Screencap version: https://imgur.com/a/0Cx5Wuu
Artist commissions: https://imgur.com/a/ZZnxtpL

https://imgur.com/a/ZshKu9Y (pics related)

>the lighthouse dwarfs me
>it rises out of the dreary town like a great religious icon
>built of sturdy white brick that blends in with the blowing snow that parts around it as water does a tree
>but the otherwise pristine tower has begun to show its fatigue, visibly weathered by countless lashes of dark dingy soot
>one might even mistake the gritty black sands of the beach as being the remains of these lashes of ash
>but the lashes come from the decrepit town that boxes the lighthouse in, its countless chimneys all spewing coal smoke
>it's like the lighthouse is slowly being choked
>yet the magic ember at its top burns as brightly and beautifully as ever above the bleak haze
>it makes me feel warm just by looking at it
>for a moment I forget all my troubles
>getting lost in the hypnotizing bloom of orange light, a giant sodium light
>just brilliant orange radiance atop a regal white tower, standing stalwart against the gloomy black of night
>the world only consists of these three colors and these three alone, blending together like an oil painting
>but the moment is ruined when I remember who lives here
>the lighthouse is a witch's tower
>they are the keepers of the great magic flames atop them that protect scrap towns like this
>and as lighthouse keepers they demand enormous respect
>I sheepishly pull my forearm out from beneath my jacket, the huge piece of a scrap metal still stubbornly planted in my flesh
>in the murky metal I can still see my foreman's face frozen in time
>telling me to go see the witch in the lighthouse about it
>it's the face of a man sending someone to their death
>"Rule one: don't waste her time. Rule two: speak only when spoken to. Rule three: be polite. But most importantly of all. Rule 4: say thank you."
>that's what he told me, full of uncharacteristic reverence
>I hide my wound under my jacket again and start to shiver, but not from the cold or blood loss
>I shiver from fear
>this is my first time meeting a witch
>are the stories true?
>the stories of the cruel, vindictive witch
>who knows how to turn people into frogs
>who knows more curses than the night sky has stars
>who knows every poison in the book...
>each more painful and sadistic than the last…
>on second thought, maybe I'll just go bleed out in the gutter… that's much safer
>the door opens suddenly
>I look up expecting an old wrinkled face
>but come face to face with a pale turtleneck sweater instead
>my gaze has to climb up the wearer's lanky body just to see their face
>until my neck is tilted back at an uncomfortable angle
>the witch's head nearly touches the top of the tall door frame even though she's hunching down
>a human too
>a cigarette hangs boredly from her mouth
>her exhausted, emotionless stare makes her bony cheeks look even more sunken
>her dark, stormy green eyes are just as unyielding and powerful as a storm over the sea
>long black hair that melts into the shadows around her
>she herself reminds me of the lighthouse with how imposing and lanky she is
>the witch feigns a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching at the awkward, unfamiliar motion
>"Can I help you?" She says in a monotone, husky voice
>each word entirely uninterested and tired
>I look down at the snow suddenly unsure what to say, I didn't think I'd get this far
>the witch raises an eyebrow and looks down the street
>wondering if this is some prank the local kids have put me up to
>I broke rule one, don't waste her time
>but then she notices the long trail of red dots leading up to her doorstep
>I nervously show her my wounded arm
>she looks down at it, looks up at my face, and then sighs
>the witch throws a nearby towel at me
>"Don't get blood on my floor," she grumbles
>the heavy door slams shut and the witch leads me up the long winding staircase to her chambers
>her posture is bad, hunched over like she doesn't want to be seen
>the witch pauses part of the way up to take a blissful drag of her cigarette, forgetting about me for a moment to indulge herself
>leaning forward on the railing as she does so
>her long black hair flowing like a waterfall over the side
>the hot tobacco smoke melts her cold veneer, but the instant it leaves her lungs her face freezes over again with silent contempt, her eyes nostalgically follow the trail of smoke
>her face becomes a tired scowl when she notices a candle in the chandelier has gone out
>she sighs frustratedly and casually draws a Webley from her pajama pants to aim at the candle with
>she pulls the trigger and there's a familiar whizz-pop, like a firecracker, of a fire spell being cast
>expertly lighting the candle without any excess magic at all
>just a clean, skillful spell
>my jaw drops a little
>she rewards herself with the start of another blissful drag of nicotine
>"H-How did you do that?"
>she freezes and slowly turns towards me
>her stormy green eyes almost blow me down the stairs with how annoyed she I've interrupted her
>I broke rule two, speak only when spoken to
>I'd blame it on the blood loss making me loopy, but that hasn't kicked in yet
>I shrink back when I see the witch move her arm like she has a half mind to turn me into a frog right here and now
>but she settles for just sighing and rolling her eyes
>she finishes her drag before speaking, exhaling slowly
>"Not all witches use wands," she says curtly and annoyedly
>the witch looks over the Webley in her hand, the orange candlelight makes the fine bluing look dark as night
>I quietly ask, "so is that a gun made to cast spells?"
>the witch starts to sigh, reflexively thinking I had asked a stupid question, but then does a slow double take of what I just said
>"Y-Yeah… it is actually..."
>I jump in my skin when her intimidating stare locks onto me
>she starts to straighten out her posture as she stands, looming over me even more than before
>"How'd you know that?"
>"Lucky guess?"
>"Really?" She asks, sarcastically disappointed. "Because most phrase it as just being 'magic gun,' not a gun that casts spells."
