After the rather dramatic guest left, I turned to Mary. I had a few things I needed clarified after going through that weird of a discussion, but I didn’t exactly know where to start. Acting indignant after having new information told to me wouldn’t be overly endearing; given that I’m in a whole new world would mean I’d be spending much of my time glaring, brow furrowed, hands on hips, at my teacher. That’s really not productive. I mean, she might feel compelled to be more forthcoming with information, but I did just end up here relatively recently and needed time to absorb the information.

Still, it almost feels like she glazed over some basic stuff. I’m a witch, or an apprentice one at least. I should have been made somewhat aware of the position in society they hold, considering I am one. Apparently it was a profession that had a certain image associated with it in the minds of the locals here. Although, from what I’ve heard, it didn’t at the core of it sound separated too much from what people think of when they thought of witch in the world I came from.

She did say witches were more like artists or craftsmen, compared to the grunt work of a mage or the stuck-up academia vibe of a wizard, likely analogous to the historic ceremonial magicians of my home world. Maybe I should have just known? I was a history major back before I ended up here, it’s not like I’m unaware of the Witch Hunts and the average kind of person targeted by them. The woman, on the edge of society, making a living in a shack on the edge of town. Communities were more tight-knit back then, so the “odd one out” stood out far more than she would in modern society. And, witchcraft, as I’m becoming increasingly aware, was real, or rather is real even in the world I came from.

Mary seems to squirm under my gaze, but seems to realize I’m thinking through things. I suppose getting lost in my thoughts isn’t always a bad thing, and avoiding speaking rashly does seem like it it’s preferable to flying off the handle. Honestly why am I thinking so much on this anyways? Force of habit? I do like to establish the facts to myself before trying to discuss things. Hell, I try to wiggle out of things with “may be” and “might” way more often than any normal person. Eh, it’s a hazard from a previous occupation where overly precise wording can fuck over your credibility if your analysis of a situation is wrong. Weird habits from that job got compounded by going into academia, with all its “cite sources or else.”

“So… we witches have that bad of a reputation...” I finally spoke. Despite her grandstanding Mary seemed rather awkward around me at times, all the more so recently. She did seem as though she was more attentive towards my thoughts since the Tailor’s Guild incident. Like, she was afraid of me flying away, or phasing out of reality if treated wrongly...maybe not that last bit. That’s already happened once, I can’t imagine it happening again.

“I thought you were aware...”

I thought for a moment. “I suppose, on some level, I was. You said it yourself. Magic, the paranormal, the occult, was real even in the mundane world I came from. It was relatively hidden, but the signs were there for anyone willing to look. So, if I take the time to think about it, it only stands to reason that this isn’t just a complete fantasy world detached from my previous understanding of things. Some of the knowledge from the ‘mundane world’ is accurate.”

“A lot of it is, if you think about it.” Mary agreed. “You are aware of the fairy tales and folk tales, right? The ones about people meeting fairy or elves and disappearing. Or the more modern ones people tell, of people being called up by beams of light under spinning disks, or weird-looking creatures with probes.”

“Oh, please don’t tell me...”

“They aren’t any fae that I know of, but I guess in common legend those creatures got associated with them for some reason. They are other-wordly creatures, who travel between worlds and do stuff almost incomprehensible to those from yours. Honestly I’m pretty sure the grey ones with the bug eyes are from another world butting up against the mundane one you came from, rather than this world which is much closer in structure to yours. But in the really old days before the whole ‘UFO’ thing they kind of grouped them all together, probes and all, which as Liz’s mother will tell you was hell on the reputations of Elves your world, at least until that Tolkien guy wrote his book.”

Mary continued, “I almost feel bad for the elves, being associated in the older tales of your world with abduction and, er, probing. Elves in the past were known for grabbing people they took a fancy to, but that’s all in the past. I suppose elves do tend to be forward at times, as you might have noticed with my niece, but they don’t normally abduct people. At least not anymore.”

“Wow, that took a weird turn. Are the reptilian world elites real too? I was just talking about occult, not ayy lmaos.”

“Well, I guess my point is maybe witches here do have some similarity to the common perception held in your world. Both positive and negative. They commune with nature, as you’re well aware, but they also tend to not fit so neatly into established hierarchies. This tendency to be on the fringes also means people even here look at them oddly. And with a bit of distrust compared to other magic users. And the connection with nature includes both healing and killing. It’s just a more emotion-based form of magic. And emotions are a strong force, but a wild one. Wizards and the like are all clinical, rational, using the laws of the universe to manipulate magic. But that detachment, while keeping them safe, leaves blind spots. Same for those who use brute force of will.” She pauses, sipping her coffee.

“Eva’s explanation was right, in a way. The magic used by witches is a craft. Much like an artist crafting a painting. A potion from a witch involves her feelings, and her connection with the natural world around her. The feeling of wonder from looking at a flower blooming. The feeling of contentment from harvesting a meal. The feelings of wisdom from gazing at the moon. And, at times, the feelings of anger and hatred when slighted. Hate and love are the strongest emotions, and can be perfect when you want a spell, charm or curse to have that extra bit of power. They do say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin.

It sounded like a typical lecture, like of one the others on magic she had given me over the past time I’ve spent here. That’s what it sounded like. But a tightness at the corner of her eyes, a slight quiver in her lips, hinted at much deeper depths than her tone initially implied. After all, she was talking about the deepest of human emotions, it’d be weirder for her not to have thoughts and memories connected to words such as “love” and “hate.” Come to think of it…

“Does this have anything to do… with that witch the bandits mentioned? The one who fed them information….” I trailed off. It was a topic I had been avoiding mentioning. For all my outward clumsiness, for lack of a better term, I knew enough to know when a topic may be tetchy. And I had felt from the get-go that this was one that Mary had wanted to avoid. I know, I think, when to let sleeping dogs lay, but if she’s talking about this…

“I suppose it does. But, that’s not my biggest concern. That’s something that will need to be dealt with in due time, something that should have been dealt with. But,” she took a breath, like gathering energy before a final push. “Rather than hate, it seems like love might be the greater threat.”

“What?”

“I went to the site where I had found you at. It was something I had initially meant to bring up that evening, but there was something there. Something full of, well, love. Obsessive, love. And very strongly filled with magical power, of want, of yearning… I had almost put it out of my mind because I was afraid to even ask, but was there anyone like that you knew in your life in your old world? Anyone you were...that close to?” Mary’s face was full of sadness and fear as she said this, as if the wrong answer would push her off the edge of a cliff. It almost was enough to overpower the much stronger feeling of confusion I had.

“I can’t recall knowing anyone like that. I’m sure my friends are sad about me being missing, of course, but they weren’t the obsessive types for anything but hobbies. At least, I don’t think they were.”

Mary muttered under her breath. “Of course she wouldn’t recognize that kind of thing.” She reached into her bag, before pulling out a bouquet.

“Thanks?”

“These aren’t a gift for you. Or, they’re meant for you, but they aren’t from me. Someone made this, this bouquet, like a gift given upon meeting up after a long parting. To find you. It’s a spell, and originally made one, using the meanings people have assigned to plants, powered by love. A charm, to locate what’s been lost. A craft, made to locate the object of the casters love. Someone, with powerful feelings and an innate potential for magic made this. Someone,” she paused, “from your world.”