Arwin cautiously made his way out into the dungeon corridor. The beautiful witch strode down the spooky, dark hall, taking the globe of firelight with her. There was just enough illumination to see thousands of gleaming eyes lining the stone walls of the dungeon all around him. Fear coursed through his veins, and he hurried after his captor through the tunnel of watchful spiders. He kept his arms tight to his sides, all too aware of the way in which the arachnid horde twitched and turned to follow him as he passed. At least none of the ones here were bigger than a small dog. The giant ones seemed to have hidden elsewhere.

She led him up several flights of stone stairs, ascending past other underground levels, then past nicer, properly finished floors. The stone went from damp and cold to dry and warm as they got above ground and then even higher. Thankfully, the stairwell also became less crowded from the second floor upwards, perhaps because insects were more prevalent closer to the ground, and so that’s where most of the spiders made their homes and hunting grounds. Still, there was no escaping the occasional cobwebs in a corner or a jumping spider occasionally leaping out of their way. It made Arwin wish he was wearing a full-body hazmat suit. How could anyone live here amongst all these nasty things?

Luckily, Arwin had much to distract him from the spiders. Climbing the stairs behind the Dark Enchantress, he found her backside was naturally at the same level as his face; a great example of why ‘ladies first’ is a wonderful philosophy. He periodically glanced through open doors into other floors, even looked out a couple of windows, and he cringed whenever spiders got too close. But most of his attention was glued to her gluteus ultra-maximus.

He’d thought her breasts were spectacular. But this bum — wow! Each time she pushed off on one leg to rise to the next stair, the curve of each cheek stretched the thin, purple dress tight over her buttock. He was mesmerized. She definitely worked out, and he appreciated the view that all her hard work had created. It took an act of will to keep from reaching out and grabbing her butt with both hands. Because when sex invades the brain, some humans become very stupid, and the fact that she was a legendary evil sorceress, perhaps bent on killing him, only barely kept him in self-control.

They eventually emerged into a long hall with a towering ceiling two stories above. The space felt stylish and open. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the entire right-hand wall, bathing the hall in the deep orange light of sunset, revealing several couches and deep sitting chairs interspersed with wrought-iron lampstands, each with small cauldrons dangling from the top to provide both heat and light. Coffee tables next to the seating held an array of books, a couple of empty mugs, and a small pile of papers, likely work stuff.

Flowering plants lined the inside of the windows. They weren’t in pots. Instead, they grew on short piles of rough stone and thick branches covered in moss, giving a natural feel to the space. He recognized all the blooms as orchids, of which there were many splendid and colourful varieties, some of which he’d never seen before. From the looks of things, a couple of species seemed to be carnivorous; their petals were shaped like venus fly traps. He hoped they ate spiders.

As he watched, faint, gray clouds appeared over the plants — indoors — and a light shower misted down, just enough to dampen the rocks and moss. A magical automatic watering system.

Arwin looked left as they walked and saw that the wall opposite the window was covered in artwork. His curiosity was piqued; he enjoyed art and wouldn’t have minded coming here in the daytime to view the treasures. While the woman leading him through the castle checked off all the correct boxes for ‘crazy evil nightmare or a woman’, it seemed that she also had other, more normal sides to her. She certainly appreciated beauty in various forms. Could people who were wholly evil appreciate beauty, or was it beyond a true socio- or psychopath’s abilities?

He studied her backside again; it was every bit the aesthetically pleasing equal of any flower or art. She evidently had no fear of him at all because she had kept her back to him thus far without once looking over her shoulder. He doubted that he had any chance of sneaking up on her. Given the physical power she’d displayed when slapping him earlier, he honestly wasn’t sure if he could overpower her, even if he tried.

Their journey had been in silence thus far, but the hall was obviously important to the woman, and he knew he should be using this opportunity to ingratiate himself with her in order to buy more time and leniency for him and Yaz. He gestured to the flowers. “Orchid?”

“Yes?” She stopped and turned to give him a puzzled look.

“You’re not sure?”

She saw his pointing hand. “Ah, the flowers.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “Yes. They’re all orchids.”

He’d picked up on her odd reaction. “Your real name. It’s Orchid?” he guessed, smiling.

Her eyes narrowed at his smile, perhaps thinking that he was mocking her.

“It’s a beautiful name,” he hurried to assure her. “Unique.”

She hesitated. Something went through her mind, likely a thought, and she relaxed, shedding a bit of her coldness. “Yes. It is my actual name. Everyone took to calling me the Dark Enchantress a very long time ago, and that stuck. I don’t know if anyone alive remembers my real name.”

