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A long life as a Witch had presented its challenges to Melly.
She’s faced mythical beasts, deities, nymphs, anything one could imagine a witch would face. However, the one thing that she never would have expected was a betrayal. Her acquaintance.... former acquaintance...Princess Ozma, was someone that Melly had once considered an ally, a friend even. That was all until one day...the day where she lost everything.
Prior to the event , there had been tension and rumors wafting amongst kingdoms and villages. Stray humans who had been unlucky enough to have been caught alone have been targeted by a user of magic. The claims say that the victims had their bodies drained of blood and that there was a specific pattern that all pointed to youthful people being the main prey. The humans who had heard of the cases had given the culprit the title, The Wicked Witch . Melly had never bothered to investigate. She is not a nosey person, and she had better things to do other than meddling with humans. And besides, witches would never integrate another’s business. But perhaps that’s where she was wrong. Around this time, Melly had noticed that Ozma’s once-graying hair had re-attained its youthful, vibrant red. Her age-sunken face had also become noticeably tighter and younger.
Ozma had given her a gift, from a friend to a friend, a token of appreciation for her company. It was a fleece, woven with magic by the sorceress herself.
“It can heal anything.” The taller woman claimed, “Any injury, any curse, any heartbreak.” The cat on her arm purrs, rubbing itself into the princess’s shoulder and peering through its beady yellow eyes at Melly. Ozma gestures the fabric closer to the other, “It is yours, my friend.”
The brown-haired woman gently reaches out and accepts the fleece, holding it in her hands and admiring its intricate embroidery. She smiles up at her companion, “I am truly grateful, Ozma. This is wonderful.”
“I am glad that a powerful witch such as yourself would appreciate something so insignificant.”
Melly shakes her head, “Nonsense, this means much more to me than its materialistic purpose...I will cherish this.” Ozma returns the smile. As she holds the blanket in her hands, the witch can feel a vigorous flow of magic surge through it. For a moment, she feels a twinge of darkness and evil. But the brown-haired woman ignores it. What evil could possibly come from a gift from her most trusted companion?
The red flags were raised, but Melly had failed to notice...and when she did, it was too late.
The witch had been trekking through the forest during the night, for no specific reason. She was there to enjoy the serenity of the stars and the cool crisp wind under the moon. As Melly continues her walk into the night she hears something. The noise gets progressively louder as she ambles closer, and she can finally make it out to be the sound of crying. The woman hikes through the brush, pushing aside bushes and branches until she comes across a young man. His head snaps towards her, eyes wide in panic. His leg is broken, and the sight is gruesome.
“Foolish human.” She calls, “What business could you possibly have in the forest during the dead of night?”
“I-I..!” The man starts, clutching his shattered leg, “My daughter was sick, great witch! My wife asked me to retrieve an herb! It’s an emergency!” He explains, bearing through the pain.
“And how did finding herbs lead to a twisted leg?”
“I fell down a hill, your greatness...” He answers nervously. It’s clear that he’s afraid of her.
Melly’s gaze narrows, then letting out an irritated sigh. She reaches into the sack wrapped tightly around her shoulders, pulling out the fleece that Ozma had gifted her. As she approaches the man he flinches. The brown-haired woman lets out a ‘tsk’, draping the blanket over the man’s broken leg. The fabric begins to glow a bright red, and within seconds the man’s leg is fully healed.
He ogles his limb in awe, amazed. Melly rolls her eyes, promptly snatching the fleece back and beginning to fold it neatly.
“I do not have the time or patience to come to your home and heal your daughter.” She begins, handing the blanket over to the male as he begins to stand, “Take this to help your daughter as well. And handle it with extreme care, this is very important to me.”
The man takes the fleece, getting on his knees and bowing to the witch, “Oh thank you, Madame witch! Thank you! Thank you!”
“Stop, fool. Your groveling is unnecessary.” Melly picks up her broom, sitting on it as it floats off the ground, “Return it to me in three days. Here, same time.” And with an understanding nod from the male, she flew off.
On the third night, she returned to the place that she had found the man, and she was met with a furious mob. The man was there, no fleece in hand, but instead a sword and a lit torch. Along with all the other angry villagers he had brought with him. They had attacked her, and the brute force had knocked the wind out of her. She was confined with chains and rope, blood beginning to spill from her eyebrow from having a stone thrown at her face.
