“You have truly outdone yourself this time!” Rose’s voice broke through the haze of Ivy’s fruit wine induced high.

Originally she had planned on taking her sweet time to return home, delaying this scolding, but had wisely decided on taking it while fully inebriated.

“Do you understand what you have done?” Rose asked, waiting for an answer. Ivy flopped down on Mister Couch and closed her eyes. "Oh, no. You aren't going to sleep away your problems. Or run away from me like last time."

"Why don't you tell me what I've done, Rose?"

“Oh great. And you're drunk. Although I guess that is no surprise either.”

“Shut up.”

A hand gripped her shoulder.

“Ivy,” Rose said, “You need to listen to me. It's not just the church. You ran off so fast after warning me, I didn't get a chance to tell you."

"So what is it, then?"

"You tried to kill the fifth prince of the kingdom!”

Ivy giggled.

“Prince?”

“Yes, Ivy. Prince Virian was sent to Atrican to live with his uncle when Queen Lira was executed for being a witch.”

Oh. If she remembered this conversation later, she’d have to ask him about that. Rose shook her.

"Do you get it? You just threatened a royal family of witch killers! Why, Ivy? Why did you do something so foolish?"

“I didn’t. I could’ve. But I chose not to.”

“That hardly matters! He saw you, Ivy. He knows who you are! And then you went missing for days! Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Ivy scoffed.

“I stopped by to tell you about the paladins. You could’ve found me if you wanted to.”

“You made me promise to never read you without your permission.”

“You could’ve read everyone else.”

“You're right, and I did.”

With a sigh, Ivy sat up, swaying on her cushion.

“Of course you did.”

"I hate doing that, Ivy. I don't like what it makes me become, but someone has to keep an eye on you. I told Prince Virian I was going to march up to the Bloody Flag and get answers from Armond. Using my power is the only reason why I’m waiting for you here, instead of off frantically searching to find out what became of you."

"I don't like what it makes you become, either."

Rose frowned.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

Ivy shrugged.

“You know everything. You tell me nothing. And you make it sound like you own me. Just back off. Everything’s fine. Me and the pretty prince? We’re good friends.”

The hand holding her shoulder fell away.

“And do you not wonder why he is fond of you? Why nearly everyone is? Despite you holding a knife to their throat?”

“I said I didn’t do that!”

"You may not have gone through with it, but you still broke into his palace to kill him."

Ivy wanted to shake Rose as she had her. She wasn’t listening! Although, Ivy had wondered several times about the way people treated her. Had even planned to ask Rose about it.

The older witch let out a long, deep breath.

“I don’t want to sound harsh, but normal people like you not because of who you are, but what you are.”

Well that made no sense.

“People hate witches,” Ivy said.

“Yes, but only when they know it. And only because the church tells them so. Yet still, deep down they crave our affection, which only makes them hate us more. The revulsion at themselves for wanting something the church deems unclean makes they themselves unclean. It is a cruel torment to all.”

“That’s…horrible.”

Rose's explanation fumbled around in her alcohol fueled system, but none of it sounded good.

“Do you understand me, Ivy?” Rose asked. “Truly?”

“Sure, yeah. People love us. Until they hate us. Magic. We’re cursed. Bad.”

Ivy rubbed her temples. She still had one last thing to do tonight, but she had no idea how long Rose intended to lecture her.

“Nothing gets through to you does it?" Rose said. "We can't stay here any longer. You need to be so much more careful. Someone you think is your friend may just be under your influence.”

Ivy waved the warning away, missing half of what Rose said.

“Pretty Prince and I go way back. It’s fine.”

“Ivy,” Rose put her hands on Ivy’s shoulders again, “I get it. Trust me. I do. I was young once, too.”

Ivy gave her a half cocked stare and asked a question she had always wanted to ask.

“How old are you?”

“Ivy! Focus! It’s not like I haven’t benefited from being what we are. I have. Quite a bit. But I don’t think I have to tell you how dangerous it is. You yourself saw what happened with that younger witch hunter you told me about.

