Suddenly...
My eyes widen, taking in the sheer scale of the place; the room is as vast as a house. Towering shelves line every wall, brimming with ancient tomes. In the corners, desks and tables are cluttered with simmering potions emitting thick vapors. A spiral staircase leads upward, and a large window looks out over the city, where the scattered lights fill the dark horizon.
I pause for a moment to watch the old man. He rushes in, huffing and puffing in distress because one of his concoctions has overflowed onto the clay cups. He trembles with a frantic anxiety that reminds me of my mother whenever she finds the food has burned.
"Ellie.!! Black coffee.. Bitter dregs..!!"
His words are disjointed, a sequence of random nouns .
Suddenly, a young girl emerges. She is petite, seemingly between twelve and thirteen years old. Her hair is long and stark white, and her eyes are as pale as milk, as if she were blind to the world. She wears a delicate yellow dress on her thin frame, looking utterly peaceful and serene.
She climbs down from the sofa and speaks in a soft, childish voice, approaching him with a smile: "You neglected it for four hours? Did you really expect it not to overflow...?"
Barefoot, she walks with slow, deliberate steps toward him, navigating the cluttered floor without tripping. Despite her sightless eyes, she moves with an uncanny precision, as if she can see through the darkness.
I spot a full coffee cup on the floor directly in her path. Panic seizes me, and I shout a warning: "In front of you! The cup!!"
She stops and turns her head toward me, still smiling. Her features are devoid of real emotion, as if her smile is a mere facade—innocent and soft, yet hauntingly empty. She leans down and picks up the cup without ever looking at it, her white eyes and vacant smile remaining fixed on me.
She holds the cup out gently. "This? Do you want it?"
I stand there, paralyzed by shock. Can she see? It's impossible for someone blind to pick up an object so flawlessly without looking.
"No... I just... I was trying to warn you..."
The old man interrupts, shouting as he downs a small vial of red liquid—some kind of potion. He swallows it with a grimace, as if it were a burning, bitter draught, and then speaks with sudden, fluid clarity:
"Ellie... he would have killed me because of her! Take care of her. I know you don't like a third party between us, but it's only a matter of time..."
So, he isn't mute. He can speak perfectly, but it seems his tongue is only loosened by the effect of that red potion. Once it wears off, he retreats into his fragmented, cryptic speech.
"It's fine... I see that things are different this time," Ellie says, smiling as she continues to "stare" at me.
I can't take it anymore. I cut in, my voice laced with desperation: "Can you please explain to me where I am? Who are you people? And what is this city?"
"Those are natural questions to ask ,But the answers are not mine to give. You will learn where you are and who we are as the days unfold."
Despite her innocence and pure smile, she is frighteningly sharp. She managed to give me a non-answer, a diplomatic deflection.
I sigh in frustration. "I'm not in a position to be patient, nor can I live in a place I don't know just to discover its identity later."
The old man is occupied with cleaning the mess and mending the spilled potions, completely indifferent to our presence.
"I'm sorry... I don't have the answers. But I can help with some information," she offers.
"That would be better than nothing," I retort with a dry sigh.
She approaches me with a smile. "I am Ellie... I love drawing and art. I love nature and flowers."
I scoff, shaking my head. "Is this the information you intended to help me with?"
"This is called an 'introduction'... it is a part of the proper way in our world."
Damn her philosophy! I can barely deal with adults like them; how am I supposed to handle a child with this level of unnerving wit?
Ignoring her cryptic talk, I ask bluntly, "I want to return to my mother and my home. How?"
Her smile widens as she walks toward a wooden wardrobe. "That is something you must forget if you are to be in our world."
"Are you joking? Forget my mother? Forget where I come from and just accept being in this bizarre place?"
"You won't have to try. You will forget with time, and you will accept it as the days pass. You aren't the only 'new' one here."
She pulls a purple dress from the wardrobe and brings it to me. It's a modest, loose-fitting garment that reaches the knees.
Handing it over, she says, "A bath and fresh clothes will make you feel better. Try it."
Her smile and rosy cheeks make me feel as though everything is fine, as though I should be calm and unafraid. I hesitate, but my current state is wretched; I am drenched in sweat and dust, my dress is shredded like a beggar's rags, and my hair is a chaotic mess.
I take the dress and enter the bathroom she pointed to without another word.
Everything here is strange. Even the bathroom is entirely different—built of wood, with steaming hot water and vapors that make my muscles relax and my bones feel light again.
I finish my bath and step out in the purple dress. It fits me perfectly, as if tailored for my frame.
I find her sitting on the sofa, while the old man is in the open kitchen in front of her, cooking. The place has no interior doors; everything is shared in one massive, open living space.
"The dress suits you," the little girl says, beaming.
"Thank you... was it your mother's?" I ask.
It's too large for her, so it must belong to an older sister or a mother.
"No, I don't have a mother. Joseph brought many clothes before your arrival... specifically for you."
I freeze. "What do you mean?"
"Before you even set foot in this city, Joseph had prepared these dresses for you. This is one of them. Since you are going to live with us, he brought them here."
"What?! I'm going to live with you?!"
Just as I begin to calm down, a new revelation shatters my peace, waking me to the sheer danger of my situation.
"Who are you to decide that I live with you?!" I shout, my nerves fraying.
"We didn't decide," she says calmly, her smile never wavering despite my outburst. "He did."
"Fuck you all... and fuck him."
"Rage and haste will avail you nothing," Ellie says with an unsettling composure. "Instead of fighting futile battles to return home, you would be wise to accept the present and look toward the future... because your future belongs here now."