>she leans towards me, bending at the waist to get a better look at me with her dead fish eyes
>the corner of her mouth turns up ever so slightly when she sees how uncomfortable she's making me
>suddenly learning how fun it is to toy with me, a novelty to cut through the doldrums 
>a guilty pleasure
>she sighs, satisfied, and leans with her back against the railing, spreading tiredly her arms as out like it's a fine chair
>"And here I was thinking it was too smart a thought for just an ordinary dockworker to come up with." She scoffs smugly as brings her cig up to her mouth. "I guess I was right," she baits with a smirk
>"W-Wait… I mean…" I stutter 
>the witch raises an eyebrow again but more entertained than annoyed this time
>I take a breath, "I just thought maybe they'd be more efficient for every day magic."
>"Why is that?" She presses playfully
>her body language implies far more than her monotone voice does
>"Because there'd be no need to wave a wand and chant a spell, you just point and aim, the gun does the work fo--"
>the blood loss suddenly kicks in
>making me feel lightheaded
>I start to fall down the stairs
>the witch idly turns towards me, wondering why I stopped talking
>but her long arm quickly reaches out to catch me
>balling up my shirt like she's a bully about to take my lunch money
>she's really strong
>my rifle and backpack clatter loudly from the whiplash
>I awkwardly stare up at her, extremely embarrassed
>much to my surprise, the witch starts to smile
>a self-satisfied smirk that grows on her face before she finally pulls me upright with one strong tug
>I lean against the railing as she starts to climb the stairs again
>throwing a look over her shoulder to invite me to follow her the rest of the way up
>her dull green eyes almost glowing in the darkness

https://imgur.com/a/StxKJS6

>her chambers are extremely homely
>built of dark oak and warmed from the huge fire burning above us in the light of the lighthouse
>one would say cramped but it's full of delightful comforts, little quality of life changes
>tables exactly an arms reach away from every chair
>shelves organized according to the need, not to the letter
>pillows strewn about between stacks of books
>drifts of messy notes kept in place by little bowls of snacks
>and a large cast iron cauldron boils in the middle of the room, a green glow spills out of its mouth like a spotlight
>it's all very quaint and lived in 
>the witch motions for me to sit at her dining table
>I set my Lee Navy rifle aside as she takes the cig out of her mouth and idly taps the ashes into a nearby tray
>"So what seems to be the problem?"
>I'm taken aback by the rhetorical question which makes the witch smirk at my response
>she grabs my wounded arm and drops it on the table
>she whistles softly as she shifts from side to side looking at the metal stuck in it
>her dull eyes dart up to look at me, unphased 
>"You know, you could have gone to the hospital for this," she says, just the faintest hint of worry in her voice
>"My foreman told me to come to you," I explain
>the witch sits back in her chair
>"And come you did," she chuckles a little at the double entendre, "all over my doorstep no less."
>the witch gets up to pick over the many messes of her chambers, searching for something
>I turn to look out the window
>snowflakes in the wind tap against the glass in little pitter patters
>the wind whistles around the lighthouse like a loved one blowing away the hair covering your ear
>you know just how high up you are from how far you can see
>the gloomy coastline of the Iron Coast spreads out for miles, covered in a deadly, frosty fog
>a fog that is mysteriously absent from the town around us
>keeping its distance in a generous ring from the decrepit buildings that cozy up to the lighthouse, seemingly for warmth
>other scrap towns in the distance are little wavering embers, tiny candles of civilization that punctuate the drowning darkness of the gloomy foggy night
>the fog itself is so desaturated, so dull, it's almost white from the snow that it possess to give itself body
>but when it gathers in denser pockets it becomes dark, stormy green
>more a cursed mist of frost than anything else really
>from up here, the world now seems to be made up of four colors
>the white of the snow, the black of the night sky, the glowing orange of civilization, and now the strange jade green fog
>the green is strangely familiar...
>I jump from the ghostly sight of the witch's dead eyes reflecting in the window pane
>her expressionless face a tiny bit livelier now with hints of smug as she sits down
>like she finds some sadistic mirth in the way I squirm under her stare
>I look up to see a bayonet knife in her hand
>she notices my concern and taunts me by threateningly running her finger across the edge of the blade
>"Relax…" she says, leaning in to follow me as I shrink away. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would've let you fall down those stairs."
>the witch brings up a strange piece of ice in her other hand
>the witch slowly runs her knife across it so shards land in my seeping wound
>melting into the flow of blood to "freeze" it
>a pleasant cooling sensation flows back into my arm
>numbing it
>I wince at the sight of her starting to pull out the scrap metal
>the witch makes idle conversation
>"So… how'd this get in here?"
>her husky, monotone voice is oddly soothing, the auditory equivalent to warm syrup
>"It wasn't from anything I'd have to tell the Chancellery about, was it?" She teases
>"N-No… I'm a dockworker like you said, more specifically a Scuttler, we're the guys who cut apart all the many wrecks that wash ashore." I explain, "I was cutting apart the engine of a U-boat when I hit a pocket of diesel with my torch and…"
>I trail off not wanting to relive the experience
>the witch sighs, "boom?"
>"Boom…" I wince
>she sits back calmly
>the glowing tip of her cigarette highlight the haggard bags under her eyes
>"I've never had a Scuttler come to me for help before, odd considering this is a scrap town."
>the witch looks out the window and pauses
>"Come to think about it... not a single townsfolk has ever come to me for help before either." Her tone starts to become frustrated, "and I've been here for quite a while now…"
>I stir in my chair, uneasy at the thought of an angry witch
>god forbid she takes her frustration out on me
>"How long have you been in the Iron Coast for?"
>"Halfway through my third year of my advanced studies here."
>"What do you study?"	