“What is the meaning of this!?” Melly demands, “Explain yourself! You conniving mortal!” She says the words with a deep venom.
“No! You explain yourself! Wicked Witch !!!” The man exclaims angrily. The mob behind him express their agreement with his words through vicious words thrown at the woman.
Melly is taken aback by the accusing name, gawking at the group, “You accuse me of those incidents? Do you understand how foolish you sound?” She spits, “What have I ever given you other than kindness to prove that I was untrustworthy?!”
“The fleece! ” He shouts, “You tricked me! My poor daughter...! It didn’t heal her! It drained her of her blood and didn’t detach itself once I laid it over her!”
In an instant, Melly’s heightened rage disperses. The anger in her face drops, and a cold feeling is all that’s left in her chest. Her hands and legs feel numb, all of her surroundings becoming muffled. The fleece?...the gift from her dearest friend?..... Suddenly everything clicks in her mind. The strange energy from the fleece, the trademark red residue that all the victims were left with, the culprit, the culprit was—
“I see you’ve finally captured that wicked monster.”
A familiar voice rings in Melly’s ears. She looks up slowly from the ground, eyes wide in shock. Ozma stands beside the villagers, staff in hand. The sorceress smiles evilly at her ‘friend’. It was her. It was Ozma.
Melly is too stunned to speak. “We never would have captured it without your help, your majesty!” The man says gratefully.
“Now, brave one. The thanks all goes to you.” She returns, voice sickly sweet. Ozma turns back to Melly, “It seems that your reign of fear has now come to an end, Wicked Witch. ”
“Y-you...!” Melly sputters, attempting to stand up, only to be shoved back down by the men holding her chains, “You traitor! How dare you play my trust!” The brown-haired woman turns to the humans around her, “The Wicked Witch isn’t me! It’s Ozma! Don’t you see?—“
“Silence you foul demon! Turning the blame on others won’t save you from your crimes!” Someone shouts. Others begin to join in, throwing slurs at the witch and beating her. Ozma watches, unphased.
The riot dies down as Ozma raises a hand, the people stepping aside and making way for the sorceress. The woman sneers down at the other. Melly glares up at her from the ground, shaking from pain and anger.
“ The Wicked Witch shall harm no longer! For I shall put her in an eternal prison!” She announces, “But an eternal prison is not enough punishment for the lives that she has taken from us.” Ozma raises her staff, “To solidify her damnation, I will curse her with the same curse that she had cast on her victims!”
The humans surrounding them cheer, chanting, and urging the sorceress to execute the punishment. Red light gathers at the tip of Ozma’s raised staff, slowly growing bigger and bigger. Melly can feel the darkness from the curse pulsating in the air around her, and she can only watch on in fear. When the red light reaches it’s expanding peak, Ozma strikes her staff down at the brown-haired woman.
All Melly can remember is searing pain. It surged through her body for hours, leaving her unable to move or scream aside from the violent seizing of her body caused by the power of the curse. She couldn’t even process her surroundings as she was being transported to an isolated tower. When the pain finally calmed, it all circled in on her left cheek and burned into it. Melly collapsed.
And now, 300 years later, she was still in this tower. The spell had taken it’s toll on her, draining her energy every day, and changing her youthful brown locks to a hideous vibrant red, a color that she now despised. Her bangs were even beginning to gray, despite her face keeping its young complexion. Though she wouldn’t die from something like this, Melly could feel that she had gotten incredibly weaker. She wanted to, but was unable to test her dwindling power due to the cursed globe that encased her head, locking in all magic she was able to perform. She had tried removing it. Melly had bashed her head into desks, walls, she had tried prying the black claws that held the stupid thing down from her collar, but it wouldn’t budge. These things, along with the pentagram burned into her left cheek, were the remnants of the spell that Ozma had cast.
But despite being deceived, framed, and imprisoned in a lonely tower, she still hasn't given up the name she once had, and the person she once was.
She would escape. Melly could feel it as if it was an inevitable future...and she was right.
The only window to the tower had small doors of wood and was locked with magic, the entire tower was. The tower was silent, all the time. Anyone would have been driven mad by it, but not her. Which is why Melly was surprised and confused about why she heard three knocks on the window.
