Days and nights passed since Oliver became a tenant of the house in the middle of nowhere with its householder being a witch. He did not try to question the sole absurdity of its presence, in fact, the man was weirdly obedient in his thoughts, especially with the witch herself around. She had an aura of total normality around her as if he was visiting an old acquaintance whom he did not meet for quite a while. Whenever, though, the man tried to learn something about the place, her magic, or the witch herself, she just looked at him in boredom and tried to change the topic. She did not try to stick her nose into Oliver's whole situation either, even though she had a total right to know the one she invited into the house.
But what is the point in this trivial matter anyway, when your surroundings fully consist of miracles? They ate the bread that was brought to their spacious table by a butler in a medieval knight suit, they shared their bizarre thoughts about space and the future on top of a giant baobab, which was slowly moving through a rosarium. They shared laughter while discussing their favourite music artists while their either greatest or worst pieces were playing by an invisible orchestra!
"Why is the music playing? Who is playing it?" at one point asked Oliver to which the witch cackled, "What is the point of knowing if you are enjoying it?"
And this was a precise truth! Words of concern are meant to find the solution to the problem, so what is problematic in them enjoying each other's company? What a foolish question to ask, especially when you have an answer right in front of your nose. It's magic!
"What is your magic? How are you able to make visible invisible, immovable movable or unliving alive?" asked again the man, now doubting his presence here.
The witch's answer, on the other hand, stayed the same, "Its magic, Oliver, just enjoy your time!"
"But is not it only natural to crave for an answer to the abnormal?"
"Then why you never asked about people seeing only those colours we are aware of? Why have you never asked about the night and day changing in precise 24 hours, not more or less?"
The man fell in thought, "Because that's the way we have been living so far?"
"And that's the way I am living, Oliver. There is no point in overthinking about a matter that is here. They are indeed supernatural in your world, but here, in the mansion of the arctic circle, they are as natural as breathing is to you, as the sunlight of the radiant sky, or chirping of the gracious birds," she turned to the man yet again, now holding a small sparrow in her slender hands. It was not fighting for freedom nor was idling in her palms. It was eager to escape the witch's timid grab, but was patiently waiting for its debut, forming its own beak into a smirk, "All you need, Oliver, is to smile!"
After these words the witch let the bird go off her palms and it soared into the blue sky that was supposed to be the ceiling of the mansion, but it appeared to be so tall that soon the little sparrow was nowhere to be seen around.