>the witch's cold face suddenly warms up into an almost bashful smile
>at the irony of it all
>"Healing magic."
>the piece of metal finally comes out of my arm with a wet sound akin to sliding gravel
>the witch whistles again while looking it over in her hand
>I suddenly feel very weak, my eyes roll into the back of my head and I collapse against the table
>the witch pauses unsure what to do before she just sighs as she drapes a fresh towel over my wound
>and much to my surprise
>she starts to slowly run her fingers through my hair, stroking it gently
>her touch is soothing, feeling like the warm water of a hot shower after you've come in from the freezing cold
>"You Kommandos…" she whispers, "you all think you're invincible… so you run around doing the most dangerous things… ." 
>the witch speaks with a tiny bit of jealousy in her voice
>"Magic can only do so much," she chides softly. "But I guess for you, it's always there to save you."
>The witch pauses, pulling her hand away
>"Lucky you…" she mumbles
>the witch sighs and stands up, leaving the subject behind her
>"How about I get you something to help you feel better? Hmm?"
>I remain in my exhausted daze until the witch returns
>she puts her fingers beneath my chin to make me look up and gestures with a bowl in her other hand
>"Here, eat." She orders as she sits.
>I look uneasily at the bowl of glowing green liquid from her cauldron
>"What is it?"
>the witch speaks in the middle of lighting a fresh cigarette
>"It's healing potion."
>I poke at a chunk of floating what I hope is beef with my spoon
>"What kind of healing potion has meat in it?"
>the witch closes her lighter with a sharp, annoyed click before glaring at me
>"What kind of person complains about free food?"
>I broke rule three, be polite
>I swallow nervously and hesitantly bring the spoon up to my mouth
>the witch stares off into space, enjoying her smoke, before noticing my apprehension
>"No need to worry it's going to taste bad. That frostbite crystal numbs your sense of taste alongside your sense of pain."
>I stop the spoon just short of my mouth
>"F-Frostbite?"
>the witch notices me lowering the spoon and forces it up towards my mouth again
>her grip on my wrist is firm and her stormy stare intimidates me into giving in
>much to her satisfaction
>"It's just a name." she explains tiredly, like this has happened many times before. "See, when I was an undergrad? One of the first things I learned was that most all magic ingredients have stupid names that make them sound far scarier than they actually are."
>the witch casually leans on an elbow as she talks
>"I mean, you're a human too, you know the witch's spell in Macbeth?" She asks.
>"Yeah?"
>"Well, 'eye of newt' is just mustard seed and 'toe of frog' is a buttercup flower."
>"Why do they call it that?"
>the witch smiles as she takes advantage of her tall stature to lean all the way back over her chair
>stretching to relax as she idly looks up at the ceiling
>"Probably so they'd feel better about themselves, lots of witches I've met have major self esteem issues. Why do you think the stereotype is we all use beauty spells, hmmm?"
>I sneak a peek up at the calmly reclining witch
>with how elegant she is I'd assume she'd be using some.
>But then again she would probably hide how burnt out she looks
>I sigh quietly
>the warm food and toasty air of the lighthouse is a soothing after the panic of my injury
>I wonder what it is like for her to study in the lighthouse all day and night
>the light of her chambers is dim
>but only as much as a solitary desk lamp during an all nighter is
>focused but lonely…
>like the single beam of a lighthouse's illumination
>the witch keeps track of time by watching her cig burn down towards her lips like one could a candle
>it burns down to nothing right just as I finish eating
>the witch checks on my now fully healed arm
>"Now then," she says as she stands
>my heart beat jumps at her grabbing her bayonet 
>"There is the matter of payment…" she looks up at me threateningly. "I think a third or two of your soul will be enough."
>my blood turns to ice as she slams her arm against the wall, leaning on it to loom over me
>blocking out the light with her height
>her dead green eyes glitter with cunning sadism
>she points the tip of the bayonet at my Adam's apple
>"Stand still, okay?" The witch coos softly
>I shut my eyes
>a couple seconds go by
>I carefully open them to see the witch stifling her giggling before she bursts out in laughter
>"It was a joke!"
>she sets the bayonet on the table
> I'm not actually going to take your soul! What, were you not even going to fight back?"
>my cheeks turn pink and I look away
>the witch laughs, "and I thought Kommandos are supposed to be brave, fearless warriors!"
>she hands me my rifle and pulls me to my feet with the front of my shirt, still chuckling a little bit
>"But you seem like you'd get blown away by a strong wind."
>she recovers her calm, tired demeanor with one deep breath
>her eyes flash with a hint of regret that the fun is over
>"I'll see you out now."

https://imgur.com/a/JX5POJE

 >I take a jubilant step out onto the snow
>freedom
>I close my eyes and take a nice deep breath of the chilly, smoky night air
>no more leering witch
>I can just go home
>but then I hear two boots stepping onto the snow behind me and a door closing
>I open my eyes to see a tall, bony shadow rising up to dwarf my own shadow beneath it
>relishing in how much bigger it is, before it just eats my shadow whole in one bite
>"What's wrong?" The witch asks
>I jump from her putting her hand on my shoulder
>she leans down to whisper in my ear
>"You and I both know how dangerous scrap towns can be at night, and we wouldn't want someone bigger and stronger than you to take advantage of you, now would we?"
>she squeezes my shoulder a little tighter to make me squirm
>"Would we?" She repeats. "It's best I walk you home."
>I quietly protest. "I can walk myself home…"
>I can feel the anger of the witch building up behind me, angry her kind offer has been refused
>it's a feeling akin to having a fire growing bigger and bigger behind you
>"Are you sure about that?" 