“Anyone alive?” He almost laughed, then sobered with a thought. “You don’t kill people who learn your true name, do you?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. It’s simply been so long since anyone has used it.”

“Really? But how long could that possibly be? You look about, what, twenty-three? Twenty-seven at the oldest?”

She crooked an eyebrow at him, giving him an amused glance. “Not everything is as it appears in this world.” She paused, then looked away. “Nor is everyone.”

He was puzzled. “Even if no one had used it since you were born, there would be plenty of people who still knew it.”

She laughed. It was a guarded laugh, not cruel or mocking like it had been earlier. “I’m not as young as I appear.”

“Really? How ol—” He broke off. “Sorry. Probably shouldn’t ask, right?”

She bit her lip, thinking.

Arwin tried not to find that little habit adorable, given who he was with but was only marginally successful. She was so beautiful. He shook himself. No. She was evil. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Admiring her was the first step to liking her, and he couldn’t afford that.

“I can’t entirely be sure without looking it up, but from the top of my head...” She turned squarely to face him. Her eyes watched him without blinking. “I’m probably about eight hundred and something.”

His eyes bugged out. “Psh! Wha—!”

Arwin’s honest astonishment caught her off guard, and she smiled. But this time, it was an honest, real smile, nothing cruel or playful.

Arwin sputtered. “I’m sorry, I thought… I mean, are you not human? You’re an elf or...something else? Forgive me; I have no idea how things work in Heartstone.”

She gave a small shrug. “Relax. I am not offended. Yes, I’m human. Mostly. About three quarters.” She seemed to catch herself and frowned as if she hadn’t meant to admit to that about herself.

“What’s the other quarter?” couldn’t help but ask.

She turned away without answering.

He astutely realized that he probably shouldn’t pursue that line of questioning, so he continued with another. “So, humans in Heartstone live hundreds, or thousands, of years?”

“No. They age at probably the same rate as in Drearia. Perhaps eighty or a hundred years, on average, before death catches up to them. Though some live about a hundred and ten or twenty, if they are lucky.”

“That’s actually better than our average. I think ours is around seventy-five.”

“Again, stop living in a garbage dump. If you’re going to pollute your bodies like that, of course you’re going to die young.”

He completely agreed. But good luck convincing billions of people on Earth to clean up their act and stop polluting their world. “So, how do you stay so young?”

“Magic.”

“Wow. That’s handy. So, can anyone…?”

“No. Not at all.” She turned back to him, drawing herself up in obvious pride. “My ability to extend my lifespan is a product of my own particular research, my strengths and experimentation. At one point, I was quite old, nearing the end of my natural lifespan, when I discovered how to change myself. The solution was in our own biology, of course. Telomere and cell regeneration, DNA restoration and enhancements, that sort of thing. The road to those solutions came from hints in other animals and genes from other living things, too, as well as the various properties of magic and how they interact with our biology. I studied many different creatures, diving into the cellular structure and regenerative genes of various beings able to heal rapidly or even regrow body parts. I found ways to more efficiently flush out cancers and unwanted genetic mutations. Then it was a long, delicate and complicated matter of learning how to manipulate mitochondrial energy to stimulate just the correct processes, without unwanted side effects, in order to evolve a new biological process within myself that heals, regenerates and prevents aging. Not to mention the long, hard road of figuring out how to keep one’s memories and knowledge, storing far more than a regular brain does, and fighting off the inevitable decay. That required not just local storage efficiency enhancements, but because of physical limitations using spatial linking to external supplemental hippocampus, neocortex, amygdala, basal ganglia, and cerebellum —” She caught herself and cut off, frowning at him.

He blinked. “You…hold on. You…connected your brain to another brain in a, like, pocket dimension or something?”

Her eyes narrowed. “So you are here for my secrets. I can’t believe I opened up so easily.“

“No, no! I have no interest in stealing anything. I can’t even do magic.”

“But you understood what I was talking about. That implies a level of knowledge—“

“I took biology in high school. I know a few things about computers. What you’re saying is total science fiction in my world, but I grasp the terminology you’re using, that’s all.”

“Really.” It didn’t sound like she believed him.

Arwin was honestly very impressed. “It’s just… Wow. You sound just like a scientist. And a brilliant one at that.”

She matter-of-factly stated, “Of course, I’m a scientist.”

“But I thought you were a sorceress or magician or something.”