“The church is wise to fear us. Do you realize how easy it is for us to take a lover? Anyone we want. We could insert ourselves into any level of society with almost no effort. Become queens. Rewrite the laws of nations. I am not justifying their actions, but this is the main reason for their position against us.”

Ivy leaned backed into the couch and sighed. Eyes closed, she fell into the relative comfort of the witch world. A cool calm fell over her that she hoped would fight off the wine.

“It sounds like you’ve already done some of those things,” she said.

“Ivy don’t you dare run off on me!”

“I have better things to do than listen to this.”

Her hopes of sobering up were dashed the moment she reopened her eyes. She almost fell off of her seat straight forward into…who knew what. Fruit wine and her power were not something to mix. Ever.

“Wait!” Rose’s voice called out, but Ivy was already moving. She stumbled forward along the winding path that opened up for her in the doubly nauseating witch world. By now she could actually recognize the path from her home to the Bloody Flag, but that did not make it any easier to navigate while drunk. Luckily she didn't have to find the way by herself. The witch world churned around her, and she let it guide her as she had done a thousand times. All she had to do was not think about it.

When she finally stood over a familiar prone figure, she let go of her power, and yet another dizzying change of scenery blasted her senses. Color and reason returned with a jolt, and she found herself in the Bloody Prince’s bed chamber. Like the rest of his “palace,” it was brusquely decorated…barren of any adornments and much smaller than she thought it ought to be. Hardly space for much more than the bed itself. Nothing like the Pretty Prince’s room.

The prince was snoring like a horse, the sheets covering him rising with each snort. Ha! And he had called her a snorer.

“Hey,” she called out in a raised voice, “Armond! Get up!”

The sheets shuffled and then she felt a sudden pain in her stomach. Her hand instinctively went to rub it, but found something strange that had no business being there. Her eyes followed the movement of her hand, and she froze. That couldn’t be right. She traced her fingers along the hilt of metal protruding from her gut. Why was this here? When did this happen?

Her legs began to tremble before losing all strength and she crumpled to the hard wooden floor. Her back rested against something solid, and her hand explored more of the foreign object that couldn’t really be there. She poked her belly and cried out at the new, sharper pain that was only building.

Ivy stared at herself, willing what she could clearly see to be a dream. A trick of the alcohol. She was really passed out on Rose’s couch, right? Her eyes flicked upward, forcing herself to deny reality. If she didn’t look, it wouldn’t be there the next time she did. Yes.

But her eyes found the Bloody Prince looming over her, sword in hand. Ivy had nothing in her head but the obvious.

“Y-you stabbed me!”

The Bloody Prince hunched down, leaning in closer.

“Iveriani?”

Ivy scoffed at the use of her full name, and just that small exhale of air shot another spike of pain through her abdomen. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

“Why’d—” she coughed, and crimson spittle dribbled down her lips. “—why’d you stab me?”

She didn’t understand. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to march on in here and somehow talk him into stopping his attacks on the Pretty Prince. After tonight's events, she had finally resolved to end this.

“You’re alive?” The prince’s voice sounded more confused than she was.

“Am I?” she asked. The pain lanced at her ten times what it had been, her shock beginning to wear off. Tears began to flow freely as she realized her fate. “Oh, god. It hurts. I’m going to die, aren’t I? I’m going to die!”

Strong, rock like arms wrapped around her and lifted her into the air like she was made of feathers. He carried her the couple of steps to the bed and placed her gently down atop the ruffled sheets.

“You’re not going to die,” he said, “now wait here.”

Ivy reached out with what little strength she had left, increasing her agony ever more, but she managed to grip his wrist.

“Tell Rose I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“And don’t kill the Pretty Prince.”

“Iveriani, I’m going to find a healer, so stop—”

“Promise me!”

“We’ll talk when you are healed.”

“Promise me! It’s the least you can do after killing me!”

The prince rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I promise.”

Ivy let go of him and extended her pinky past a closed fist. He just stood there staring down at her, so she shook her finger at him.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"Take it!"

Ivy felt something brush against her hand and smiled, letting the blackness of death take her.