been told as children. He shouldn’t be brewing tea, he should be escaping, sprinting for the front door and running through the woods ‘til his legs gave out. His family must be worried sick for him, and Alara had likely already woken up half the town to arrange a search party. 

So what was he doing?

For some reason, Roch just couldn’t bring himself to leave her like this. She was hurting. As far as he could tell she was alone out here, without so much as a housecat to keep her company. Despite the horror stories, despite her having kidnapped him… running away now just felt wrong. 

Not to mention, there was still a possibility that this was all some kind of game or trick, that she was putting on an act and would drop it the second he tried to make a move. Even the oldest members of the village were told stories as children about the Witch of the Pale Moon seducing stray men and draining the life out of them; why would she suddenly grow a conscience tonight?

He’d make her a cup of tea and try to talk to her. Maybe he really could convince her to let him go, and if he couldn’t… well, at that point there’d be nothing to lose, he might as well give running another try.

His plan was immediately stymied as he realized he couldn’t find where she kept her water, and it wouldn’t matter if she did, because there was no firewood in her oven.

She probably just uses magic. Which does very little to help me.

Cautiously, he stepped back out into the sitting room, kettle in hand. The Witch was exactly how he’d left her, curled in a ball on her sofa, her hair having faded to a dull, lifeless grey.

“Um…” he said, clearing his throat. Her eyes darted up to meet his as he held the kettle up. Her eyes were swollen, red, and wet. She’d sobbed so hard that she had broken blood vessels all around her eyelids. She looked like an absolute wreck… and yet, somehow, she was still the most beautiful creature Roch had ever seen.

“I was, trying to see about making us some, I mean… I thought some tea might…”

The Witch burst out in another fit of sobs, inky blue once more rolling through her hair.

“Y-you’re so nice, even after everything… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” She continued whimpering apologies as Roch set the kettle down, awkwardly approaching her.

Okay, so he’d have to figure out how to calm her down without tea.

He sat down on the sofa next to her, practically feeling like he’d fall straight through the cushion it was so soft. He raised a hand to set on her shoulder but stopped himself, worried that it might be too familiar of him. Instead, he rubbed his palms on his thighs awkwardly, searching for something to say.

“Er… So…” Gods, he was bad at this. “I understand that you’re, um, upset. Uh, but. Maybe, we could make a deal? I’ll forget all this and, um, you know, forgive you, if you just let me go home?”

The witch started bawling even harder, tears staining her lavender robe. Okay, that was the wrong thing to say. Why was it the wrong thing to say?

Maybe he should try to be less direct. “Um. You, uh. You have a lovely home.”

“Gods. Of course you’d try to cheer me up. Of course. I did too good of a job on this stupid spell.”

“...What spell? No, no, please, I’m sorry!” He seemed hardly capable of uttering a syllable without giving her another sobbing fit. So, he decided to just sit quietly and wait for her to speak.

“...Sorry. I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I…” She heaved a loud, heavy sigh. “I owe you an explanation. And much, much more than that, but…” She shut her eyes tightly, covering her face as she released her legs, hunching over.

“You… don’t really seem much like an evil man-hunting witch.” It was a stupid thing to say, but it came out of Roch’s mouth before he could really think about it.

“Ha!” her tone was bitter and sardonic. At least it was a new reaction. “Would you believe me if I told you that all those stories they tell about me are lies? That I’ve never hurt a soul?”

“Um. I suppose… it’s possible?” Honestly, Roch didn’t know what to think. With another sigh, the Witch leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. Her hair was slowly fading to a brighter shade of blue.

“My name… my real name, is Elsidora. Though no one’s called me that in a very long time. Might not even be anyone alive that remembers that name. As a girl, I lived in the village as an apothecary’s apprentice. I was good at it. People… liked me. In fact they liked me so much that they started a collection to fund a trip for me to the capital, where I could study real, proper medicine. That was… that was such a wonderful time.”

“I was determined to make the village proud, to learn enough to come home and take care of it. Eventually, the school of magical arts took notice of the peasant girl posting top marks in all her classes, and invited me to study with them. It’s not a far walk from tinctures to potions, after all.” As she spoke, her hair slowly faded from blue to a soft, faintly glowing gold. “I loved it. It was like the entire world had opened up to me. Of course, I never forgot why I was there. To the contrary, I focused all my studies on finding ways to combine medicine and magic. It was so exciting, working on new ideas, arguing with peers and professors as we developed theories together. I miss it all the time.”

“W—er, uh, E-Elsidora… When was all this? I’ve never heard of any magic school. I mean. Magic is outlawed. Has been for… I don’t even know how long.”

Elsidora smiled sadly at Roch. It was as though her golden hair was tarnishing. “Yes. That all happened shortly after I was expelled. The church caught wind of my thesis, and threatened to excommunicate the king if he didn’t stop me.”

“Your… thesis?”