>"..."
>"I'll take your silence as a yes," the witch whispers
>she ruffles my hair playfully as she walks to stand next to me
>"And besides, I could use some fresh air anyway."
>I cower in silence as we walk together
>the witch wears her usual hat
>and a long coal black jacket trimmed with silver thread
>militaristic in fashion with the collar and white shoulder boards
>combine that with her height? She looks intimidating beyond belief
>especially with the stoic expression she always has
>but every so often I peek up to see the witch staring down at me, her eyes full of mirth
>her dead stare's intentions hidden by the night, I pray they aren't sinister
>the snow crunches under our feet
>I notice she shambles, almost stumbling about
>and upon a closer look, the wool of her jacket is a little frayed and worn out
>it hangs tiredly on her bony frame like neither she nor it has the spirit to bother anymore
>it doesn't detract from her ominous appearance, but it makes her look more harrowed
>yet if anything it makes her more threatening
>a witch at the end of her wits is a dangerous thing
>I make small talk, "do you get out of the lighthouse a lot?"
>"Not much, no," the witch sighs. "The Chancellery brings me most all I need so there's really no need to leave it."
>the witch scoffs as we pass by a magic store, the kind you find all over the Iron Coast, she slows her pace to look through the display window
>"The Chancellery is also half the reason why I'm here to begin with."
>she grimaces when she gets a closer look at the various curios in the window, finding them distasteful
>"Why did you come here?"
>"It's a work, study kind of thing." The witch explains. "The lighthouses need keepers and the Chancellery doesn't trust just anyone to tend to them."
>I look over her shoulder at the lighthouse in the distance
>she sees me staring behind her and follows my gaze, smiling when she turns back towards me
>"That lighthouse isn't just lit with any old fire. It's lit with St. Elmo's fire. Its magical properties are what repels the fog, protecting your weak little lungs."
>the witch playfully pokes me in the chest, almost sending me back into a drift of snow
>she's a lot stronger than she looks
>I cover my chest
>"W-Weak?"
>"Oh come now, I didn't mean it like that. Everyone's lungs are weak to the fog. And you're a Scuttler, you know better than anyone else what prolonged exposure to the fog can do to your lungs."
>at first it just makes them feel preternaturally cold
>but then the chill builds into a cough as you tangle with the terrifying sensation of something crystalizing in your lungs
>salty ice crystals grow in blistering shards until you suffocate by drowning on them
>the witch pats me on the head before she starts to walk down the street again
>motioning for me to follow her with a smug, satisfied look over her shoulder
>"But really, it's a boring job. Between tending to the light? It's just long stretches of nothing." 
>the witch jostles playfully me with her shoulder
>the wool of her jacket is scratchy and warm
>"So who better to do it than a witch with her studies?"
>we pass by two town guards
>them being stuck out in the snow so late at night must be a punishment for either fouling up a machine gun or pissing off their officer
>they make idle chatter between themselves before going quiet at the sight of the witch out and about
>they deathly stand still like she's a monster who has left their cage
>a walking shadow or possessed plume of coal smoke
>she notices and scowls at one, leering towards him with a frustrated stink eye
>the witch turns back to me once me pass them by
>"Lord knows no one else wants to do it," she mumbles
>the guard she had leered at kneels on the snow holding his chest
>"Do you not like the Chancellery for making you a lighthouse keeper?"
>"What? No… it's just…" 
>the witch trails off, grasping for the right words. 
>"I can count the number of times I've left my tower on my fingers."
>she kicks a pile or snow frustratedly, watching it fall to the ground in a sparkling cloud
>"I just have so much work and I struggle to find reasons to leave my lighthouse to begin with," >she looks sadly around at the decrepit town.
>"The Iron Coast isn't exactly anything to write nice letters home about."
>I nod, "I hate being stuck here too."
>the witch scoffs. "You? Stuck? You're a Kommando, you're the modern day conquistador, the new age explorer."
>"Not when you signed a work contract just to get over to Fankasia…"
>"Ah..." she says, "I see."
>we walk by the harbor, the witch admires at the various wrecks the sea has spat out
>many still in the process of being gutted by Scuttlers, a process that will resume in the morning
>for now the only thing moving around the docks is the blowing wind
>meanwhile moonlight dances off the glittering ocean
>a drunk dock worker stumbles past us
>but when he sees the terrifying outline of the witch's pointed hat he focuses all his wits into pretending to be as sober as possible
>"T-Tell me…" the witch stutters once he's out of ear shot
>I look up at her, confused where her strong stoicism has gone
>"Why do people always act like that around me?"
>"Act like what?"
>"Jumpy."
>"Uhh…" the witch's expecting stare sends shivers down my spine so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "I think it's because you're a witch."
>"Oh?"
>"I-It's a respect thing!" I backpedal. "Because you tend to the lighthouse. We have weak lungs right?"
>the witch smirks smugly and curiously tilts her head to the side
>"So you act like this entirely out of respect?"
>"I mean not only out of respect. I do think you're kind of p--" I catch myself
>I slowly look up at the witch who narrows her eyes
>"I meant 'you' as in you and the townsfolk as a group, not 'you' singular." She chides
>a smug grin grows on her face
>"But what were you going to say?"
>"Uh…"
>I nervously look away and am relieved to see we're finally at my house
>"We're here!" I deflect
>the witch stares at me for a moment longer before scoffing playfully at my deflection
>"This is where you live?" She looks apprehensively at the rickety building
>"Like I said, work contract… I live here with other dockworkers"
>"Ahh…" she says almost disappointed
>we awkwardly stand next to each other, both unsure what to say
>"I guess this is goodbye?"
