Estelle and the Sorceress

This story begins light and sweet, intimate and fun - right up until the point where it isn't. We let it breathe for a moment, then we bring it back home.

The story follows Estelle, a young woman who's bright, optimistic, and perhaps a little too curious for her own good. She's been chosen as a sacrifice to the legendary Sorceress, who lives alone in her Tower.

Naturally, this is not how Estelle expected her week to go. As it turns out the legends got a few things wrong, and for the Sorceress, things are about to become considerably more complicated.

Heartfelt thanks toonehitwandafor her nudges and creative input. If you're not already familiar with her work, you're in for a treat. A lot of them, actually.

Ch 01: The Chosen One

All good stories had them, Estelle figured, as she looked up at the sky.

A fateful encounter.

It was a beautiful late-summer day. The blue was stretching far and wide above her, blue in the most amazing way; the sort of blue that made painters cry and farmers optimistic. There were birds chirping with arrogance, as if they personally had something to do with the beautiful weather, and somewhere in the distance a cow mooed with smug confidence. It probably fully expected to survive yet another day, which in all fairness, wouldn't be a mean feat.

The world, in short, was at peace.

Estelle took a slow breath, filling her lungs with warm air and wildflowers and the faint smell of hay. She would have liked to sit down. Maybe have a snack. Maybe take off her boots and feel the grass between her toes. Maybe live a long, unremarkable life where the most dramatic thing that happened was a spilled jar of honey or a slightly uneven hem. No, who was she kidding. She loved adventure. What wouldn't she have given to set off for lands unknown...

Such a shame she had to die.

She was standing in front of the not-quite-normal door to the Sorceress' not-quite-normal Tower. Large, looming, built to impress or intimidate. Honestly, hard to say which. Probably both. The hinges alone looked like they could flatten a man.

Estelle shifted her weight and adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag. She had been chosen -chosen- when the Sorceress had arrived in her village that morning, issued demands in that crisp, melodic voice, and then vanished on her steed.

The details were already fuzzy. There had been councilmen running. Scribbled notes. Hushed panic disguised as efficiency. Estelle remembered being offered tea by no fewer than three people, all of whom looked more terrified than comforting.

Apparently, she was the offering. The solution. The... whatever it was the Sorceress needed.

The surrounding villages had never agreed on anything so fast. Not taxes. Not road repairs. Not the best method for preparing radishes. Or the secret ingredient to Mrs. Johnson's sweet cherry pie. (It was both sweet and tart in the best of ways.) Yet when the Sorceress came knocking, suddenly everyone was a problem-solving savant.

Estelle exhaled. The money was, apparently, on her being eaten.

There were rumors, of course. Some said the Sorceress was hundreds of years old. Others swore she ate babies. One rumor had her flying. Another had her with horns, six feet tall, with glowing eyes and hands that could turn men to dust.

She shook the thought off. Behind her, the party officials who had escorted her stood a respectful distance away. Not too close, lest the Sorceress take them by mistake, but not too far either. Just far enough that, if lightning struck, they might be able to say they'd tried.

Estelle rolled her shoulders. No point in dragging this out. She stepped up to the door, raised her hand, and knocked.

The Tower door creaked open and there she was: the Sorceress.

There were no horns, no hissing smoke and no visible aura of doom. Just a tall woman in a long black outer robe, open at the front, the inside lined in pale silk. Beneath it she wore a gown of shades of white so finely layered they might have been spun from clouds. Or silk. Probably silk. The gown clung to generous curves; it was fitted, but never revealing. It didn't have to be.

The robe was unadorned but carried its own weight in presence; heavier than the gown, with sleeves that draped just slightly past the wrist. Quietly regal if you will. The sort of garment you wore when you wanted the world to know you didn't need armor. A fine gold chain rested against her chest, catching the sunlight with each breath. Subtle accents glimmered at her collar and cuffs. Not showy, but definitely deliberate. She wore rings too, slender and soft on her fingers. Not flashy, or the kind that begged for compliments.

Her hair was a river of silver, falling perfectly straight down her back and disappearing into the folds of her robe. A single strand had the audacity to slip free near her cheek. It didn't last long. With the slightest tilt of her head, even the rebellious bits seemed to fall in line.

