Now, this wasn’t really the original intent for the space, but it seems to be an efficient use of it nonetheless.

It is late at night and Fresh is building the telescope platform for their upstairs area. Given that the space upstairs is essentially two stories high, the construction in the middle of the room is planned to be a sort of cylindrical tower with a spiral staircase that goes up to a platform, which itself is just below the roof. On this platform, beneath the hole in the ceiling, which she is going to reopen and install a retractable roofing segment in, this is where the telescope will go.

- But also, a cauldron.

Well, no, not a cauldron. A cauldron is too heavy, too bulky, too witchy and inelegant for what she desires here. Witch-magic derives very strongly from her feelings for a spell, after all. So by using old techniques, she would achieve old results. No, this is something new, something different.

Familiar, of course, in a sense. But different.

Instead of a cauldron, she’s planning on making a small, stone fountain. Nothing too much, too large or ornate and intricate. Just something akin to a bird-bath, perhaps.

Given that this construct is, of course, a significant feature that she’s adding to the house, not only in terms of scale, but also in weight, Fresh spends the first half of her night marking out areas where support beams need to go on the lower floors. Getting them positioned in a way that they can connect to each other, but also aren’t disrupting the heating system built into the floors is a real challenge and she finds herself running up and down the house for the better part of the night, just trying to find the right spots.

On the next day, Shamrock helps her set up the actual beams themselves. Rectangular, treated hunks of wood that she special orders from a lumberyard, which specializes in getting wood from the dungeon. For a significant cost, of course. But she doesn’t want to undertake this task herself.

On the next day, after the beams are in place and secured, the crooked house feeling a lot more stable already, Fresh sets to work on the upstairs area.

The platform itself is set up in her mind to look like a multi-storied tower of square platforms, which become increasingly smaller with each of the three layers, until it reaches the ceiling.

In a sense, it’s a simple task. Four beams to make some legs. On top of that comes a square floor with some railings. Then, four beams on top of that, and so on. The trick is to set up the lower support beams so that they can support the weight of the beams on top of them, since they’re not right on top of each other.

On the bright side, the work is made a lot easier not only by her friend’s help, but also by her just being able to fly around the construction site with her broom.

Another day passes, the four of them are at the breakfast table.

“It’s a death-trap,” says Jubilee, looking over towards the half-finished tower that is in the middle of their living space.

“That’s what you said about this,” notes Basil, tapping against the floor of the raised eating area with her foot. “But here we are.”

“Here we are,” sighs Jubilee, shaking their head and downing their coughee in one gulp.

Shamrock reaches over, grabbing some more of the fruit-salad Basil had made. “Here we are.”

Fresh, choosing to ignore Jubilee’s ‘death-trap’ comment, beams and bounces around in her chair, excited to work more today. “Here we aaare~” she says in a sing-song voice, confident that, for whatever reason, today is going to be a good day. There’s no real proof of that anywhere to be seen, but it’s what she’s decided, so it’s what’s going to happen.

It is what it is.

“I mean… it is kind of fun, actually,” says Basil, playing with the red-string bracelet around her arm. “Once you get used to it and stop being scared.”

“That I’d live to see the day…” remarks Jubilee, staring up towards the priestess who is hovering on Fresh’s magic broom. It’s after their closing the store on the next day and the four of them are just winding down, except for Fresh who is working feverishly on the tower. Fresh, sitting on the first of the elevated platforms, rubs her sweaty forehead as she looks over at Basil, who is hovering next to her, several meters off of the ground.

“Well, you know…” says Basil, looking over to Fresh. “I’ve gotten used to the whole thing,” says the priestess.

“Huh?” asks Jubilee, staring up towards her. “I’m not talking about the witch fuckery,” they remark, pointing up towards the priestess. “I mean that you’d buy some undergarments that don’t look like my grandma’s.”

Basil yelps, pulling her legs together and the broom shoots off to the side of the room from the sudden movement.

Fresh leans down, looking over the edge. “Jubilee, don’t bully Basil. I think her grandma underwear is cute,” says Fresh. She thinks for a moment. “Should we all get matching old-people underwear, Jubilee?” she asks, considering the possibility.

“I’m not bullying Basil,” replies Jubilee. “I’m protecting the world from seeing the things that I’ve had to see,” they remark, waving her off as they turn away. “No need to thank me. Heroes do it for free, after all,” they explain, somewhat melodramatically as they head to the kitchen to get a drink. “- And no.”

Fresh frowns, turning her gaze to look over towards Shamrock. The two of them stare at each other for a moment, but the man just shakes his head ‘no’ and keeps walking.

She sighs and shrugs and returns to her work, trying to come up with a scheme in the meanwhile in order to achieve her evil ends.

Fresh wonders what size Shamrock needs?

“Ta-da~!” beams Fresh, holding her hands out to her friends who are groggily lurching out of the bedroom together. She was up all night again, working on the tower and now, after about five days of work, it’s finished.

Jubilee looks up at the thing, staring at the re-opened hole in the ceiling that light is coming in through.

“If a single bird gets in here,” they threaten. “You and it are both sleeping outside in a nest.”

Fresh blinks, her arms still up in the air. “It’d have to be a pretty big bird, Jubilee,” she remarks, somewhat confused.

Jubilee sighs, shuffling past her.

“We still have a basement,” says Basil, her voice breaking as she yawns. The zombified priestess makes her way to the kitchen, sparing a moment for her hand to land on Fresh’s shoulder as a congratulations. Though, her yawn doesn’t stop until she gets across the room.

Only Shamrock, who is a morning person, seems to have the energy to congratulate her.

“Dungeon,” adds the man, before turning towards her. “Good job,” he says. “It’s safe?”

“Is it safe?!” asks Fresh, almost sarcastically. She laughs a triumphant laugh, in order to hide the fact that, while her verbal answer is a resounding, stoic ‘yes’, the answer in her own mind is an echoing ‘yes’ish’. “It’s probably fine,” she relents, feeling Shamrock’s suspicious gaze still digging into her.

The man nods, satisfied and goes to get some water.

Fresh grabs her broom, sparing herself the effort of taking the stairs up the tower, until she flies to the top of it, looking around at her kingdom and her subjects.

The cruel witch of the north, having broken free from the binds of both the terrible fairy queen and the imprisonment of the honorable adventuring slime, now stands atop the highest peak in the lands, watching her subjects toil and slave away beneath herself.

Fresh laughs out a malicious, theatrical cackle.

“Shut up!” barks Jubilee from down below. They roll their eyes, turning back. “- Too early for this shit…” they mutter quietly, receiving a consoling pat on the shoulder from Basil.

“Sorry, Jubilee,” calls Fresh down from the top of the tower. “I was pretending that I was an evil entity that has total reign over the helpless lands beneath my looming shadow.”

The three of them stare up towards her, before looking back at the kitchen. “Too early…” yawns Basil, receiving a heavy hand to hold her shoulder from Shamrock.

Fresh frowns, sighing. Her friends just don’t appreciate the value of a good imaginative life-story.

She turns around, staring up at the bright sun that shines down towards her, its glow beaming in through the ceiling into her eyes, obscured only by the silhouette of a bird.

*Karoo* hoots the pigeon, standing on the edge of the hole, looking back towards her in surprise. Fresh yelps, quickly shooing it away before Jubilee can see it. She doesn’t want to sleep in a nest.

At least not by herself.