"She pulled back her bowstring as far as she possibly could. Her muscles bulging out of her arm as she poured every ounce of strength she could muster into this one shot. All around us, the baron and his soldiers were laughing at her for being so serious, but I wasn't laughing. I held my breath and watched her every move. Then Boom!"
The storyteller darted her hands out in a punch with a single finger extended , causing the girl to initially tense up and gasp "She let go of the bowstring, and the arrow thundered up, up, up way into the sky, disappearing into the clouds." as the storyteller narrated she slowly rose her extended hand in the air. "...and then down it fell into the forest!" And with a quick swoop, the storyteller threw her finger down onto the little girl's tummy and attacked her with a tickling frenzy rupturing the girl into a beautiful siren trill of laughter. the tickling seized and the story continued "It took three whole days and nights of walking for the scouts to reach and return the target."
The little listener's eyes grew wide as they breathed in disbelief "No!? Three whole days?"
"Yes, It's true! And when they brought back the target, they gave it to the baron, and do you know what he saw?" The young girl just sat in silent, wide-eyed anticipation.
"Not only did she hit the target, she hit the bullseye! Oh, the baron was so mad; his face was red like a tomato. But he couldn't break a promise in front of the crowd, so they let the two of us go free. And that was the day your mom became known as the greatest marksman alive."
The fiery-haired woman bent down over the little girl, snugly nestled in her bed, and gingerly pecked her forehead. She paused, taking in the innocence of the young child's face, a face full of wonder and joy. It was so nostalgic.
The wondrous smile upon the innocent child didn't last long as she sank into contemplation. The young girl, covered in her thick layers of quilted comfort, questioned. "So now… does that make you the greatest marksman alive?"
The woman paused for a moment. One was never prepared for questions that should never have to be asked. The woman let out a sad chuckle. "I guess it does."
"Does that make you happy?"
The two locked eyes and shared a wordless exchange, their gazes delving deep into each other's souls. They allowed a moment for their emotions to intertwine, to let their melancholy, for a brief moment, slip through the cracks. "No."
The woman remained motionless in the bedroom's darkness, unsure how to respond. After a moment, she rose for the door but was stopped by a light tug on her shirt. "Are you happy?"
The woman cast her gaze upon the girl cocooned within her quilts. In the hushed embrace of night, she could just barely see glistening trails of tears tracing the girl's cheeks. The grip on her shirt was feeble, and she sensed a subtle quiver transfer across the fabric. "It's perfectly alright to feel sad. You can cry if you need to."
The woman settled back onto the bed beside the girl. She tenderly swept the girl's hair away from her face, and the girl rested her head on the woman's lap. Her sobbing was muffled against the woman's pants which slowly became damp from the child's tears.
The two stayed that way until the girl, exhausted and incapable of shedding more tears, succumbed to slumber. The woman tucked her in once more, and after a few moments to ensure that she was, in fact, asleep, she left the room.
The house was quiet; it was also small. A quaint farming house on the outskirts of some nameless hamlet within the country of Aegis. The house was initially meant for just the girl and her parents. It was nice. With the introduction of the red-haired woman, things became lively for a while. Now the house was back down to just three: the wrong three.
The woman made her way to the guest room where she had been staying. She sat down at her small desk and began disassembling her firearms for a thorough cleaning.
She wasn't like Schlemiel; she knew she would never settle, never have a family. She could only stay in this place for so long because it was Schlemiel. There was something in her that wouldn't allow her to lay down her arms for too long; besides, she was the only one who knew how to use them. If she didn't care for them, they would be lost to the annals of history once more. Her concentration was eventually interrupted by a knock on the door.
Without answer, the door swung open, and a tall, heavily built man moved forward before stumbling through the door, his armour clanking against its frame. He spoke with a hoarse growl, his words slurring together, "I already said that you can't do that here."
The woman replied apathetically without glancing up. "Biddy is asleep."
He couldn't help but let a growl escape. "That's not the point."