And then there were her eyes. Estelle swore there was a hint of gold in them, with a gaze that was both calm and measuring. The kind of eyes that didn't look at you so much as through you. Probably through the wall, too. Not cruel or unkind. Just... aware. Entirely, inconveniently aware. Estelle found her devastatingly beautiful, but it was the kind of beauty you didn't stare at too long unless you wanted to feel very small.

The Sorceress blinked once. Slowly. As if Estelle had interrupted something important by just being there.

"Yes?"

"Um, hi."

She thrust a bottle forward like it might protect her. "I'm the apothecary. The, uh, offering you requested. The village sent me." A weak smile. "And... Here's your olive oil."

In the distance, someone screamed. There was a crash, followed by the sound of metal on stone, and then the unmistakable sound of people fleeing. Estelle didn't turn. She already knew what she'd see: the mayor and three elders sprinting back down the path, boots kicking up dirt, possibly arguing about who got to inherit her goat.

Her goat; she was going to miss Andrew. Yup. She sighed, but stood her ground. Kind of. She dropped her gaze to the floor and waited for the end.

The Sorceress raised an eyebrow at the ruckus behind Estelle, then finally said, "Come in."

The inside smelled of herbs and old paper. The floor was stone, warm underfoot. There were shelves. Jars. A mirror that looked like it watched. But mostly there was silence.

Estelle stopped awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"So, um..." She gestured vaguely at the rug. "Where do you want me? Here, maybe? Do I just lie down?"

Silence.

"Can I close my eyes when you do it? I don't think I want to watch."

Still nothing.

"Is it going to hurt?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I bet it's going to hurt." She looked up. "Could you at least make it quick?"

The Sorceress simply stared at her.

"... Where do I find dreamleaves?"

Estelle blinked. "What?"

"Dreamleaves," the Sorceress repeated. "For the rite. I assume you know where they are?"

"The red ones or the white ones?"

"The red."

"Oh. Right." Estelle cleared her throat. "They grow on the outskirts of Kohlingen, hidden under the ferns. Near the forest edge. They can be hard to spot if you don't know what to look for. You gotta kneel, which is fun, unless you don't have knees."

"Can you fetch some for me?"

"Now? By myself?"

"Yes."

"But it's dangerous. And it's getting dark. And it's far."

And then she mumbled, "Also, this feels weirdly close to sending the sacrificial lamb to pick its own garnish. That's kind of mean, if you ask me."

The Sorceress tilted her head, the movement both amused and mildly predatory. "What?"

"Nothing!"

"I'll get you light and protection."

"Maybe a snack too?"

There was a pause as the Sorceress stepped forward. The room suddenly became much smaller.

"A... snack?"

"Something light I can chew on," Estelle mumbled, eyes suddenly fixed on her own tunic. "I haven't had dinner."

There was a long pause.

"Light, protection and a snack. Fine."

The Sorceress led her outside. The courtyard was moonlit and cold. She said nothing. Just walked. Estelle followed, quietly panicking. Upon entering the stable, she saw a massive, dappled-gray horse, lazily flicking its tail.

"Your horse," the Sorceress said.

Estelle nodded hesitantly. "Does it have a name?"

"I just call it Horse."

Estelle looked at the proud animal. Poor thing. The Sorceress pulled a lantern from its hook, lighting it with a flick of her fingers.

"Light."

Another nod.

The Sorceress paused, closed her eyes and murmured something low under her breath in a language Estelle didn't recognize. And then she clapped once. Softly.

From far across the plains, the sound of thunder rolled.

Out from the edge of the trees came something massive. It moved like a cat - but no cat she'd ever seen. Its shoulders rolled like liquid, its fur dark and dusted with ash, its eyes glowing faintly forest-green. It stalked toward them with a slow, silent grace.

Estelle backed up, right into the Sorceress' chest.

"Atlas won't hurt you. He's meek as a lamb," the Sorceress said, unconcerned.

"He looks like he eats lamb for breakfast," Estelle replied, slightly horrified.

"No, don't be silly. I have an agreement with the kingdom. No touching their livestock."

"Oh," Estelle said hopefully. "So he's a herbivore? Only leafy greens?"

"Oh no. He's not." The Sorceress glanced down on Estelle. "Only women. And children. And everything in between. Especially young, pretty things like you."

Estelle stared. "You're teasing me," she accused.

"Maybe I am."

Estelle looked up at her, chin lifting. "At least I haven't spilled wine on my dress."

The Sorceress glanced down automatically.

"Hah! Made you look!"