>"Y-Yeah… I'll be seeing you." I say as I go inside
>I put my stuff away and sneak upstairs
>taking care not to disturb my sleeping coworkers
>but for some reason I move to look out the window
>the witch still stands outside, an ominous lanky specter
>she stares up at the building before letting her gaze fall to the snow
>giving one deep sigh before she shambles back off to her lighthouse
>I broke rule four, say thank you.

https://imgur.com/a/fjveKyO

>I take a long deep breath before I knock on the door to the lighthouse
>again
>when there is no answer I take a couple steps back and look up at the tower
>wondering where the witch is
>but all I get back is the glare of the lighthouse's lantern
>the sun hardly even shines through the dense layer of gray clouds that fill the sky
>it creates an atmosphere of winter gloom that is ever so appropriate for a snowy backwater of a town like this
>I look over my shoulder at all the people going about their usual day to day business
>kommandos hang out on corners outside guilds
>fishermen carry the catch of the day over their backs using long wooden poles
>seedy traveling merchants hawk their wares right in the middle of the cramped streets like gypsies
>but I can't help but notice how everyone keeps their distance from the lighthouse, ironically just like the fog that it protects them from
>a few passerbys even give me confused looks, wondering why I'm so close to the lighthouse
>the door suddenly opens angrily
>the witch sticks her head out, the bags under her eyes made a dark color by the dreary daylight
>but her gangly, hunched over self is a sight for sore eyes
>she looks straight ahead, overshooting me entirely as she scans the crowd suspiciously
>wondering if someone had been throwing rocks at her door
>...
>does that happen a lot?
>but just before she retreats inside she looks down and notices me
>I smile nervously to hide the uncomfortable feeling of her stormy green eyes staring at me again
>"Oh, it's you." She says with her slow, husky voice, "it's been a while…"
>she looks side to side before tiredly hiding herself behind the door, eyeing the people behind me
>"Do you need something?"
>"I need your help. We have a 'situation' on the beach."
>the witch's cold expression warms up a little bit as she comes out from behind the door to grab her long black jacket
>she wordlessly agrees by suddenly stepping out onto the snow
>forcing me backwards with her tall, looming frame
>her curiously watching my behavior like I'm a bubbling potion
>I stumble back and start to slip on some ice
>the witch saves me by grabbing my collar, lifting me up
>my feet dangle off the ground as the witch takes a moment to gloat at how she has me entirely at her mercy once again
>but then she notices a town guard giving her a careful look
>is this something he is paid to stop or...
>the witch scoffs before setting me back down
>she gestures with her head, the tip of her witch's hat pointing off into the distance
>"So…" she sighs, "which way to the docks again?"
>we walk in silence
>the townsfolk are used to seeing most everyone armed with a weapon, if anything it's unusual for someone not to have one
>but for some reason the sight of the lanky witch with her spell shooting Webley puts the fear of god into them
>many eye her rune etched holster uneasily like she's carrying a bomb out in the open
>the witch meanwhile looks around at the decrepit town in the daylight like it's a novelty, like she's a tourist
>even seeing the creeping bandits that hide alleyways as part of the scenery
>but perhaps the more dangerous thing isn't who lies in wait in the gutters and dregs of the town, it's what
>wisps of fog that have somehow sneaked past under the watchful glowing eye of the lighthouse
>filled with salt and ice crystals that glimmer in the dreary sun
>making it look like it's creeping towards you on its very own two legs
>before choking you to death in the quiet solitude of an alleyway
>the witch sighs tiredly. "What do you guys need my help for exactly? I don't mean to be rude, but you guys all have guns, don't you?"
>she points at the Lee Navy rifle on my shoulder
>"Can't you just shoot whatever's giving you a problem? The old fashioned way of doing it?"
>I feign a smile. "Bullets are expensive."
>"Are they?" The witch raises an eyebrow
>"The fog makes it hard to just sail around the Iron Coast. So unless you're using a U-boat, you'd need a lantern filled with fire from a lighthouse to get around."
>the witch sighs, "and the Chancellery controls who has access to St. Elmo's fire, don't they?"
>"They also charge a hefty tax on all imported goods and need to know you're a 'good person' before they even give you a spark of it, hint hint."
>"Ah… and so that makes ammo expensive?"
>"Far more expensive than the rest of Fankasia." I sigh. "My foreman keeps most of my pay too. I still have to pay off my ticket through the portal."
>I show her my wrist, the rune of the Chancellery burned into my skin
>"I'm stuck here until I finish it." I awkwardly smile as I hide it under my sleeve again, "only a couple handfuls of gold to go now."
>I laugh defeatedly
>the cold air and snow only amplifying my hopeless feelings
>"You have to buy your own bullets too?"
>"If I don't want to be the lunch of whatever hides in the shipwrecks, yes."
>the witch whistles sadly, "so you guys have a monster problem in a piece of a ship that's washed ashore?"
>"Umm…" I hesitate, speaking quietly, "it's not so much a bunch of monsters as it is the ship itself."
>the witch stops at the foot of the docks
>a ghostly blue aura dances on her pale face
>"Oh," she says in surprise.
>"You know how to perform exorcisms, right?"
>we step across the gritty sands of the beach
>some Scuttlers argue amongst themselves as they plant crosses in the sand around the ship
>looking up at it like one of its cannons will fire on them at any moment now
>"I'm telling you, let's just get some bottles of holy water and board it. Throw them at anything that moves!"
>"There isn't enough holy water in the entire town for that."
>"Why don't we push it back out into the sea and be done with it?"
