Surely enough, after forty five minutes of trudging through forest ground trying to locate any chatter of civilization— I stumble onto the sight of a town. I hide in the shade of tree trunks and bushes as I take in the sight before me; cobblestone roads, horse drawn carriages, men in suits, women still wearing corsets and long gowns— it feels as if instead of a portal to Settrinos, I've been transported back into the 1750's.

"What the f—" I whisper, but cut myself off as I spot the difference between the 1750's and now; some of the people situated in this quant old school town have illuminated red eyes and smirks gracing their faces. Others are old women with cloaks over their heads, hissing over outrageous prices. I'm willing to bet those are witches, just like Varla.

One particular interaction snags my attention; a witch trying to negotiate with a demon at a stand amidst the chaos of the market.

"Morg, you've known me for twenty five years— surely you can lower the price to fifty?" The old woman with a red cloak pleads with another woman behind a stand selling wooden sculptures. The woman— demon, grins maliciously and gestures to a smaller sculpture.

"That is what fifty can get you. It's seventy five or nothing." She purrs out as the old woman snarls in rage.

"You little—" the old witch raises a finger at the demon behind the stand, but before she can do anything, a woman steps in between them.

No, not just any woman— it's Echo. The woman who tried to get Kilian to go back to the underworld against his wishes— to either fetch or kill him. Just the thought of it and I find my blood simmering a bit against my skin. I can feel my ice working to cool me off, but it isn't enough. She had caused Kilian's eyes to go black— for him to lose it in front of me for the first time ever. For all that he was keeping under control to be exposed.

That was something I'd never forget.

Echo clicks her tongue and gives the old woman a warning look. Reluctantly, the witch puts down her finger and turns up her nose in distaste.

"Demons are under the King's protection... don't forget, hag." Echo spits on the cobblestone ground near the old woman's feet and smiles innocently. I feel my rage coming on strong, the disrespect of an elder hitting me harder than I would've expected; but as always, I quiet my temper. I can't have myself losing control and making the entire kingdom have a snow storm from hell. I had to be discreet, and making sure to stick an icicle up Echo's ass was going to get me noticed.

I'd remember what she's done— and when the time comes, she'll have a taste of her own shit.

Gritting my teeth, I watch as the old witch bats some grey hair out of her face and reaches for her pocket. Placing the seventy five dollars on the stand behind Echo, she snatches the wooden sculpture. As she beholds it, I can now see it as it is— a figurine of a little red door.

The intricate swirls detailed on the door knob and hinges are noticeable from where I'm hiding in the bushes— yet, the old woman just scoffs.

"It better be real wormwood this time. Last time I payed a great price for rotted spruce!" She glared as the demon grinned slyly, giving Echo a quick glance.

"Only the finest for my oldest customer." She bares her white teeth as the old woman walks away, irritated.

I know I should take this time to watch and follow Echo; she's a King's servant, so surely she'd eventually return to wherever the King's castle is— but instead I find myself watching the old woman's figure retreat hastily. The urge to make sure the witch is alright befalls me, and I can't tell if it's because she reminded me of Varla, or because I pity how she'd been treated.

Either way, my eyes follow her hunched figure go further into the crowd of interested buyers at the market and toward an alleyway of a sort. Her red cloak drags on the floor, and I find myself asking if red might be her favorite color. My footsteps are quick and silent as I skim the green forestland around the crowded market, making sure that I'm out of Echo's eyesight before I merge into the crowd; tucking my brown hair into my damp hooded cloak.

I'd hoped that was enough to blend in, and that I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. So far, nobody seemed to glance my way except for a couple demons selling their merchandise— meats, cloaks, and even trinkets they claimed they'd gotten from a queen in another dimension. To that, I rolled my eyes in amusement. The different aromas of grilled meats, lavender essential oils and even sage for witches filled the air; it was quite a sight for me to take in. I hadn't had the pleasure of being immersed into a market like this before— it made me feel invisible, in a 'free from watchful eyes' way.

It's easy to get lost in a crowd such as this, shoulders pushing into mine and their woven baskets brushing my hips— I hoped no pickpockets were around to get a fistful of my fathers eyeball— that would definitely make me stick out more than I wanted.

Finally, my eye caught onto the crimson red wool cloak that I'd been trying to follow into the alleyway full of stores— she was entering a shop that had a tiny faded sign, I couldn't make out what it spelled out, I'd have to get closer.

Through the glass doors I could see the woman putting down her hood and going behind the counter— a secretive smile on her face as she moved to go where only workers could go. She entered a room behind the counter and shut the door after her just as I was nearing the shop.

Did she own this place? If so— was it a witchery store or something of the sorts?

Biting my lip as I keep my eyes on the door she'd gone through, but felt the urge to look up at the sign before going into the shop.

Through the wooden cracked lettering and the colors that were fading— I could faintly make out what it said.

And what I'd found made my heart thump in both wonder and thrill.

"Magda's Palm Of Miracles."

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