“I am that too.” She paused in thought, unsure of him, obviously, but reluctantly continued. “In Heartstone, they can be one and the same. There are plenty of people who practice magic wildly, figuring out how to use it through trial and error without ever really understanding the processes involved. They go by labels such as witch and wizard and cast spells, which are pre-made commands. But I am a magical scientist, a magicist. I study not just how to use magic but also how magic itself works. And I use that deeper understanding to do greater things with magic and to solve new problems. Very, very few beings living today have studied the scientific processes of magic with the intensity, breadth and depth that I have, particularly in relation to what it can do with humanoid biology. I have dedicated centuries—” She cut herself off, perhaps realizing she was getting carried away again. She blushed slightly and waved her hand as she turned away and continued to walk. “Anyway, yes, I am quite old, numerically speaking. But no, this is a very rare thing, and no one else is yet capable of what I’ve done, as far as I know, which is why they keep trying to steal my research. Although there are other methods of lengthening life and plenty of creatures with natural lifespans much longer than humans.”

“Why can’t others do it?” Arwin asked innocently. “Others haven’t been able to verify your research?”

“Verify?” She spun back around and stamped her pretty foot, causing the stiletto heal to spark on the stone floor. “I have not shared it!” she flared, suddenly angry. “Not with those simpering, lying, backstabbing idiots in the Heart Kingdom. Not with the treacherous, small-minded Academy of Magical Sciences or the rogues in Scholomance or anyone else. I will never share it!”

He wanted to ask why but suspected now was not the time. He let the subject drop and let a moment of silence drift out so that her temper would have a chance to cool. He looked around and changed the subject. “You enjoy art.” He pointed at the paintings.

It took her a couple of seconds, but she smoothly composed herself and faced the decorated wall. “Yes.”

“I love art. Back home, I follow dozens of artists online. Not much of an artist myself, but I appreciate the skills of others.” He shrugged. “Too bad it’s not brighter in here. I’d love to get a better look at your collection.”

The sun was setting quickly, and the room grew darker by the moment. Only a sliver of light was visible on the horizon.

She hesitated. She looked oddly shy for a brief second but quickly acted like it hadn’t happened, her confident facade reasserting itself. Boldly, she then waved her arm in a circle over her head.

A ring of golden light appeared and hung in the air where her hand trailed, like the glowing after-images the eyes see trailing behind burning embers of a campfire when waving them around in the night. Pure black spiders, voids of darkness, appeared from the golden ring and shot outwards in all directions. Behind them, they drew glowing threads of light. In a moment, or in two-and-a-third moments at the longest, a vast spiderweb of light hung over Arwin and the Dark Enchantress, bathing the chamber in a bright, golden radiance. Then, along the wall with the artwork, the spiders began dropping from the web, hanging in various lengths on more thread. As each arachnid reached its desired height above a painting, it burst into light, and a glowing ball provided ample visibility in the area, perfectly illuminating each artwork.

“Whoa…” Arwin breathed, staggered at the beauty of her light show. Despite being made by illusory spiders, the web of light was truly enchanting. He moved to get a better look at the art on the wall.

Several dozen paintings were displayed. They came in various frames and styles, indicating they’d been produced by different artists and over different periods of time.

What we enjoy in art is a reflection of who we are as a person. This collection was a window into the Dark Enchantress’s personality, and so he was eager to examine it. He might be able to glean important clues into who she was; the better to understand her and thus win her over. And if he could win her over, he could find out whether or not Princess Epheria was here and earn freedom for himself and Yaz.

He did wonder, though, if this art was a real window into who she was or if it was part of a facade used to fool visitors into believing what she wanted them to. Some people are like that, hanging expensive, rare or unusual paintings in their house in a pathetic attempt to convince visitors that the owners are chic art snobs, cultured and refined persons: i.e. better than everyone else. Yet, in truth, the owners are completely unable to tell Monet from Manet and know nothing about what the creator was trying to convey. They certainly aren’t better than anyone else. But, his eyes roaming over the paintings, he thought, given the nature of the collection before him, that this was likely an accurate reflection of the Dark Enchantress’s honest inner self.

Arwin could see that she had a girly romantic streak from the number of paintings depicting scenes of love, although some were slightly morbid in nature. In one painting, a cute little girl tore her own heart from her chest and gave it to a boy. In another, an old man cradled the skeleton of what was presumably a lover from long ago. In a third, a woman gazed at a man with adoration as he handed her a bouquet of bleeding hearts; they were actual hearts, dripping onto the woman’s kitchen floor while outside the window lay the corpses of what were presumably rival suitors. In a fourth painting, a young woman sat very much alone, surrounded by darkness, tears streaming down her face, looking desperately heartbroken. There were love scenes with dragons and unicorns and fairies and kittens. There were even love scenes between humans and dragons and other creatures.