“My final project. The most potent medicine ever concocted. One dose, and the body stops aging. Permanently.” Roch’s eyes went wide. “How old do you think I am?”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t really know…” It was the truth. On one hand, the woman in front of him couldn’t possibly be older than 30. On the other, stories about the Witch of the Pale Moon went back further than anyone alive could remember. He’d assumed she must use that stolen life force to stay young, or that maybe she was really an old crone that made herself look beautiful with a glamour.

“I was kicked out of school about 280 years ago. The school itself was shuttered less than a year later. I’m living proof that my potion worked. But… the church thought it was sinful, said that it held people back from going home to the gods. They had all my research destroyed.”

“Gods…” Roch was utterly enraptured, both by her story and by her melancholic beauty. The longer he stared into her tear-stained face, the more he wanted to reach out and embrace her. He shook his head, dismissing the impulse, ashamed that the Witch—that Elsidora—was so effortlessly capable of tempting him to betray his loyalty to his wife. “So, what then?”

“Well, I returned home.” Her hair began fading back to blue. “We’re pretty remote out here, it takes a long time for news to reach us. I thought, maybe, if I came back and did good work, that maybe it wouldn’t matter when my reputation as a heretic and a criminal caught up to me. But… it didn’t matter. Everyone here was so fearful and superstitious that they declared me a witch and ran me out of town long before word of my crimes reached them. I had nowhere to go. My own family had rejected who I’d become and my old friends couldn’t be seen associating with me, or with each other for that matter. So… I built this little house out in the woods, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“That’s… terrible. It must get so lonely.”

A few streaks of burnt orange shot through Elsidora’s blue mane. “It’s not so bad. I keep myself busy, researching magic. I can conjure just about anything I want, but I prefer to make tinctures and remedies by hand, gives me something to do. I go out in disguise and trade them at the market, so, I do get to see other people from time to time.”

“...Where do the stories come from? About you abducting men?”

Elsidora laughed, though her hair remained an inky blue, spiderweb cracks of orange working through it. “Catch me in a lie, why don’t you? Alright, yes, I’ll admit it… it gets lonely out here. Pretty… painfully lonely. And… perhaps, from time to time, when I’ve seen a young man taking a stroll through the woods… perhaps I’ve seen if he wanted some female companionship.”

“But, why would—”

“I’m getting there.” A dull, pinkish red had appeared to mix with the orange and blue. The same shade that was now filling Elsidora's cheeks. “I’m… I’m not good, with men. Alright? I never really learned how to… flirt. At my most social I was a bookworm whose idea of a fun conversation was arguing the merits of potions versus elixirs, and I haven’t been at my ‘most social’ for nearly 300 years. So I come off as off-putting.” The idea that anyone would find the beauty sitting next to Roch “off-putting” was the least-believable part of her story yet. “Or, maybe I expose some magic without thinking, or they just deduce who I must be given that I’m a strange woman that lives in the woods, and they run off screaming."

“You haven’t had a hard time speaking to me tonight.”

All at once, her hair descended back to midnight blue. “Well, it’s… different, tonight. I…” She sobbed once, but then fought it back. “I was feeling… a little desperate. I just, I haven’t had anyone to be… to be with in longer than several lifetimes, and. And… You know the worst part, about all those stories about me? They don’t really hurt my feelings. Maybe they did at one point, I don’t know, but… being an evil witch sounds sort of…. fun. I would never want to hurt anyone, never, but, as a… as a fantasy. Seducing a handsome, broad shouldered man, bending him this way and that with my magic, having my way with—” her hair exploded in a shade of pink so bright that Roch had to look away before it faded to a duller tone. “Anyway! Um. Tonight, I was… desperate enough to give it a try. And, and I thought maybe if I was in-character as the Witch of the Pale Moon, then, then maybe I wouldn’t be so nervous. I’m so, so sorry Roch. It was a stupid, stupid thing of me to do. I’ve never been more ashamed.”

Roch gave her a sympathetic smile and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. Nearly 300 years alone… I think it would drive anybody mad. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been alone for so long.” Eyes welling up, she reached out and hugged him, and he returned the embrace, gently stroking her back. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright. No harm done. I’ll even tell you what. I can come visit you from now on.” She suddenly tensed up in his arms. “We can’t do… the kinds of things you had in mind. I’m married, and I love my wife very much.” Orange blazed through the darkness of her hair like a fire in the night. “But we can be friends! You must have so many incredible stories, and I’d love to hear all of them. Maybe I can even try and convince the village that they have you all wrong. But tonight, all I want is to go home to my family. Can you send me home? Or at least show me the way?”

She pulled away to look into his eyes, and Roch was surprised to see that she looked more upset than ever.

“You… you can’t go home,” she squeaked out, struggling to hold in her tears. Roch felt panic slowly rising in him.

“Why can’t I go home, Elsidora?”

“B-because… Because… you don’t have a home, Roch.” Wait. When had he told her his name? “Alara, Wynn… they’re not real. You…

“You didn’t exist until I conjured you an hour ago.”