The cauldron violently bubbled and churned, its dubious contents melting into a purple steam and floating away.

Outside, in the deep woods, the crows cawed away.

“Tomori,” Raana whispered. “Eye of newt.”

Raana’s newly-minted assistant stood at attention, a leather-bound book clutched tightly in her arms. “O-okay,” she said, and scurried over to the shelves by the entrance, where a dozen jars of various shapes, sizes, and colors were arrayed side-by-side in no particular order.

She scanned the collection, searching for her target. As she did, she saw her reflection on the glass, and for the first time in ages stopped to examine her own face.

How long had it been? A month, at least; but time was hard to keep track of, here, in the depths of the dark forest where the sun hardly ever shone.

She remembers that day as if it were yesterday. Sent on an errand by her parents, she had lost her way among the trees as she headed back from the market village; and in the depths of despair and helplessness, she came across the witch Raana.

She wore a towering pointed hat, and her body was hidden by a flowing black cloak that covered her chin and ran all the way down to the floor, and dragged along it as she walked; and on her shoulders sat two cats, one black and one white, sleeping peacefully, their tails curling.

She seemed young; supernaturally so. Tomori was well-read enough to know that witches had cheated the rules of life and death; despite her looks, she could have been hundreds of years old. Her hair was a deathly pale white, and her eyes shone in two colors, one blue like ice, the other amber like the harvest moon. Her gaze bore down on Tomori as if it was trying to eat her alive.

“What an interesting girl,” the witch said. Tomori trembled, her eyes darted from side to side; but there was nowhere to run, nothing but gnarled roots and darkness on either side of her.

The witch traced a finger along Tomori’s hair. “Would you like to live deliciously?,” she asked.

Tomori was paralyzed. But deep down, she felt a certain magnetism pulling her forward.

Would she not, after all? How bad could it be?

She never did feel at home in her village. Everyone was nice, yes–but something had always been off, as if everyone around her were speaking another language; as if she had been plucked at birth from another land.

The more she thought about it, the less scared she became.

Slowly, she gave the witch a nod. A wave of relief washed over her as she did.

“Good,” the witch Raana smiled, and with a touch of her finger to Tomori’s forehead, she plucked the girl from consciousness.

“M-master.” Tomori ran up to the cauldron, jar in hand. “How many eyes?”

“Just one,” Raana answered, and outstretched her hand. Tomori took one of the slimy, preserved orbs and handed it over. It felt pleasantly round and soft in her fingers.

The witch dropped the eye in the cauldron and began to stir it. The liquid roiled, and violently changed hues until it landed on a sickly green.

She looked over to Tomori and gave her a cat-like smile. The cats on her shoulders stirred awake and joined her. “Tomori,” she said. “One last thing.”

“What… do you need, master?”

Raana reached into her cloak and withdrew a long, sharp needle. “C’mere,” she said. “Hold out your finger.”

Tomori did so. Her hand grew warm in the cauldron’s steam. Slowly, Raana brought the needle to the tip of Tomori’s index finger.

Tomori closed her eyes. She felt a prick, a jolt running through her spine, and then, nothing. When she opened her eyes, her blood was spilling into the mixture, making it glow an iridescent, unknowable color.

“It’s ready,” Raana said, and scooped some of the liquid into a flask. “Drink it,” she said.

Without a second thought, Tomori took the flask and downed it in one gulp. It tasted like cherries.

“W-what… is this?,” she asked. She began to tremble. “What’s happening to me?”

The witch smiled.

“You’re free now,” she said. “Like me.”