Chapter Text
Bridgette Meadowood was a young and bubbly creature, known for her kindness and determination amongst the citizens of Harbington. She was always a bright helping hand in the close-knit village, dependable and reliable, but most of all, a friend for those in need. Her parents were farmers in the village just a few towns over in the small hamlet of Honeymoore, a little place known for its farming, fishing, and of course its sweet and distinguished honey. The tiny village was also known for its extravagant festivals, which is most likely where Bridgette picked up her bright and sociable personality, from running her family’s produce stand at every festival that took place. The Meadowoods were particularly adept at growing squashes of all varieties and were a huge success amongst the townspeople and visitors. Bridgette had always dreamed of moving to Harbington to open up an Inn of her own, hoping and wishing it to be a warm place for any and all to visit when they’re cold or tired. Her main focus in life was to help people in whatever ways she could, and she felt that this was one of the best ways to accomplish this.
Though on the other hand, Ivy Nightshade, known as The Nightshade Witch, was definitely not famous for her pleasant aura. Nightshade was Harbington’s dark witch, the woman to seek if you wanted to gain revenge on someone through magical curses, hexes, and or jinxes. She was a cold and mysterious woman to most, living in her secluded hut in the nearby woods, only emerging for materials for her craft. In her humble beginnings, she never really wanted any visitors, let alone an entire village knowing her as one of their own. She always thought of her association with Harbington as a failure on her part, not even secretly fond of any of the villagers, save for one in particular. Not much is known about her or how she arrived in Harbington, and not many ventured to try and find out.
Bridgette had been scavenging for herbs and vegetables in the local forest in just the beginnings of the creation of her Babblebrook Inn. Bridgette was very stressed, as she was barely making ends meet with the Inn, not to mention having sunk a lot of her savings into it so she hardly had any money left at all; however she was determined to make it work, despite things looking a little dim. The Inn needed a lot of fixing up, the roof leaked a fair bit, and the fireplace would make a horrible whistling noise, keeping any guests awake throughout the night, and the furniture and decoration that Bridgette had put in was quite scrappy and worn, making the Inn look a little… precarious. Needless to say, she wasn’t gaining a lot of revenue. As her wheels turned in her mind to try to gather more customers, she wandered very deep into the forest, coming up onto unfamiliar territory. A small hut lay deep in the forest, tucked in a spacious clearing away from Harbington. As the sun set and the moon emerged to cast an eerie glow upon the forest, someone appeared from her hut to tend to her garden, as her deathbells had been growing quite needy as they bloomed. At this point in time, Nightshade was a lesser known force as well, a mere rumour for young townsfolk to scare each other with in the late hours of the night. So you could imagine Bridgette’s surprise when her eyes arrived upon Nightshade’s stone hut in a wide clearing. They each heard one another’s rustling, Nightshade’s dark brown eyes gleaming at Bridgette in the moonlight. Bridgette froze in place, clutching her weaved basket full of mushrooms and basil leaves. Nightshade was taken aback as well, as she’d never had a member of the town get so close to her home. Sure, they’d heard her taking walks through the forest, catching small glimpses of her gold jewellery glinting in the sunlight, but never had a person seen her in her natural element. She hadn’t had much interaction with others for quite some time, as like Bridgette, her business hadn’t necessarily taken off either, mostly temporary travelers wandering through the forest and picking up small and spiteful charms along the way. But no one had ever stayed, no one had ever wanted to stay. So naturally, she didn’t necessarily have the most abundant of social skills, producing her candidly loud reaction.
“ What are you doing here? ” Nightshade boomed in the night, not moving from her spot in the garden. Bridgette clutched her basket harder, gasping but not shrieking as she thought she might have if the willowy figure in the shadows spoke to her.
“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that anyone was here, I lost track of time- see I’ve been scavenging, and I- I didn’t realize how deep the woods went, I’ll leave, I’m truly so very sorry,” Bridgette stammered as she collected her skirt and backed away.
Nightshade flowed through the gate at her garden, moving quickly to catch the girl who invaded her space. She didn’t really plan on having anyone find her, let alone having anyone spread rumours of a mean and gnarled witch who lives in their local forest- no, she needed to make sure that this girl didn’t tell anyone about her, or at the very least tell anyone that there was any reason to fear her. Nightshade was many things, but loud? Not on her watch. She tried to catch Bridgette by her sleeve, just narrowly missing her. Bridgette ran fast, and Nightshade rapidly lost sight of the girl.
