A cold wind blows past her head, billowing the strands of her freshly washed hair out to the sides. As it moves, the cold fingers of the breeze touching her scalp, Fresh realizes how long her hair has grown since the start of her ‘new life’. All of the long, golden strands are already reaching down past her shoulders at this point.

She stands out on the balcony, staring up at the sky, together with Basil. The other two have gone to bed, after helping them carry the harvest-moonwater down to the basement. Shamrock, in order to process his latest trauma of the day, bestowed upon him by some particularly ‘aggressive’ customers clearly needed the sleep. While Jubilee had simply said that they wanted no part of any ‘witch-fuckery’ tonight.

But that’s fine. Fresh and Basil had made their way up to the balcony again after setting everything up downstairs, not for any particularly productive reasons. They just wanted to look at the high hanging, perfectly round, orange moon together for a while, before they start their work down in the dark basement.

The air tonight is filled with a sound that Fresh hadn’t expected up here on the mountain, however. Night-bird song. The orange, rust-tinged world is filled with a heavy whistling and cooing, as flocks of birds, on their way to somewhere warmer from higher up north, stop on the mountain to rest and their many voices now fill the darkness with a somber nocturne.

Autumn is upon them now; half a year has already come to pass since her arrival here.

Fresh can’t help but feel bewildered at this fact. So much has happened, yet also so little. She doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. But that’s okay, feelings could be saved for tomorrow. Tonight, there’s work to do.

Basil has been explaining to her what the harvest-moon meant to everyone, at least in the church, as a symbol of the changing seasons and of everyone’s changing lives. Fresh, in turn, had explained to Basil how it’s relevant to her as a witch, which as always, made Basil a little uncomfortable. But the priestess seems to be doing her best to be understanding. Fresh is surprised how quickly Basil had accepted her true ‘witchy’ nature.

But she thinks that she realizes that the soft-spot that Basil seems to have for her, runs deeper than the beliefs which she was instilled with. Though, those two deep channels of her character likely intersect every so often, causing some internal turmoil in the priestess.

“You ready, Basil?” smiles Fresh over to her.

Basil nods back at her. “I’m ready. Let’s get started.”

“Bubble bubble!” smiles Fresh, turning around to go downstairs.

“Huh?”

“Oh, uh… it’s a thing you say,” explains Fresh. “Before you start doing work like this.”

“Is it?”

Fresh thinks for a second, scratching her cheek. Is it? That’s a good question. Deciding that she doesn’t actually know, Fresh does what any reasonable person would do. She nods and says that it is.

“Huh…” says Basil. “Uh, bubble-bubb-IAH!” Basil lets out a surprised shout as Fresh grabs her hand and hurries down to the basement. There is a lot of work to do and the night will only stay young for so long, much like them.

Downstairs, the basement is alight with many burning candles, with the light of the fireplace, the light of Basil’s lantern which floats at her side, as well as the radiant glow, flowing out of the large crystal that hangs above the planters.

There is a second cauldron that she had asked Shamrock to buy, full of harvest-moonwater, together with stacks and stacks of tightly sealed jars. The supply would have to last for a while, as a real harvest-moon only comes twice in the year. Once during the end of summer and once near the end of autumn.

While the fake harvest-moonwater, which she had made in the north, offered stamina regenerating properties, the real one offers health healing properties. A rare and powerful material, if water could be considered such a thing.

The priestess yawns, though her body seems oddly stiff tonight despite her exhaustion. “So, what would you like my help with?” she asks.

Fresh explains, lifting a finger. “The harvest-moonwater has great healing properties.” Basil nods. “I want to combine that with the moon-glass and some white-magic infused crystals.”

“To make what?”

“Ask me when we get that far,” smiles Fresh, setting to work. She hands Basil a stack of crystals for the priestess to push her white-magic into, while she herself flips through her damp-grimoire, looking for a page that will spark that light in her heart that she is hoping to find. An idea comes to her quickly, upon seeing the sheet of moon-glass laying before her. But she doesn’t want to make a second mirror like Jubilee’s. That was a special present and in a manner of thinking, making a second one would ‘devalue’ the gift in her eyes. No, she needed a different idea…

“Ah!”

Knowing what it is that she wants to make first, she sets to work, Basil watching curiously over her shoulder as she takes one of the crystals that Basil had used her healing spell on and carefully hollows it out.

