The sun had barely risen when I stepped into the narrow alley. Pulling out a mirror, I glanced at my reflection—silver hair and pale skin, the kind the villagers disliked. My true form—or at least, the body I now inhabited. I touched the surface of my skin and whispered a short incantation. Like a veil being gently pulled, the face melted away, revealing a simple village girl with brownish hair, slightly rounded cheeks, and an innocent gaze.
"Good enough for today. We'll be 'approachable,'" I muttered, tucking the mirror away and slipping a few small potions into the inner pocket of my cloak. A faint scent of verbena leaves and cinnamon drifted in the air.
My steps were light as I made my way down the dirt path toward the old house near the wheat fields. The road echoed with subtle sounds: the rustling of grass in the breeze, creaking planks from run-down homes, and whispers too hushed to count as greetings. I used it all—sharp hearing, light movements, and the friendly demeanor I'd mastered from performance.
That house... it looked strangled by weeds and time. Its windows were like tired old eyes that had long given up trying to open. On the edge of the field, I sat on a large stone, pretending to sketch the scenery.
"That house... it's creepy, huh?" a young girl asked, holding a basket of flowers.
I turned slowly. "Creepy, but… kind of beautiful. Does anyone live there?"
"Nope. They say it used to belong to a tycoon. Rich. But his whole family disappeared. Just like that. No one knows why."
"Disappeared?" I echoed with just the right amount of drama. "You mean, the whole family just vanished?"
She nodded quickly. "Some say they did strange rituals. There were sounds at night. Singing or screaming. But… that's just what people say."
"Says who?"
"Old Doni. He used to work in the fields nearby. But he's blind and ancient now."
I thanked her with a wide smile and went back to 'sketching'—actually noting down symbols in my custom code. The house: faint aura, not overwhelming. Maybe just folklore, but still worth noting.
I moved on, smoothly shifting roles—offering sketch-flowers to villagers, easing into casual chats, and slowly heading toward the riverbank.
The old chapel stood like a forgotten gravestone. Its walls cracked, roof slanted, and the cross on top hung down as if ashamed.
"Not many come to this chapel anymore, huh?" I asked an old woman hanging clothes nearby.
"Been abandoned a long time. Too far. Used to be full every week. Then less and less. Now… just forgotten."
"Ever hear strange noises or odd things from there?"
She stared at me for a moment. Her wrinkled eyes held something. "Sometimes, the bell rings… but no one hits it. Or shadows go in and out… but no one's there. Then again, old minds like to scare themselves."
I thanked her and followed the winding river northward. The sunlight had begun to slant when I reached the edge of the forest.
An old man was cutting branches near the path. I approached with a smile, eyeing the woods that chilled the air around them.
"Mister, this forest… it looks pretty scary, doesn't it?"
"That's just how it is. It's called the Cursed Forest."
I chuckled. "Sounds fitting. Creepy forest, dark, smells like death. But what's its real name?"
"North Village Forest," he said flatly.
I almost choked trying not to laugh. Internally, of course. "The laziest name I've ever heard."
"Whose kid are you?" he asked, suspicious.
"Traveler's daughter. Just tagging along with my mother. We're staying a while. I like listening to weird stories."
He nodded. "This forest's got plenty. They say a witch used to live here. Some went missing for years, then came back unable to speak. There are baby cries, howling wolves—except there's not a single beast."
"Interesting," I murmured. But my mind was already sorting: what was exaggerated, what held energetic patterns. So far, the villagers stacked stories like kids building towers out of dice.
I stayed with them. Sat around. Made small talk. Complimented wood carvings. Helped move branches. Then slowly slipped in my questions.
"Do you think the Church believes in ghosts?"
"Well... sure. Demons are real."
"But not ghosts, right? They're different."
He thought hard. "Yeah… maybe different. But all scary things come from sin."
I sipped his words like bitter tea. Then smiled and excused myself. My steps were light, but my mind swirled with ideas.
Too many places, too many stories. I needed a method. Experiments. Testing. Maybe not all were real—but what if just one… opened a door?
And that door... could be very useful.
Dusk neared. Orange light slipped through the window cracks, painting our little wooden home's walls with a warmth almost deceitful. I came down from the second floor, stretching. For some reason, that afternoon nap felt more comfortable than usual.
"You slept like the undead, Shinna," Rima's sharp voice called from the kitchen. She was slicing onions with a steady rhythm. "Or are you sure you're not already dead, haunting this place as a lazy ghost?"
I chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "If I were a ghost, I'd be the most handsome one in the land."
She glanced at me with her usual blank stare, then shook her head. "Even a handsome ghost wouldn't help us deal with the Church."
I walked over, grabbed a carrot from the basket, and started peeling. Silence settled between us, broken only by the sound of knives on cutting boards. I decided to break it—I hated quiet that stretched too long.
"We could run. Tonight. Through the backwoods. I can disguise us both as traveling merchants looking for a lost cow."
"No."
Quick. Firm. Trauma-soaked.
I turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "At least consider it before you reject it."
"I've considered it for the whole year we've been here. I'm not repeating the past. We can't keep running, Shinna."
I sat on the long bench, chopping the carrot as I stared at her back. "Then we hide. The villagers know us now. Maybe we can slip into new identities."
She turned slightly. "You have something in mind?"
I grinned. "We erase Joul's identity. Replace it with me as your son. New face, of course. Imagine me as a sharp-eyed teenage boy with a lazy smirk. Everyone would say, 'Wow, he looks just like his mother.'"
Rima let out a small laugh—for the first time that day. It evaporated quickly, replaced by her usual wary expression. But at least she didn't reject the idea.
"I wouldn't mind. But it still won't solve everything if they find us."
I stood to help set the table. The scent of vegetable soup drifted from the pot. We ate at our small table, just the two of us, like always. The first spoonful came with a question from me.
"Do we have limits in our magic?"
Rima chewed slowly, then put her spoon down. "Of course. Our core principle is limitation. Magic resonance isn't stable if that principle is disrupted."
I nodded, pretending to ponder, though I already knew. I just wanted to confirm what I was thinking.
"Resonance slows down if the core principle isn't consistent, right?"
"Correct. Or if it wasn't solid to begin with. Internal dilemmas. A witch who doubts will naturally create her own resistance."
I bit into a piece of bread and raised a hand like I was giving a lecture. "But what if the core principle is too small? Not ambitious enough? If we make it bigger, maybe we can maximize resonance… though too much repetition might cause it to fatigue."
Rima looked at me deeply, then sighed. "That… makes sense. Too small a principle becomes a bottleneck. Too big, and the witch burns out early. Repetition creates magical fatigue. It's why many witches fail in experiments."
"So we need balance. A core principle flexible enough to grow, but specific enough to preserve identity."
Rima nodded slowly. "And you need to be careful. Your crazy ideas bring you too close to the edge."
I just smiled. "If we never walk the edge, how would we know how far we can go?"
Rima rolled her eyes and grabbed her tea. "You'll make me bald before my time."
"Don't worry," I said, stretching with a yawn. "If you go bald, I'll make you illusion hair. Long, wavy, rainbow-colored."
That night ended with a small laugh and a quiet anxiety that never fully left. But we were used to living in the shadow of fear. And I... I could feel the time to experiment was drawing near.