There was a long pause as the Sorceress' eyes returned to hers, calm and unreadable. Then she licked her lips, slowly, like she was considering whether Estelle was daring or just dumb. In Estelle's defense, she wasn't entirely sure herself sometimes.

"Your snack," the Sorceress said at last, pulling a red apple from somewhere deep within her robes.

Estelle squinted, trying to peer inside the folds of fabric. "Where do you even keep those?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Actually, I would."

The Sorceress raised a brow. "Maybe next time. Off you go, then."

And off Estelle went; mounting the horse, lantern swinging at her side, apple tucked into her satchel, and a cat-beast the size of a wagon slinking at her heel.

As they left the courtyard, Estelle looked back. The Sorceress hadn't moved. She stood at the threshold of her Tower, arms folded, still watching.

Estelle turned forward again and whispered under her breath, "Yeah, I'm gonna die."

***

It would be a few hours on horseback, Estelle guessed. She hadn't exactly packed for a journey, but she had her satchel, her lantern, and her snack. Which, she supposed, was as close to a win as she'd had in days.

But what did the Sorceress need the dreamleaves for?

She sighed. It still didn't make sense. The Sorceress had shown up to the village gates on her trusty steed - aptly named Horse apparently - announced something about needing "a virgin apothecary" and "some olive oil", and then disappeared. Presumably back to her Tower.

It had been Old Man Jones who heard the message. He was hard of hearing. Or slow. Possibly both. It was difficult to tell 'cause he mostly squinted at clouds and waved at birds. Sometimes it'd be the other way around.

Either way, the result had been Estelle.

Why a virgin?she thought, groaning.

She was pretty, thank you. She had curves, soft ones, and long legs, and a decent face when the light wasn't rude. Sure, she didn't flaunt it. She liked her tunics. Her shawls. She liked playing in the dirt and sharpening her own axe. She liked being in nature. And if nobody had decided to throw themselves at her feet yet, well, that was their failure of imagination. Still. It stung.

"Maybe next time I'll just lie and say I'm extremely deflowered," she muttered as she adjusted the reins.

Estelle glanced sideways at the massive beast running beside her. Atlas, the Sorceress had called him. Like it was nothing. Like he wasn't a walking nightmare with paws the size of dinner plates and teeth designed for myths.

He looked up at her then. Met her eyes.

She smiled, tentative. "Hi."

He veered off suddenly, sharp right, into the underbrush. Her horse didn't flinch.

"So much for my protection," Estelle muttered.

The horse neighed as if to sayexcuse you, and Estelle gave its neck a gentle pat.

"Alright, alright. You're a good boy. We'll make it on our own, you and I."

But a short while later, Atlas returned. He padded silently alongside the horse for a few strides, his flanks gleaming in the moonlight. Blood smeared his jaw.

"Welcome back," Estelle said, half-wary, half-relieved. "Did you miss us, or what?"

Atlas didn't respond. Not with noise, anyway just that unnerving stare. It hit her then: he wasn't disappearing for fun. He was clearing the path. Making sure nothing got close. She swallowed. And rode on. The hours passed slowly. Atlas came and went, always returning.

Until he didn't. And by the time he actually reappeared, he was limping.

Estelle brought the horse to a halt and slid down fast, boots hitting the ground in a rush.

"What's wrong?"

Atlas didn't growl, nor did he pull away. He just stood there.

She approached slowly. Cautiously. Her heartbeat quickened. She was pretty sure he wouldn't bite her. But when she reached out and placed a hand on his leg, he jerked slightly, and she flinched back.

"Hey," she said, mustering her sternest voice. "Don't be a baby."

The horse snorted. Atlas let out a huffy sort of whine.

Estelle paused. "Wait. Do you understand me?"

Another snort. Another half-growl.

"Great. But I don't speak horse. Or... whatever language you speak."

She exhaled. Her life was already halfway forfeit so she might as well go all the way.

"Listen," she said gently. "I need to see the leg. We've still got ways to go, and I need you in fighting shape, alright? Big scary monsters. I'm soft and bite-sized. You're my wall of teeth."

Atlas grumbled.

"Exactly. So let me help."

He relented. The gash was deep. It had an angry red look to it, which meant possibly inflamed. She crouched down, staring.

"Poison?" she murmured, then tried to orient herself. The lights of Baron were to the west, so this had to be the edge of the Midland Forest. And if she remembered right, the Silverdunn hunted here. Long, silver-scaled lizards with venom in their claws. Dangerous creatures capable of taking down elephants.