>they all jump from a gruff dwarf barking at them angrily
>"You're more than welcome to do it yourself then!" My foreman yells,"Just be sure to explain to everyone else why you hate winning the lottery! A hundred gold bars this thing is worth!"
>he points up at the hulking battleship
>his squat frame shakes with fury at the potential indiscretion of his workers
>"The ghosts are the only damn problem!"
>I sheepishly walk up to my foreman as he impatiently chews on the air
>you can't tell if he's fat or really built, and with the self absorbed way he acts you don't want to find out much less ask
>"Excuse me, si--"
>he sics his rage on me without skipping a beat
>"Where is the witch! I sent you to get h--"
>he freezes when he makes the mistake of looking over my shoulder
>I turn to see the witch ominously looming over us both, her face cold and expressionless
>the blowing wind doesn't even dare move her hair without her permission
>dull green eyes striking fear into your soul just as a storm on the horizon does
>her black wool jacket and hat makes it seem like the island itself has conjured her out of the ashy sands at our feet
>"Hello," the witch says quietly
>my foreman gives me a scared look reminiscent of when he had told me to go see the witch for the first time
>he throws me aside and clears his throat
>"Madame Noita! What an honor it is to see you, we all know how valuable your time is!"
>he puts his arms out in a warm welcome
>the witch raises an eyebrow
>her empty scowl makes him meekly draw his arms back in
>"We requested your help to help us with a little…" he looks back at the ghostly ship, "a 'little' problem."
>"A ghost ship?" Noita asks curtly
>"Yes, complete with ghosts and all that." He glosses over the details so it doesn't sound like a burden. "We were hoping you could exorcise them and then you'll be on your way in no time!"
>my foreman forces out an awkward burst of laughter
>Noita's eyes dart towards me
>before I might had thought she was feeling nothing at all with her stoic expression
>but I can tell she's a little uncomfortable from the way she hunches a little more, almost like a little kid trying to hide from someone they don't know
>Noita walks over to the ship, the Scuttlers scatter to give her space
>she lights a cigarette as she looks it over
>before giving the ship's rusting hull a hefty kick
>pausing to listen to it echo
>"I can do that."
>the foreman breathes a sigh of relief, barely hiding his greedy joy 
>"Now then…" Noita starts, the foreman gives a thumbs up to the awaiting scrap team behind him. "There is the matter of payment…" Noita frowns.
>the foreman looks at her confused
>"Payment?"
>the witch smirks smugly, "you didn't honestly expect me to do it for free, did you? We both know 'valuable' my time is."
>"I don't know if we have the money for that," he lies
>"Oh. I can wait. 'Hundreds of gold bars this thing is worth' after all."
>the foreman tries to hide his scowl, his polite speech becoming stilted and forced
>"What did you have in mind?" He says through his teeth
>"Hmm… not too much... but perhaps ten gold bars?"
>"TEN?"
>"You can go ahead and hire some half rate mage from the local magic shops if you'd like. Best of luck finding enough holy water."
>the foreman sighs
>"I can do three."
>"Four. Two for me and two as a finder's fee."
>the foreman stares daggers at me
>"Finder's fee?" He asks slowly
>I look at Noita, silently begging her cut out whatever she's doing
>but she just flashes me a smile and winks
>"Yes." Noita insists curtly, "a finder's fee."
>she stomps up towards the foreman
>stopping just short of running him over
>intimidating him with the huge shadow cast by her looming body
>"Now I don't know if we're talking about the same 'finder.'" Noita motions at me. "But if anything were to happen to my 'finder…'" 
>the foreman starts to sweat
>Noita chuckles ominously and whispers into his ear
>almost biting at it
>"Well, do you know what frostbite crystals can do?"
>the foreman swallows nervously
>he sighs, "fine… eight bars."
>Noita pulls back with a satisfied smirk
>the foreman fumes at me silently
>I brace for the tongue lashing of a lifetime
>that is until Noita wraps her bony arm around my neck a playful choke hold, marking me as under her protection
>she stamps out the glowing butt of her cig into the sand as she leers at my foreman
>daring him to try something
>"Now then, let's get going, 'finder.'" She coos at me
>before I can even protest she carts me off with her towards the ship
>I look back to see my foreman's fury mounting
>I look up at the lanky witch, at Noita
>and a part of me can't help but wish she left me behind with my murderous foreman instead
>we climb onto the deck of the ship
>it's eerily quiet
>the familiar ambience of the waves can't be heard anymore
>not even the wind blows
>it exists in a vacuum outside of time
>the only sound is your own breath and the anxious beating of your heart
>your eyes scan the rusty deck for signs of danger out of primal, basic instinct
>but the only thing you find is the rotting ship shifting under your weight in an odd shudder of death throes
>leaving behind echos in the air that remind you of whispers
>as if the radiant blue aura around the ship is speaking to you
>the cold doesn't nip up here, but it drains your very life
>the witch casually strolls around the deck with her Webley in hand, but wields it more like an annoyance
>she peeks through portholes and down into gun decks
>once we make a lap around the outside of the ship she sits down and hands me her Webley
>I look at it in my hand as she lights up another cigarette
>her spell gun is heavier than you expect
>and it looks exactly as you'd expect from a British officer's sidearm to look
>elegant
>it fits the witch well
>I cherish the warmth of the gun, until I realize that the heat is from her hands
>I nervously try to find a different way to hold it
>but doing so draws the witch's ire of a suspicious look
>something in me goes critical
>"Why did you have to do that?" I blurt out
>the witch flinches a tiny bit, caught off guard by my outburst
>she takes an awkward drag of her cig before exhaling slowly
>"Do what?" She asks
>"Why did you ask for a 'finder's fee?'"
