That very night, the witch Elise left the hut with the baby sleeping soundly in her arms.
There was no chaos in her departure, no frantic scrambling or half-packed belongings. Elise moved with quiet certainty, the kind that came from someone who had already made peace with every consequence. The fire was extinguished, the tools were returned to their places, and the door was shut firmly behind her.
She paused only once at the edge of the clearing.
The moon hung low in the sky, pale and watchful. Elise adjusted the blanket around the infant and looked down at the tiny face resting against her chest. So small, so unaware, and yet so dangerously precious.
"They would have killed you," Elise murmured softly. "Your own mother would have seen to it."
The baby stirred but did not wake.
Elise turned away from the hut without regret. By dawn, the forest would erase her footprints, and by sunrise, the child meant to die would be gone from the world.
While the forest held its breath under the pale moon, the kingdom celebrated.
Bells rang in triumphant joy. Golden banners fluttered from ivory towers, and the streets overflowed with music and laughter as nobles raised goblets while servants hurried through marble corridors bearing gifts wrapped in silk and gold.
"A princess is born," the heralds cried. "Long live the crown."
Inside the queen's chambers, the air smelled of incense and fresh linen. Courtiers whispered praise as they bowed and withdrew, careful not to linger too long in the presence of their ruler.
The queen lay against velvet pillows, her face pale but composed. A cradle stood beside her bed, draped in royal blue.
Inside it lay a child.
Not her child.
Her gaze remained fixed on the window, where moonlight filtered through sheer curtains. The distant sound of celebration drifted through the palace, yet her expression did not soften.
"She is gone?" the queen asked quietly.
A shadow shifted near the wall.
"Yes, Your Majesty," came the reply. "The exchange was completed as ordered."
The queen closed her eyes, and for the first time that night, something like relief settled over her. The weight that had pressed against her chest for months finally loosened.
No one would ever know. No one would ever question.
After all, the child she now claimed was still the king's, taken from a nameless woman who had once shared his bed. Easily erased.
Easily forgotten.
"She will not return," the queen said firmly. "Ensure it."
There was a pause before the shadow spoke again.
"There was interference. The witch Elise."
At that, the queen's lips curved slightly.
"Elise," she repeated. "Always sentimental. Always defiant."
Silence followed for a moment longer.
"She took the child," the shadow added.
The queen opened her eyes slowly.
Then she smiled.
"Let her," she said softly. "A witch raising a cursed infant in obscurity is far kinder than the death I intended."
Her fingers tightened slightly against the sheets.
"And far less dangerous than allowing the child to grow here."
Outside, the kingdom rejoiced, blind to the truth behind its celebration. The queen did not join them.
....
Years later, the market awoke with the sun.
Wooden stalls lined the square, bursting with fresh produce and the noise of haggling voices. The scent of earth, fruit, and bread hung thick in the air.
Behind a modest stall sat a girl with a book open in her hands. Her brows were drawn together in concentration as she squinted at the page, lips moving faintly as she wrestled the words into meaning. Her eyes were dark, unnaturally so. Long black hair escaped the loose bun at the back of her head, framing her face in soft disorder.
Her clothes were worn thin, patched at the elbows and hem, but clean. She looked poor, but not weak.
"Excuse me, young lady."
The girl startled and rose at once, slipping the book aside and lifting her head with a bright, practiced smile.
"Yes? How can I help you?"
A woman stood before the stall, draped in silk so fine it caught the morning light. Her posture was refined, her gaze sharp and deliberate.
"How much for the tomatoes?" the woman asked.
"A silver coin each," the girl replied smoothly. "Fresh, firm, and imported from West Eldoria. The best you will find anywhere."
The woman did not take them. Instead, she studied the girl's face for a moment.
"I will take everything," she said finally, lowering her voice, "if you do me a favor."
The girl did not respond immediately.
"I hear your aunt is a physician," the woman continued. "Some say a witch."
"My aunt Elise is many things," the girl said coolly, "none of which include me."
She sat back down and reached for her book, though a faint unease stirred beneath her calm expression.
"Please," the woman whispered. "Two gold coins."
The girl froze.
Gold meant trouble. And trouble meant attention.
She pretended to read, though her pulse quickened.
"Ten," the woman blurted desperately.
The girl stood so abruptly that her book slipped from her hands.
"Fine," she said, her polite smile sharpening slightly. "But four coins now."
Without hesitation, the woman placed the coins into her palm.
The girl pocketed them.
"Alright," she said lightly. "Lead the way. And congratulations, you now own this stall for the moment."
If her aunt ever found out, Samara knew the consequences would be severe. Still, she smiled anyway.
....
Samara had been only two years old when Aunt Elise took her to the cave.
The memory lingered like a half-formed dream, fragmented but unforgettable.
The cave lay hidden deep within the hills, its entrance swallowed by jagged stone and tangled roots. The air inside was cold, heavy, and damp, and the darkness pressed close as though it were listening.
"Aunty," Samara's small voice trembled, "what are we doing here?"
Elise walked ahead, holding a single candle whose flame trembled against the stone walls.
"To keep you alive," she said. Then, after a pause, softer, "to change your eyes and hair."
Samara sniffled. "Are they ugly?"
Elise stopped immediately. She knelt before the child and cupped her face gently.
"No," she said firmly. "They are dangerous."
Samara blinked, confused.
"There are people who would kill you for what you were born with," Elise continued. "Not because you did anything wrong, but because of what you might become."
Samara's lip trembled.
"Do you want them to find you?" Elise asked.
Samara shook her head.
"Good," Elise said, standing and taking her hand again. "Then we go deeper."
The cave swallowed them whole.
....
She was pulled from the memory when the woman's voice called her name again, sharp and insistent.
The sounds of the market returned all at once, shouts, footsteps, and clattering stalls, yet beneath it all, Samara felt something different.
A presence.
Close.
Deliberate.
Her heart skipped a beat as every nerve in her body sharpened. She did not yet understand it, but instinct told her something important had just stepped into her world.
A slow grin curved her lips.
Excitement coiled in her chest.
"I can feel it," she whispered to herself. "Something is coming."