She stood. "You tangled with a Silverdunn, didn't you?"

Atlas didn't confirm, but his ears twitched.

"Of course you did. There's a river near Baron. If we're lucky, there'll be rivergrass. That'll help with the swelling."

Back on the horse, they found the riverbank. Estelle gathered what she needed, knees soaked, hands cold, mind working. By lantern light, she crushed the rivergrass with a red root she kept in her satchel, mixing until it turned thick and ruddy. She returned to Atlas and crouched beside him.

"This might sting. But it'll numb the worst of it, alright?"

He didn't fight her. Not when she spoke softly, not when she met his eyes. She pressed the paste to the wound, slow and firm.

"There," she said. "Rest, just for a bit."

Then, pulling the red apple from her satchel, she held it up.

"You guys hungry?"

No response.

"Cool. Me too."

She pulled out her small knife, sliced the apple into thirds. One for her. One for the horse. And very, very carefully, one for Atlas.

They sat there in a silent triangle of uneasy peace, sharing the apple bite by bite. When they finished, Estelle laid herself down in the grass, arms behind her head, staring up at the stars.

"I think the Sorceress is going to eat me."

Neither animal nor beast contradicted her. Estelle turned her head toward them.

"You'd tell me, right? If she eats people?"

Silence.

Great.

"When she came to the village and made her demands, they offered me up so easily, you know? The needs of the many before the needs of the few, they said."

She exhaled.

"I get that. I do. But they didn't even try. No one spoke for me. They just... looked away."

Her voice faltered.

"It wasn't even hard for them."

She turned onto her side, drawing her knees up slightly, the grass cool against her skin.

"I just wish it hadn't been me."

The river meandered in a hushed cadence.

"Maybe I'm the one being selfish," she whispered, blinking fast, as though the stars might forgive her for something she hadn't done. When the tears came, she didn't fight them. She just let them fall, quiet and - to the rest of the world - unseen.

Later, when something beckoned her to open them, the stars had shifted. The sky was deeper now, still night, but close to dawn.

"Okay," Estelle said, pushing herself up. As if on command everyone got up, and she climbed back on the horse.

Atlas stood beside her, leg steadier. The wound looked better already. That made her happy. She'd been a good girl, and her father would have been proud.

"Let's find those dreamleaves and head home."

And so they did.

***

As they neared the Sorceress' Tower, Atlas suddenly veered off as he slipped silently into the same forest she'd seen him emerge from yesterday. No sound. No farewell. Just a flick of a tail and the faintest ripple of brush.

Estelle sat a little straighter in the saddle, watching the trees close behind him. It was peculiar. Not Atlas disappearing, but the forest itself. She knew the lands around her village well enough. The old paths. The good fishing spots, and the cursed ones. The Tower was marked on their maps, albeit only asHERE BE REGRET. But that forest?

That forest wasn't on any map.

"Bye," she murmured, already missing him.

He'd been a good boy. Or a good companion. Or a good... whatever category giant cat-beast-things fell into. The horse didn't comment. Which, to be fair, was probably for the best. She rode the last few yards alone. At the stables, she dismounted, legs stiff from the long ride. Her boots hit the ground with a dull thud. The lantern flickered low. She crossed the courtyard toward the looming front door and paused at the base of the steps.

This was it.

In my next life,she thought darkly,I'm fornicating absolutely everyone.

She took a deep breath, and knocked.

The Sorceress opened the door, not wearing her black robe this time, and Estelle finally saw how long her hair truly was as it reached all the way to her thighs.

"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "Did it go well?"

"Yes," Estelle replied as she stepped across the threshold and held out her satchel like an offering.

The Sorceress took it, nodded once, and crossed the room toward a low table cluttered with jars and dried herbs.

It smelled... delicious.

Estelle's eyes wandered. Garlic. Oil. A little oregano, maybe? And eggs, definitely eggs.

And me,she thought grimly.

Her gaze fell to the far end of the room. A ritual circle had been drawn into the floor, vast and precise. The lines shimmered faintly in the light.

As the Sorceress busied herself at the table, Estelle hesitated. Did she need to be fully nude? She swallowed, and a moment later her hands moved automatically: pulling at her shawl, unlacing her tunic, fingers fumbling as the weight of the moment built. She folded everything neatly beside her, before laying down in the center of the circle.