>Noita sighs as she kicks her legs idly as she looks up at me
>"I didn't 'have to' if that's what you're getting at."
>She stares off over the side of the ship at the dreary waves in the distance
>"But, no one likes to be tied down, right? No one likes to be forced to stay somewhere they don't want to, especially not…" she hesitates for a moment. "Not a kommando."
>"You could have done it in a less overt way," I quietly protest
>Noita chuckles smugly and kicks me playfully
>"But where would the fun be in that?"
>She sighs happily and leans back against the wall
>"And besides, did you see the look your foreman gave you? It was like you had fucked his wife right in front of him."
>the witch chuckles, her quiet laughter is contagious
>"And is he fat or just really buff? I can't tell."
>"Right?"

>the witch steps inside the ghost ship, ducking so she doesn't hit her head against a pipe coming out of the ceiling
>she whistles as she looks side to side down the long, empty hallway
>I poke my head inside behind her
>the full smell of rust and decay is in the air
>I wretch and cover my nose just as the witch speaks
>"Do you have a light?"
>"Uhhh…" I check my webbing and come up short. "No, do you have one?"
>Noita rolls her eyes and takes the cig out of her mouth
>she looks at the short stump of tobacco between her fingers
>"Do you think this will be enough?" She looks it over before she sighs, "no… probably not."
>I open my mouth to ask her to clarify
>but recoil from feeling something hot and slightly wet suddenly enter my mouth
>the witch has stuck her cigarette in between my lips
>"Hold that for me, will you?" She whispers
>I stand still from fright as she pulls a fresh cig out of her pocket
>she applies a small spell to it
>the sparks of magic linger in the glassy green depths of her eyes as rays of moonlight do under the ocean
>the witch puts it between her lips and bends down at the waist
>lowering her tall, gangly frame so she can be face to face with me
>the cramped hallway forces her close, a hairsbreadth between us
>Noita brushes her dark hair aside as she brings the tip of her new cig up to the one in my mouth
>touching tips
>bumming a light
>I nervously look away but out the corner of my eye I can see her intently staring the way our cigs touch
>her dead fish eyes glitter with tired mirth in the weak orange light
>the glow casting lingering shadows on her pale face
>the grayish daylight outside blows in through the nearby door, just missing us
>keeping the intimate moment secret from the rest of the world
>it feels like we're two teens sneaking out to smoke together out behind the school dance
>Noita blows softly, her chilly breath makes my lips cold, reminding me by contrast of the foreign warmth of her old cig in my mouth
>it stokes the fire on the tip of my cigarette
>her's finally catches and immediately illuminates the hallway with a strength unbecoming of such a little flame
>she pulls back, and takes a calm drag from it
>shadows dance on the wall from the wavering candle light of her enchanted cig
>Noita peeks back at me and the corner of her mouth turns up
>"You're more than welcome to finish that one off if you'd like," she points to her old cig dangling from my lips. "Or toss it, your call."
>I throw it out and look away, which only makes Noita chuckle
>I follow behind her as she peeks into room after room, brandishing her Webley like an eviction notice
>the witch illuminates a path with the calm candle glow of her cigarette
>slowly pulling reality from the void only for it to drop away behind us
>the shadows wash up against the walls like black water
>flooding the hallways and cramped rooms, drowning us in an incessant darkness
>the groaning of the ship replacing what would be wet sloshing
>but the darkness is still just as freezing as if it were truly water
>the witch's coal black jacket pales in comparison to the gloomy atmosphere of the ship
>the hallways of the ship are long and narrow with low ceilings
>it's a pain for the lanky witch to navigate comfortably
>One would expect she would be dropping purification spells behind us as we go but she doesn't
>instead she keeps her Webley at the ready at all times
>she had come expecting a fight and got none
>needless to say she was a little miffed
>by the time we get to the end of the hallway Noita is livid
>and being stuck in a tight space with an angry witch is not something I like
>I sheepishly look to the side as she kicks the door to the last room open
>she groans angrily when she sees it's an empty barrack
>Noita angrily kicks a table over, sending the personal belongings of the long gone sailors to the ground
>there's a change in the air, akin to suddenly feeling the eyes of a angry dog on you
>a chill runs down both our backs
>the witch at first looks to me to verify it's not just her who has noticed it
>but then starts to smile as an idea crosses her mind, and thus begins her rampage
>knocking over papers
>throwing things to the ground
>kicking footchests over
>just disrespecting the ghosts, baiting them out of their hiding places
>desecrating their resting place with such noise and wanton disregard that they have no choice but to scowl at the uppity witch trespassing in their home
>I can feel their angry stares burning my back
>if the witch can feel it, it only goads her on more like a bully getting the reaction they want
>she picks up a pie tin with decades old dried crumbs sticking to it
>her face warped by the rusty reflective metal
>"Do you like pies?" She ask at a full casual volume, pretending not to notice the dropping temperature of the room
>"What?" I hiss quietly
>"Do you like pies?" Noita says again as she discards the tin with a deafening clatter. "Why are you so quiet?"
>"Because of the ghosts?"
>Noita scoffs and pushes over a bunk bed, making more noise just to spite me (and the ghosts)
>I jump from the sound of it crashing to the floor
>"Answer my question, do you like pies?"
>"If I answer will you stop destroying things?"
>"Mhmm… maybe."
>I sigh, "yeah they're okay I guess."
