The same day as he recovered, they spent some time in the rosarium which contained the biggest and brightest roses he ever saw. Here, in the arctic! Crimson must be one of the most unoriginal colours of the rose, due to how iconic it is compared to other colours. The witch thought the same upon their arrival to the rosarium and with a simple gesture, she immediately morphed them into the white and yellow colours.
"Yellow is the colour of gold every nobleman desires and white is the colour of my hair," she said with a smirk while Oliver was glaring at their astounding beauty.
"Are you… able to make it any colour you wish?"
"But of course, in the end, I am a witch" she nodded and at once, behind her back, roses morphed yet again, but this time into the most bizarre mixture of colour, from the darkest shades of black to deep-blue, the symbol of impossible. Oliver came closer to the field of flowers yet again, he outstretched his hands to pluck one large, purple rose, but suddenly, he was stopped by the witch herself. She tapped his shoulder and modestly said.
"I am sorry, but I prefer them in their full beauty."
"But can't you make them immune to withering with your magi-!?" before the man could finish the question, a flock of maple leafs flew past his face, blocking the view. This scared Oliver and he quickly got up from his place and ran by the laughter of a gal. But soon her giggling as well as Oliver's terror would end with him accidentally stumbling upon her.
They both fell on the rose field, yellow maple leafs escaped from Oliver's face and he was able to witness the face of the witch in its full glory. Her lips were rather thin, pupils enveloped in red, but with no malice present, eyebrows white, reminiscent of her hair, and a tiny mole just under her lower lip!
"You are quite heavy," she stated with a smirk on her face which made Oliver blush in shame. He got up once again and apologetically bowed to the woman, but instead of expected anger or irritation from the witch came only a kind pat on the head of the man.
"What are you bowing for?"
"I am sorry for knocking you to the ground."
"But it was my fault for blinding you with the leafs, was not it?"
"Still, I should have been more cautious."
The witch made a light sigh and removed the hand from his head just to capture this time his hand. She pulled the man to the outside of the rosarium, but instead of the corridor which lead them here, another room mysteriously displaced it. They came to a spacious but gloomy bedroom. There were a few dusty bookshelves around the walls as well as rococo-style paintings and a queen-sized bed at the centre. But it was lacking any windows.
"W-where are we?"
"In your bedroom, I guess you are feeling tired?"
"What do you…" as soon as the man tried to object to her speculations, he felt the weight of his eyelids drastically increase, plus, the body began swaying from side to side as if Oliver was drunk. With a little push from the woman, the man fell onto the bed and entered the dream world without saying any farewells. Before giving the man to the care of night, the witch glanced at him one more time through the door gap and whispered with a chuckle.
"Farewell, my fair knight."