The room was so silent, as if there were some kind of silent spell that instantly took away the sound. Only the smoldering fire pit is still splitting and burning, and from time to time it spits out a few gold and red sparks.
The witch suddenly let out a hiccup and shook the empty glass in her hand.
"Inspiration is good; one more cup!" Her cheeks are delicate, and her green eyes are bright as wildfire. The alarmist prophecy seems to be just a drunken joke.
Dill simply handed her her glass of wine, and she wasn't even in the mood for a sip.
"I say you are at least a moon witch; death and mystery are also one of the powers of the moon god; light and darkness are the moon's one and two; you can't run away from the dark side of the moon for the rest of your life."
Ina mumbled, but nonchalantly took the glass and drained half of it herself.
"I'm not running away," Dill told herself that this was a mysterious great witch, not a drunken witch who talked nonsense, and to maintain respect and humility.
The witch belched hard again, "Then you don't believe me."
"I believe in my lady."
"Yeah, well, trusting the one who loves you, and then getting hurt all over by that love."
The red-haired witch bites into a slice of apple, chewing delicately as if she's savoring something:
"The only thing in this world that is more horrible than death, at least death ends the moment the body is annihilated, but love is a curse, an everlasting torment that is deeply imprinted on the soul. Little witch, you haven't lived long enough to get hurt."
She was drunk. Dill somewhat regretted handing her the wine.
The aroma in the room was so strong that it was hard to breathe, and Dill knew that the Green Fairy loved herbs.
Some of the more daring witches liked to burn psychedelic and hallucinogenic spices and intoxicate themselves with the fruit wines of the harvest to inspire them to use their magic, but of course, they often ended up so hot they were carried off to the pond to sober up, as Peren had done when she'd soaked herself in a barrel of wine all day.
Ina didn't seem to think it was enough, and after settling on two cups of spiced mulled wine, she began to stand on tiptoe again, searching among the bottles and jars, licking her mouth from time to time, looking like an insatiable glutton. Deeply afraid that she would fall and hurt herself if she was unsteady, Dill had the nerve to pull her to sit on the rattan cushion.
Dill used her cupboard to make a cup of hangover tea made with milk thistle, and Ina bristled, uncooperative. Each one of these great witches was even more eccentric than the other, more like a child than a child, and fortunately, Dill had over a decade of experience dealing with such situations.
The young woman said nonchalantly, "Ma'am, I don't want anything to happen to you while I'm gone, okay?"
Only then did Ina reach for her teacup and take a few reluctant sips.
Dill tried to get her to lean against the wall but noticed that there were other hollows dug into the wooden wall, not too big and not too deep, maybe just enough room for four fingers to grasp, one after the other extending upwards, like ladders ...
Dill unconsciously looked upward; where the ceiling should be was pitch black; it was where the candlelight could not shine, and the darkness that could not be touched was like a bottomless pit that opened up in the air. Maybe there was a second, third, and fourth floor to this tree house. Until you can touch the top of the tree in the clouds.
The ancient wood looks towering from the outside; maybe the inside is like a tower leading to the sky, like the mismatched green fairy in front of her. Each witch has her secrets.
A bold thought suddenly flashed through Dill's mind as she watched Ina, still in a daze. The young girl's hand wrapped around her back and quietly removed the bronze-looking glass from the cupboard.
She just wanted to confirm the identity of this great witch. She had heard the name Ina but couldn't remember how the other said she had many names; Ina was just one of them; maybe it wasn't even her real name.
Thinking so, Dill licked her mouth nervously, like a mouse trying to steal cheese from a jar; the lure of truth was too sweet.
She wiped her looking glass as if she had no intention of doing so, and then suddenly raised it.
It was pitch black.
Dill thought she was looking in the wrong place and was about to take it down when the object in her hand was welded shut, and she couldn't put it down, as if the other end was being held-
"Little witch, while you are spying on others, they are also looking at you."