“ Simply fantastic, Ivy, now she’s going to tell all the nauseating little dunces about you and you’re going to be a mound of soot at the base of a stake because you shrieked at her. Truly marvelous, Ivy, you insufferable wart,” Nightshade thought, scolding herself silently as she continued to leer at the space where Bridgette ran.
Bridgette burst out of the woods panting like a wild dog, checking her skirt to see if it was ripped at all. She had lost some of the contents of her basket, but not a detrimental amount, and her skirt was just a bit dirty around the hem. No one saw her as the day had turned to night long ago, and everyone was either sleeping or staying quietly in the comfort of their homes. Bridgette briskly made her way back to her Inn, locking the door behind her as she arrived in the doorway. There were no guests tonight and no one had come in while she was away; she had left a sign on the front desk counter in her absence, assurring any imaginary guests that she would be back shortly to get them situated. Alas, no one had come in, or at least no one had stayed. Bridgette sighed as she went upstairs to her quarters, a loft above the Inn, away from the guest’s rooms, but close enough that if she were ever needed, they could simply walk up some stairs to her door and ring the small bell that she’d set up on a table beside her door. There was also a small wooden slotted box for any requests the guests had that weren’t urgent, accompanied by a small pot of ink and a grey quill. Bridgette took a key out of her skirt pocket to unlock the small box, just to be sure that no one had left her any notes, but the box was empty as usual. She felt increasingly hopeless, sniffling away tears as she closed the box back up and locked it, opening her door and closing it behind her, leaning against the it and closing her eyes. She began to weep quietly, letting the events from the day wash over her, becoming quite overwhelmed and sleepy. She just wanted to crawl into her bed and sleep for a week, leaving her responsibilities on pause for until she awoke feeling refreshed and determined like her usual self. As she stored away the supplies she’d picked up from the forest in a cupboard in her small kitchen, she fantasized about what the Inn could become, what she wanted the Inn to become. She thought up the new fireplace, keeping the entire lobby cozy and warm from the elements outside, and the roof being fixed to keep out the leaks. She thought of new couches and chairs, nice red and blue ones with fluffy down feathers for guests to sink in to. Slipping off her skirt and blouse and tossing them into a nearby basket, she changed into her soft cotton nightgown, her favorite one with the long sleeves that made her feel like a princess. She collapsed onto her bed, barely getting under the covers before she was sound asleep, continuing her fantasy into her dreams.
For the next few weeks, Nightshade kept her ear to the ground as much as she could manage, listening for any talk of a mean woman who lived in the forest, or anything of that kind. She stayed in the shallows of the forest close to the town, her heart catching in her throat every time the courier rang his bell to announce any news, but she was always relieved when he spoke of prices going down at the Haberdashery, or an event that was drawing near. But the news that she was dreading never came, and eventually she sunk back into the woods, thinking about the mousy girl with the basket, wondering if she’d ever return.
Bridgette thought about Nightshade often as well, wondering what might have happened to her if she stayed too long. She hadn’t gotten a good look at Nightshade, however it was hardly a guess as to what Nightshade’s chosen profession was. Bridgette had heard of dark witches before, a popular character to demonize in literature and stories at friendly gatherings from her teenage years. There were other witches that were safe and friendly though, ones that lived amongst regular townsfolk, even offering their services for healing or other positive forces. Bridgette had even had a friend in school whose aunt was a witch, one who would visit the house often and produce colourful little sparky charms to entertain them. Harbington had a witch like that by the name of Willow who produced cleansing spells for those in need. But Bridgette had never met a dark witch before now, and her first impressions weren’t the best. She continued to wonder about Nightshade, increasingly so over the next few days, as she often had dreams of her coming out of her garden and inviting her inside. The first few weren’t very pleasant, usually ending with her poisoning Bridgette or cooking her in a large cauldron, but something told Bridgette that the stories that she’d been told about dark witches didn’t always ring true, and that somehow, something told her that Nightshade was different than what her dreams told her. After a few more days, Bridgette’s dreams transformed into Nightshade inviting her in to her hut to have tea and laugh together, and with these dreams her curiosity about Nightshade grew and grew. But by the end of the week, Bridgette’s mind wandered elsewhere as she became occupied again with the Inn. Her thoughts of Nightshade were pushed to the back of her mind, only to resurface when she receives an odd letter in her mailbox, written in scarlet ink.