She placed her dissected gun on the desk and turned to face the man. She raised an eyebrow as if to entice his next question.
He let out a tired sigh, his shoulders falling as exhaustion took over frustration. "Is she okay?"
She responded with Nonchalance, "She cried again."
He just nodded his head in response. "You didn't tell her any more stories, did you?"
"It was a nice one."
The man straightened himself from his previously slouched stance, his voice lowered but tinged with anger as he responded, "None of the stories are nice. She doesn't need to know that stuff."
The woman was tired of constantly arguing the same points with the man but did not let such annoyances seep through her calm voice as she responded. "As much as you would like to think that Schlemiel's past didn't exist, it did. And regardless of if I tell Biddy, she'll find out eventually."
The man quickly bit back, "I want Biddy to remember a loving mother, not a savage killer." The man stopped himself before their usual spat could repeat once more, and with another sigh, he restarted with more composure. "Look, I really appreciate all the help you've given us over the past two years with everything. You've been a tremendous help to Schlemiel; I can't thank you enough for that. But your reason for being here is gone now. I just want my daughter to live a normal, happy life."
The woman's usual dry tone returned, but even in his inebriated state, the man could feel her tensing emotions as she finally broke from her task and gave him her full attention. "You want me to leave?"
"I'm still supposed to be on shift at the west gate. You could sneak by there now without getting noticed. We were all aware that you weren't permanent. You almost left on your own a few times."
She flashed him a hollow smile. "You noticed that, huh."
"We're just different. You're a criminal; you can't help yourself. You stayed in this house as Schlemiel's friend, but now you're staying here as a fugitive. I can't have that for my job, and I can't have that for my daughter."
For a moment, no response came, silence settling familiarly within the house. "Give me a minute to pack my stuff."
The man responded with a terse nod and turned to walk down the hallway. Left behind in the guest room, the woman pondered the space where she had been a guest for the last two years. It was the home of her dearest friend, her confidante, her partner. It was a place where she had built a family, where she had enjoyed a tranquil existence, and ultimately, where she had passed away.
There wasn't much to pack; she had always travelled lightly. She quickly reassembled her firearms, then packed a handful of clothing sets and included a small, crudely carved figurine gifted to her by Biddy. It depicted her with her two revolvers in hand. She held onto it hesitantly for a moment before carefully placing it inside her modest bag.
She cleaned the room, straightened the bedcovers and cleared the desk. She stopped at the door and gave the dark room one last glance. It was now someone else's room; it was not her bed. She made her way down the empty hallway where the man was waiting. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but whatever it was, his guilt prevented him from speaking it. She walked straight to the door and opened it.
"Thank you."
As she stepped outside and the door closed behind her, she found herself alone with only the gentle breeze of a tranquil night sky. The full moon bathed everything in a cold blue hue. She began to walk westward across the field of crops, watching as the small farmhouse gradually diminished, vanishing into the distant horizon. It had been two years since she last felt this feeling—a bittersweet nostalgia intermingled with a whirlwind of so many emotions she wasn't even sure which she should be feeling.
A sudden call halted her march, "Wait!"
The woman turned around to see a young girl, her head barely able to peak above the newly budding crops. Her nightgown was disheveled and stained with mud. The girl was out of breath, panting heavily to make up for her exertion. "Are you leaving me too?"
Those words pierced into the woman's heart.
The woman approached the trembling girl, setting her bag aside and kneeling on the muddy ground to meet her at eye level. She spoke with a mix of earnestness and tenderness, "Throughout your life, you are going to hear many things about your mom… and about me. Some of it is true... most of it probably will be. Always remember that, no matter what, she loved you more than anything in the world. She changed for you… so did I, in a way. You have a choice now. You can ignore those parts of your history, live your life as a normal girl doing normal things, find a good person, have your own kids one day. Or… or you can follow in her footsteps, practice as she and I taught, strive to be a powerful person, a great person, just like we were. It won't be easy, and you won't always be happy, but you will learn a lot and discover things about the world you could never imagine. And if you do that, get stronger, get better; in eleven years, I will meet you again at The Tournament. And I would love to see you take back your family title of greatest marksman alive."
