Part 1
"So when did she start teaching you real magic?"
The girl's voice is hushed tonight, like she's afraid the forest might be listening.
I smile faintly. "After I nearly burned the roof off."
"That's what it took?"
"That, and a noble knocking on our door."
The morning after the firestorm, Agatha didn't scold me.
She just handed me a cup of bitterroot and said. "We start today. No more tantrums. No more guessing."
I nodded, too tired to argue. My hands still trembled from the night before.
She led me into the clearing behind the cottage, where the grass grew ihn strange spirals and stoned hummed faintly if you stepped on the wrong one.
"Magic," she said, "is not a gift. It's a language. And you've been screaming in it."
She showed me how to breathe-not just with my lungs, but with my magic. How to listen to the wind without bending it. How to hold a flame in my palm without letting it bite.
It was hard. It hurt. But for the first time, I felt like I wasn't drowning in it.
By the third day, I cast my first hex.
It was small-but a binding charm on a stubborn root that kept tripping me- but it held. Agatga raised an eyebrow and muttured, "It's about time!"
I beamed.
Part 2
That afternoon, the knock came.
Three sharp raps on the front door. Not the hesistant kind of a lost traveller. The kind that expected to be answered.
Agatha stiffened. "Stay here."
I didn't.
I crept to the edge of the hall and peered around the corner.
A man stood in the doorway, tall and pale, dressed in a velvet coat the colour of dried blood. His boats were polished. His gloves were spotless. He looked like he'd never touched dit in his life.
"Lord Seymor," Agatha said flatly. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"
He smiled, all teeth and charm.
"I was passing through. Heard rumours of a witchling in the woods. Thought I'd see for myself."
Agatha didn't move. "You're not welcome here.
"I rarely am," he said, stepping inside anway. His eyes scanned the room- and landed on me.
I froze.
He smiled wider. "Ah. There she is."
Lord Seymor's eyes lingered on me like I was something rare and fragile- an artifact behind glass. I hated immediately.
"So," he said, stepping futher into the cottage without waiting for permession. "this is the girl."
Agatha moved between us with practiced ease. "She has a name!"
"Of course, "he said smoothly. "Circe, isn't it?"
I blinked. I hadn't told him that.
Agatha's jaw tightened. "You've listening to the wrong tongues, Seymor."
"I listen to all tongues," he said, brushing a speck of dust from his sleeve. "Espeically when they whisper about a child that burns without flint and speaks to the wind.2
I felt my stomach twist. I hadn't meant for anyone outside the forest to know. I hadn't even known was I was worth noticing.
"She's not for sale!" Agatha said firmly.
Lord Seymor laughed. "Please. I'm not here to buy her. I'm here to offer...opportunity."
Agatha's eyes narrowed. "You mean control."
"I mean education," he said, turning to me now. "You're powerful, Circe. But raw. Unshaped. You could be so much more.
I didn't answer. I didn't trust my voice.
"She's learning just fine," Agatha said. "And she doesn't need your kind of shaping."
Lord Seymor titled his head. "You think hiding her in this moss-covered cottage will keep her safe? The world is changing, Agatha. The Order is stirring again. The old protections are fading. She need more than your dusty wards and half-spoken riddles."
"I've kept her alive this long."
"Alive isn't the same as prepared."
The room felt colder suddenly. The fire dimmed.
Agatha stepped forward, her voice low and dangerous. "You've had your look. Now leave!"
Lord Seymor studied her for a moment, then turned back to me. "If you ever grow tired of being caged, Circe...you'll find me."
He reached into his coat and placed a small silver token on the table. It shimmered faintly, etched with a sigil I didn't recognize.
Then he turned and walked, boots clicking against the floor like a clock coutning down/
The door shot behind Lord Seymor with a finality that made the walls seem to exhale.
Agatha didn't move. She stared at the token like it was something rotting.
I stepped closer, my voice small. "Who is he really?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached out and swept the token into her hand with a cloth, as if touching bare would leave a stain. She dropped it into the hearth. The flames hissed and flared blue for a moment before swallowing it whole.
"Lord Seymor," she said at last, "is a man who collects things. Rare things. Dangerous things. Things that don't belong to him."
I frowned. "He said we wanted to help."
Agatha turend to me, her eyes sharp. "He wants to own. That's what men like him call help."
I looked down at the hearth, where the token had vanished. "He knew my name."
"He knows more than that," she said. "He's been sniffing around the old bloodlines for years. Looking for power he can bend. Witches. Seers. Anyone the order didn't burn the first time."
I swallowed. "Why me?"
"Because you're loud," she said bluntly. "You're magic doesn't whisper, Circe. It shouts. And the world is always listening."
I sat down slowly, the weight of it all pressing into my chest. "Is it really that bad that out there?"
Agatha's face softened, just a little. "Worse. There are cities where witches are still hunted. Courts where magic is currency. And men like Seymor, who smile while they measure your worth in how useful you are to their wars."
I looked at her. "Then why teach me at all?"
She met my gaze. "Because one day, you'll have to leave to leave this forest. And when you do, I want you to be ready."
Silence settled between us, heavy but not cruel.
I nodded slowly.
And for the first time, I understood: Agatha wasn't just trying to protect me from the world.
She was trying to prepare me to survive it.
Part 3
Later that night, long after Agatha had gone to bed, I crept back to the hearth.
The fire had burned low, just embers now- soft and red like the last breath of something dying. I knelt beside it, staring into the ashes.
There was nothing left of the token, No silver. No sigil. Just a faint shimmer in the soot. like the memory of something that refused to be forgotten.
I told myself I hated him. Lord Seymor. His smile. His arrogance. The way he looked at me like I was a prize waiting to be claimed.
But part of me- some small, traitorous part- wondered what it would feel like to be wanted. To be seen as a burden or a danger, but as something powerful. Something important.
Agatha said he wanted to own me.
But what if he was right? What if I wasting away here, sweeping the floors and whispering spells to trees while the world moved without me?
What if I was meant for more?
I pressed my hand to the hearthstone. It was still warm.
"I'm not his." I whispered.
But the doubt had taken root.