This girly, romantic side was unexpected. Arwin had assumed her to be a cold, heartless type. He glanced at her, though not too obviously.

She ignored him, looking at the paintings herself.

Interesting. Why had she allowed him to see this? She had threatened to kill him, perhaps even now continuing towards that eventuality. Given that he’d seen no other people thus far, he suspected that she was a very private person. If so, then why give a total stranger a glimpse into her true self like this? She had appeared to be a ruthless, dangerous woman up to this point, entirely living up to her ugly reputation. Why weaken that mask by revealing a fondness for flowers and love? Was she just toying with him, or was there more to her than his first impression and her reputation had led him to believe?

He walked up and down the line of paintings. Many scenes depicted strange and wild creatures of Heartstone: gargoyles, elves, mermaids, griffons, and many more he didn’t recognize. Some of the paintings were graphically erotic. Then the romance and nature sections gave way to much darker themes. Ah, here was the side of her that he’d expected. The paintings here showed scenes of pain, death, and torture. The characters and scenes were macabre and full of suffering. Yet there were also many instances of dark humour. This was the kind of stuff you’d find adorning the den of an evil person. Or maybe Tim Burton’s house. Man, that guy was cool.

They appreciated the artwork quietly for several minutes, but then she broke the silence as he got well into the more disturbing works.

“Creepy?” she asked calmly, referring to the darker pieces.

He thought about her question. Creepy? He slowly nodded. “Yes and no. I’m a big fan of things like Halloween and Tim Burton’s style. I like this sort of thing.”

She arched a well-manicured brow, obviously skeptical. “Really?” she asked. Yet, did he detect a hint of hope in her voice?

Oddly enough, he found that contemplating these artworks was once again transforming his impression of her. His first and rather unfavourable impression of the Dark Enchantress was slowly giving way to something more flattering as he reasoned his way to a deeper understanding of the woman.

He mulled over his answer before submitting it, for he didn’t want to give her something flippant, though a joke might lighten the mood. He wanted to give her something worthy of the art itself, and which showed his growing respect for her character. After all, he wanted her to like him. “Death is inevitable,” he said. “We all think about it to a certain extent, especially those who come within intimate contact with it or who face its approach. You have worked hard to overcome death, so it’s no surprise that you have a deep fascination with it.”

She tilted her head slightly but did not comment.

He gestured to the darker artworks. “Some are creepy, yes. Some of these are terrifying. But there’s also an undercurrent of dark humour in many of the pictures. Like Death skull-fucking Life with that big grin on his face. I’ve been thinking about why you’d choose to have these particular pieces. What does it say about you? Perhaps you feel that death isn’t always something to be afraid of but something you want to be able to laugh at. Or at least you don’t want to be afraid of it. A dark sense of humour, to be sure, but if you were trying to overcome your fear of death, or you were someone with a greater awareness of it, surely your sense of humour would be a little more twisted than some other people’s. If you had faced death yourself or seen many people around you die, perhaps because you outlived them, it would no doubt be an ongoing theme in your thoughts, one needing to be dealt with, and this could be one of the ways you choose to process your contemplations and emotions.”

She studied him as he spoke, and something shifted in her eyes as if she were, perhaps, reassessing him the way he was with her. She still looked at him with suspicion, but perhaps it was more tempered now? Or was that only what he wanted to see?

His words triggered further insights within himself, even as he spoke. He felt himself coming to understand her a little better and continued. “If you’re eight hundred years old, surely you’ve seen a lot of death. That’s got to be difficult to handle. But we can’t afford to be sad forever when death comes. Or angry at it. We’d go insane with depression and fear. And so much loss would be incredibly difficult. Perhaps finding a way to laugh at death might help us overcome that fear or normalize life’s natural end and help us meet the inevitable. Or fend it off. As much as we ever can, anyway.”

She watched him with a nearly unreadable expression, lips parted, her body still. Then the confident woman who’d been toying with him earlier returned. She smiled, cruelty in her eyes, and opened her mouth, likely to say something mocking. But she stopped before the words left her mouth. Then her face stilled, and she turned away, the cruelty gone. “Let’s go on.” She started walking and snapped her fingers. The glowing web of light silently burst into millions of tiny motes of light. They drifted down like golden snowflakes, slowly petering out. It was breathtaking.