The woman wrapped her arms around Biddy and pulled her in closely, hugging her as tightly as possible, getting all eleven years of hugs down in one instance. There was some crying, but this time she wasn't sure if the tears were Biddy's or hers. "You were and will always be loved; remember that."
Picking up her now muddied bag, she gently wiped Biddy's face dry before turning and walking back into the night. Approaching the west gate, she made sure to carefully scan all of the posts. He was not lying; he had left the path clear for her. She slipped through the gate with ease and ventured out into the vast wilderness beyond.
She continued along the dirt road for most of the night, determined to put as much distance between herself and the familiar surroundings as possible. Her instincts for evading civilization when unprepared returned as if they had never left, and she was well aware that she needed to rely on them now.
Interrupting the woman on her nightly escape was a cutting echo, its unidentifiable voice bouncing impossibly around her. "Ah yes, arcanal jackal Germination and unsuppressed accelerated essence metamorphosis. Such a tragic ailment, as rare as it is lethal. Typically, it leads to an agonizingly swift demise, lasting a mere few weeks at best. Those afflicted rarely survive long enough to procreate, and consequently, it's not widely known that the disease is hereditary."
The red-haired woman anxiously surveyed her surroundings, but the source of the voice remained elusive. It possessed a soft, feminine quality, yet it carried an ominous weight, almost toxic. What troubled the woman more than the disembodied voice itself were the unsettling words it had uttered.
"You and that woman did an admirable job slowing down the infection. Seventeen years surely must be a record. It's regrettable, however, that the young girl will suffer the consequences of your incomplete work. For her sake, I hope she chooses your second option and dedicates herself to becoming stronger. While her inherited condition is considerably weaker, without fortifying her constitution, she won't enjoy that long and joyful life you promised she would have."
The woman pulled out her two revolvers and desperately searched for her conversationalist. "Have you been watching me!?"
"No need for the weapons. I am here to offer you my aid."
A mist began to coalesce and gather a few feet before the woman. She maintained her stance, her guns poised and ready, aimed at the forming cloud. Slowly, the fog took on the shape of two ethereal figures. One was unnaturally tall; the fog upon its head resembled that of an impossibly wide-brimmed hat featuring a pointy center sleeve that slouched over. The hat resembled those flamboyantly large ones worn by self-proclaimed great wizards, only comically exaggerated in size. The other humanoid figure had its head concealed within a bushy, unruly cloud that formed a spherical helmet-like shape.
As the mist fully materialized into two distinct figures, the shorter one was revealed to be a woman with extraordinarily bushy and curly hair, secured with a yellow headband that kept her hair from obscuring her disgusting, intensely blue eyes. The other woman, in stark contrast, was of exceptional height and beauty, if not a little inhuman in appearance. Unlike any other living being, her distinct appearance immediately gave away her identity. She sported a white eye patch that concealed her right eye, a towering hat, and proportions that defied the norm. Her long, pointed ears and abnormally elongated fingers set her apart from any ordinary human. Her entire being, including her clothing, was a pristine white, like no blood coursed through her veins. Even her hair was whiter than fresh snowfall. But the most chilling aspect was her sole eye, unlike anything the red-haired woman had ever seen before. It was a clouded, eerie shade of red, the eye itself seeming unfocused as if it wasn't fixed on any specific target.
Recognition struck the red-haired woman like a thunderbolt. In sheer shock, she involuntarily dropped her revolvers.
Unfazed, the terrifying entity before her continued with a disconcerting calmness, "How would you like to cure that child?"
The red-haired woman, her voice quivering, finally managed to break free from her petrified surprise, deeply regretting the loss of her weapons. She could only stutter out, "The White Witch."