As for the secret crystal that is still hidden in the bath, she has an idea for it. But she really doesn’t know if she’ll have the courage to show Basil her secret.

(Fresh) uses: [Craftsman:{Hollow}]

After that, she creates a tiny hole on the top of the side of the crystal.

(Fresh) uses: [Craftsman:{Pierce}]

Carefully, she shakes out the residue from the crystal and then, holding it upside down, Fresh submerges it in the cauldron of orange harvest-moonwater, filling it up like a bottle with the substance. Pulling it back out, she carefully shakes it off, doing her best not to spill any water back out of the small hole.

“What’s that?” asks Basil.

“It’s a crystal, filled with moonwater.”

Basil fidgets with her sleeve. Fresh can’t help but notice that the priestess is oddly twitchy tonight, especially since they’ve gone down to the basement. “Yes, but…?”

“Ask me when we get there,” laughs Fresh, who is simply following her intuition, as she does most of the time.

Setting the crystal down onto the table, she asks Basil to put on some of the crystal-drakonium gloves and to hold it for her. She doesn’t know if the moonwater is dangerous to touch and she doesn’t want to risk anything happening. The priestess obliges, while Fresh gets a bottle of the heavy-duty glue. Taking a second crystal, she grinds it up into a fine powder on the side.

(Fresh) uses: [Craftsman:{Grind(Fine)}]

Then, filling the hole in the side of the crystal with glue, she packs as much of the powdered crystal into it as she can make fit, sealing the crystal back shut. After waiting a second, she sands the uneven bump back closed and then decides to do the rest of the crystal as well, turning the naturally asymmetric thing into something akin to a refined stone. Polished. Straight.

(Fresh) uses: [Craftsman:{Sand(Fine)}]

Fresh scratches her cheek, her other hand on her hip as she looks down at the crystal full of moonwater and then over to Basil, as the two of them share a confused look for a moment. Fresh thinks, wondering what the problem is. She had expected this to be a ‘completed’ item, but no window pops up. Nothing happens.

“It looks very pretty though,” comforts Basil, looking at the radiantly glowing moonwater, shining through the prismatic crystal.

Fresh’s fist lands in her palm as she realizes. “It needs more juice.”

Basil stares at her, confused. “Huh? Juice?”

“Juice,” replies Fresh. “It needs more juice, so it knows which way to go.”

Basil blinks. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“It needs a little push, to help make up its mind,” explains Fresh. “It doesn’t know what it should like.”

“Uh…”

“Can you use more healing magic on it, please?” asks Fresh, clasping her two hands by her head with a smile.

“Of course,” says Basil, looking more confused than Fresh had expected, stepping back and taking off the gloves. She takes a deep breath.

(Basil) uses: [Minor Healing Wave]

White-magic flows out of her hands, enveloping the water-filled, hollowed out crystal. To Fresh’s surprise, the crystal starts to shake, the water inside of it becoming turbulent, almost as if boiling. Confused herself, she holds a hand out over the crystal. It isn’t hot or even warm.

“Mm…” she sighs, somewhat troubled. The night is just starting and already there’s a setback.

“It might be an issue of magical balance,” explains Basil.

“Huh?”

“Magical balance,” repeats the priestess, pointing at the crystal. “Look. The crystal relies on earth-magic and then you have the moonwater which is… ‘holy’, Somehow?” asks Basil, thinking. “But I don’t think it’s actually holy-magic, I think witch-magic is dark-magic,” she explains. “It just pretends to be holy,” she thinks out loud. “The moon is a thing of the night, after all.” Fresh scratches her cheek as Basil fidgets with her sleeves. “But then we add in my actual holy-magic and then we might have too much, going in too many directions?” The priestess looks back to the table. “Maybe it’s all just too different to work together?” suggests Basil, lowering her gaze down to the floor. “Maybe it’s just not compatible.”

“Basil…” Fresh looks back to the crystal. Her magic isn’t actually holy-magic? Could that be true? Could the ‘system’ be deceived like that? If this theory of ‘magical balance’ is real, then maybe there is truth to it? Fresh isn’t sure if she likes that. She isn’t particularly fond of any element, really. Holy. Dark. Fire. Whatever, as long as the items are nice and the effects are helpful to those who need them.