There was nothing around the tower for acres, and the structure itself was far too high for anything to reach, even with help. Melly thinks she’s finally gone insane and dismisses the sound. But the knocking repeats once more. The witch stares across the room at the window, which was a lot more clear than the first time. Melly jumps when there’s suddenly banging. The windows begin to shake with each bash, and now she believes this is either real or a very believable hallucination. Suddenly, a loud bang and crack of wood resound, the window practically exploding open with its wooden doors bursting open off its hinges and shattering against the ground. Light from the outside floods the room, and Melly gasps, throwing her arms over her face to block it and the debris. This was the first time in 300 years that she had seen sunlight. Something darts into the room, Melt flinching as the item stops just before it can impale her. The woman cracks an eye open, trying to adjust her eyes to light after so long. It takes a few minutes before her vision finally clears up. The item floating in-front of her is revealed to be her broom, finally reunited with its keeper after so long. She reaches out slowly, grasping it tightly to make sure it’s real with trembling hands. Her shock is so strong that she fails to notice the figure standing on the ledge of the window.
“I have to admit, I am impressed by your resilience, Witch.” The voice of another causes Melly to snap her head up.
At the window stands a man, dressed in elaborate white and black clothing. His hair shines with gold and his eyes glare with a blue that reminds her of the sky. His aura radiates creation and life, Melly can’t figure out if he is a deity of some sort. His expression is haughty, as he floats off the ledge gracefully and lands on the brick floor. The male sneers at his surroundings, disgusted with the unkempt, dusty furniture, dead rats, and roaches. He mutters a small ‘filthy’ under his breath, before walking closer to Melly, “I would have thought you dead after centuries living like this.”
“This land needs your help.” He starts, pulling a golden paintbrush from his right sleeve. Melly notices that his left hand is solid gold.
She tries to find her tongue, having not spoken to anyone for centuries, “....W...What?...What’s going...what’s happening to the land?”
The man brings the paintbrush towards the cursed cuffs that chain Melly to the wall, and she watches as the dry brush leaves behind a golden trail of light. He takes her wrists and paints over her cuffs in small glyphs, and when he pulls away, the golden light corrodes the iron and the chains disappear from existence. She’d never seen power like this before.
The male grabs her by her upper arm and helps her stand, “The sorceress has stepped out of line.” He states simply, “There have been too many deaths because of her greed, it is reaching an alarming amount.”
Melly laughs dryly, spite and sarcasm woven into her voice, “I imagine her hair is absolutely blooming with color now.”
“Not quite.”
Melly lifts a brow, “Oh?”
The blonde nods, “Her most recent victim has proven to be rather strong. A human, and she is still alive now.” He leads Melly slowly over to the window, “Petunia?.. Peninnah? I didn’t care enough to remember her name.”
“Impossible...” Melly mutters, “Ozma’s spells would kill a human within minutes.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” He states, “And I am freeing you because I know that you have the knowledge and power to guide this girl.” The man lifts his paintbrush once more and motions for the woman to come closer, “Let me rid of that cursed globe to extricate your magic.”
Before his brush can touch the glass, the witch reaches up and grasps his wrist. He raises a brow at her as if questioning her actions.
“There is no need.” She says firmly, lowering his hand, “I’d like to end this curse by defeating Ozma myself. I do not need your help with this part.”
The male nods, a slight upturn in the corners of his lips, “Your tenacity is admirable, Witch.”
“Melly.” She corrects. The male uses his paintbrush and draws an outline of something, when the golden trail of his outline fills in and stops glowing, it reveals a blank talisman and an inked quill. He hands it to the woman.
“This will guide you to the girl. Do not disappoint me.” He says.
Melly takes the talisman and quill, drawing a glyph onto it, the ink glowing purple once she completed it. The talisman floats out of her hand and stops at the gaping window, remaining mid-air and unmoving. It’s a spell used to locate things, and it will begin moving as soon as Melly starts to pursue it.
She stares at the floating piece of paper, pulsating with her magic, before turning her head to the male, “And what should I address the person who helped me as..?”
“Edgar is fine.” He answers.
“Will we meet again?” Melly asks, boarding herself onto her broom.
“Perhaps.” Edgar says, “I think I deserve something nice in repayment for using my valuable time to assist you.”
The Witch gives a short laugh through her nose, “I’ll be sure to think of something.”
Edgar slightly smiles at that, “I look forward to it then.” The male walks with poise, hopping up with a little float onto the ledge of the window.
“Now come, Melly.” He says, motioning an arm out to the world that she had been incarcerated from, “Life awaits beyond the tower.”