I grip my hair, my hands trembling with a mix of fury and despair. "I hope this is just a dream. Ever since I set foot in that manor after my mother's marriage, I've been living one nightmare after another. It hasn't even been a year... could this truly be Hell?"
She smiles, rising from her seat and padding toward a vase overflowing with pink blooms. She plucks one, twirling it between her small fingers. "If you call our world Hell, I shall take it as an insult. It is a sanctuary—a paradise—to many of us. Is this how you imagine the abyss? A peaceful realm, shielded from the commoners and their hollow wars?"
"A peaceful realm? Hidden from the world? Where exactly is this place on the map?"
Ellie grins, beginning to pluck the petals one by one, letting them drift to the floor with a childlike innocence. "It isn't on any map. It is an internal illusion... a second world woven into the fabric of yours."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, my brows furrowing in confusion.
"I mean... I mean nothing," she says, handing the bare stem of the rose to the old man. He smiles at her as if she had just gifted him the most exquisite bouquet.
"Ellie..." I call her by her name for the first time. She beams at me. "I cannot accept a life I know nothing about. Tell me everything."
I realize she is right. Instead of wasting my spirit fighting for a return that may never happen, I must use my energy to understand the rules of this new destiny.
"Good. You've regained your senses," she says, returning to the sofa. She sits back, letting her feet dangle and swing gently.
She begins to weave the story. "This is our home, nestled within the confines of Joseph's palace. He gave it to us because we are the closest to his heart. And this man," she points to the elder, "is Sajur, the palace's Raven. He is a master of potions and poisons, a wielder of fire, and the creator of elixirs. He is the Great Scribe of the Manor, documenting every event—past and present—to ensure our history survives for generations to come. As for me, I am neither his daughter nor his granddaughter. I am simply an orphan he took pity on and adopted."
She pauses, her gaze fixing on me. "Joseph has permitted you to live with us temporarily so we may look after you. Sajur will teach you the arts of magic and help you unearth your hidden power. And I... I will be your little sister until you grow accustomed to this life. This place is your only safe harbor now. Half the town celebrates Joseph's return, while the other half trembles in fear of it. Living among the common folk would offer you no peace."
"Why all of this? Why can't I just go back to my house?"
"Because you are a witch," she answers, her voice a soft, undeniable chime.
A witch? Me? A world of sorcerers? What dragged me into this from the start? How did I get here?
"I'm not a witch..." I say, the shock numbing my voice. I've heard the word so many times today that I no longer have the strength to fight it.
"Oh, but you are."
"Tell me more about... Joseph, this place... your magic... everything," I say, intentionally ignoring the word 'witch.' It stings, reminding me that I am prey in a world of predators.
Ellie begins to speak, her voice slow and rhythmic, as if reciting a bedtime fable. "Our world? This town is entirely severed from the outside world. We, the sorcerers, have gathered here. Each of us is unique, gifted with a power that defines our very soul. Some command fire; others draw strength from the roots of nature. Our power lies dormant within our chests, only turning savage when the drums of war begin to beat."
"How did you become sorcerers? Where does this come from?" I ask, my mind spinning in a whirlwind of confusion.
"We are born with tainted blood—a sorcerous inheritance. But we are born without an affinity, just husks carrying dormant magic. We only gain our 'Gift' when we stand at the threshold of death. The magic manifests as a direct counter to the way we almost died. For example..."
She stops abruptly. Her smile fades, and her white eyes drift into a hollow void, as if she is crossing a bridge of painful memories.
She continues, her voice heavy with a haunting nostalgia. "When I was eight, my parents were slaughtered before my eyes. I let out a scream so primal, so terrifying, that the sheer shock of it severed my optic nerves (a phenomenon known as Psychogenic Blindness). I was beaten until I was on the verge of perishing. In that moment, my power manifested: 'The Piercing Sight.' I see better than you, better than anyone. I catch glimpses of the future; I see negative and positive auras; I see everything pertaining to knowledge. And Sajur... he was poisoned by his lover, who then burned his face. Now, his magic lies in poison and the mastery of flames."
"I'm sorry... for your parents," I say softly.
It's chilling. Everyone here is gathered because they were nearly extinguished, only to be granted a second life and supernatural power. Magic, it seems, is born only from the womb of trauma.
I ask her, "Who grants you this power? Who saves you from death?"
She smiles again after her brief frown. "The Etherions."
Etherions? A strange name for a hidden force that grants what mortals cannot conceive.
"Who are these 'Etherions'?"
"It isn't necessary for you to know who they are just yet."
Her smile is truly provoking. It fascinates me how a child her age possesses such a repository of knowledge, speaking with a rationality that contradicts her soft, innocent appearance.
I pose the question that has haunted me from the start: "What is Joseph's connection to all this? Why is he the ruler?"
Ellie looks toward Sajur, who is immersed in his ledgers and chemical experiments, oblivious to us. She calls out in a tender, feminine voice, "Sajur..."
He turns to her, and she says flatly, "Two coffees. We have a long story ahead of us."
She turns back to me. "I don't have the full story; I've only been here twelve years. But I will tell you the legend whispered by everyone, young and old. It may not be a hundred percent reliable, but it's far better than asking Joseph yourself and having him take your head."
We share a grim laugh. Everyone here knows that talking to Joseph is a gamble with one's neck—and I was inches away from having mine torn open.
Sajur approaches with his frantic, excessive movements, his hands shaking so violently that the coffee spills onto the saucers. He places the cups before us and mutters, "Sugar... no," before drifting away.
I smile for a heartbeat. Despite the horror, there is a forest of peculiar charm dwelling within these two.