However, what she isn’t fond of, was that odd look on Basil’s face as the priestess said those last words. It almost felt like it wasn’t related to this crafting process at all. Perhaps she’s just being paranoid about one of her precious friends, or perhaps there’s just a bit more of a selfish witch in herself than she had thought. But Fresh isn’t going to let this go that easily, on the off-chance that her insecurities are true. Though she doesn’t know why she would even think that Basil would be questioning the validity of their friendship.

But she isn’t going to stand for it.

Fresh purses her lips and looks back at the stupid, dumb crystal that is ruining her and her friend’s night before it even began. Fresh closes her eyes, thinking of a solution to the problem at hand. The solution comes to her readily, quickly, as she listens to the trickling of the water coming from the running bath on the other side of the room. It sounds almost… mischievous, in a way that is very hard to explain. Like it’s trying to hold in a laugh. It is as if it were watching something hilarious, something that it doesn’t want her to know about, as always, really. But the idea is given to her freely nonetheless, if not the explanation to the joke.

Basil looks at her in surprise as Fresh opens her eyes again and takes the priestess’ left hand with her right. It’s oddly sweaty. Maybe because Basil is closer to the fireplace? “Do it again,” says Fresh, lifting her own free hand up to the crystal. “I’m going to use my magic at the same time too.”

“Huh? But that’s -”

“Don’t give up so easily, Basil!” beams Fresh at her. “I don’t care if the pieces of the puzzle fit or not,” she explains. “We’re going to hit them hard enough until they fit.”

“I don’t think that’s how puzzles work,” laughs Basil, but she obliges and lifts her free hand. “This could be dangerous.”

“It wouldn’t be worth it if it wasn’t,” says Fresh. “If you don’t want to, I understand,” she explains, squeezing her hand.

Basil looks at her again, but then shakes her head. “I’ll try it,” she replies.

“Mm! Ready…?” She looks back at the crystal. “Now!”

(Fresh) uses: [Malediction] (Basil) uses: [Minor Healing Wave]

The magic from Fresh’s left hand and Basil’s right washes over the crystal that shakes and rattles violently over the table, the water inside bubbling, as the lazy purple fog of her spell and the ethereal, multi-colored glow of the white-magic both wash over it. The energies absorb into the churning water and into the shining crystal’s body. The permeating magic of the minor-curse interweaves with the glistening, spring-tide shine of the true holy magic. Both of those magical essences carry with them strong feelings that the other person wouldn’t likely understand if they could ever get a hold of them.

But that doesn’t matter.

The energies flow and twist, spiraling around each other like two coiling serpents, wrapping themselves around the shard which now slowly comes to a rest. As the glassy thing falls back down to the table, from the slight hover that it had assumed, it lets out a loud, single, ‘thud’ that breaks the tense air.

Nothing happens.

The two of them sigh at the same time, but then, seeing that the other had done the same, they both start laughing.

“That was really disappointing,” laughs Basil loudly, almost starting to cry.

“Mm! It was!” laughs Fresh, noticing that they had somehow ended up holding both of each other’s hands after the failure of a project. She’s glad to see that her friend has livened up a little again though. Maybe the priestess just wasn’t very energetic, this late at night.

As she laughs though, she notices that something bothers her. But she isn’t sure what it is, exactly. Maybe it’s the loud crackling of the fire, or maybe it’s the bright flames of the many candles, or maybe it’s the light of the crystal which still resonates brightly out in all directions, bathing them both in the shine of their collective efforts? Maybe it’s the odd stiffness present in her friend, despite the laugh on her face? But something, somewhere in the basement is out of place and Fresh just isn’t able to understand what it is.

The grip holding her hands is too tight and too nervous, but she doesn’t consciously feel that. The shine in Basil’s rejuvenated eyes is too bright, too warm to just be the normal kind of care held between two very good friends, but she doesn’t attribute it to anything else than the ambient glow being cast all around them, reflecting off of her laughter-tear filled eyes and when Basil finally settles down and looks back at her, the priestess’ face contorts as if she was about to say something very difficult -

And then, nothing happens.

Basil, apparently does not find the courage to say whatever it is she had wanted to say.

Despite all of that, Fresh and Fresh alone, is unable to see any of it and she can’t help but wonder why the water sounds like it’s laughing again. The fountain is such a jerk sometimes.

“Don’t worry, Basil!” says Fresh, squeezing her friend's hand. “We still have all night to try again!”