>"I personally love pies," Noita says, "meat pies, apple pies, pecan pies, coconut pies, shepherd's pies, cre--"
>a terrifying ghostly scream echos from the depths of the ship, I flinch and hold my Lee Navy rifle close
>I swallow nervously and see dust swirling about the doorframe
>the air is electric with ectoplasmic magic
>ghosts quietly whisper gibberish as they circle us in an invisible prowl
>Noita looks around suspiciously
>"Hand me your rifle."
>"What?"
>"Hand. Me. Your. Rifle."
>I look down at my only means of defense, my hands shivering as I cherish it for one last moment
>the lanky witch smiles appreciatively when I give in to her request, the rifle looks like a carbine when she holds it
>she surreptitiously soaks the stock in holy water, her motions reminding me of someone sneaking a drink
>"Shhh…" she soothes, her stormy green eyes glowing with cunning mischief
>but her tone and the glugging of holy water remind me of when I was a kid getting a scrape cleaned up
>Noita ruffles my hair before taking a final hearty drag of her cig
>and drops it to the floor, putting it out with an authoritative stomp and grind of her boot
>trapping us in darkness
>"Duck," she orders
>I hit the deck and hear a meaty thwack above me
>followed by a brutal onslaught of more
>bodies fall to the floor around me in the darkness
>until it's quiet again
>the witch lights a fresh cig and peers down at me
>I yelp from a knocked out ghost just mere inches from my face
>Noita pulls me to my feet and hands me my rifle back
>"Thanks."
>we step into the hallway as she unhooks a stick grenade from her belt
>the heavy transparent end sloshes with holy water inside like a potion bottle
>she pulls the pin and casually tosses into the barracks behind us
>Noita shuts the door just before the grenade goes off
>ghosts inside scream as they are showered in holy water
>and once they go quiet the entire ship shudders and relaxes with a deep sigh of the metal settling
>like a sickly child now that their fever is gone

>the witch enjoys a smoke as we walk back to her lighthouse
>a bar of gold peeks out of her bag of holding, rousing all the ne-or do well rabble and gangsters we pass by
>each pair of beady eyes seduced by the luxurious honey of solid wealth
>that is until they glance up to size up the current, soon to be previous, owne
>and each thief jumps in their skin when they see the loomy, lanky witch staring right back at them
>daring them to so much as wave to see at her to see what happens
>a particularly rotund orc hangs outside a gunsmith's
>his fangs stained with what I hope is some strange red elvish coffee, and not...
>he starts to reach for a hulking double barrel with bores the size of my fist when he sees a flirty glimmer of gold from the witch's pack
>but then stops when he sees the witch's stoic expression
>dead fish eyes piercing into his soul
>he sighs and sits back, scowling at the witch who just blows smoke down into his face
>I whisper to Noita
>"Can't you close your pack? Hide the gold?"
>she chuckles softly as she pats me on the back, knocking the wind out of me
>"And why would I do that?"
>once we make it back to the lighthouse
>the great ember at the top fills the late evening darkness with a delightful feeling of warmth
>I turn to leave but notice the long shadow cast by the witch lingering in the door
>"Aren't you forgetting something?" Noita calls
>she grins when she sees me look back at her, confused
>she surreptitiously draws a bar of gold from her pack and smirks
>"Your 'finder's fee?'"
>it's a delightful novelty to feel bars of gold being dropped into your pack
>solid blocks of freedom
>the witch ruffles my hair
>"Have fun out there, alright?"
>"I will," I murmur quietly
>Noita angles my chin up with a finger
>staring at me for a little longer than she should
>before she sighs and bops me on the nose with a finger, giving me a cheeky smile
>the door slams shut behind her


>the snow crunches curiously under my feet 
>it shifts like sand to get a better peek at what is in my hands, doing so with an alarming level of intelligence
>the blowing drifts of snow remind me of how snakes move
>they nip at my ankles with icy teeth
>but they soon lose interest and returning to lazing about on top of the snow
>I look up flurries that have started to fill the night sky
>the snowflakes seemingly burst into existence from the dark void once they gather about the dim, greasy auras of street lamps and windows
>some fall onto the warm foil covering the pie in my hands, melting to make it look like a lake of quicksilver
>each step I take sends jubilant ripples through it
>I stop for a moment to let the "quicksilver" settle as a witch's crystal ball or tea cup would
>a reflection of a familiar light topped tower appears in its depths
>I crack a begrudging smile and look upwards
>the light of the town fades away around the lighthouse just as the glow of stars fde in comparison to the brightness of the moon
>it's strange knowing this is the last time I'll ever see it
>without my work contract to anchor me there's no reason to stay in the Iron Coast any longer
>I peek down at my wrist where the rune of the Chancellery has been wiped clean
>and I look up back at the lighthouse, grateful
>but not all of us are free…
>I take a deep breath to steady myself as I bring my hand up to knock on the door to the lighthouse
>deja vu
>and I still jump from it opening suddenly
>this time without me so much as touching it
>the witch backs out of the soupy darkness as she tiredly fixes her hat, treating it like a chore, dressed to go out into the snow with her long wool jacket
>she turns and almost gets caught off guard
>almost
>and maybe she would've been too if she hadn't realized it was just me, someone harmless
>the corner of her mouth turns up slightly as she tilts her head curiously to the side
>the witch acts like she has been caught doing mischief
>but she has a cocky air about her that mocks you with a silent "and what are you going to do about it?"
>I wouldn't be surprised if I looked behind her right now and saw she had been in the middle of hiding the dead body of the Chancellor himself
>Noita fixes her exhausted hunch to loom over me, making sure I'm trapped under her gangly shadow yet again
>it's a guilty pleasure
>"I thought you would've skipped town by now. Cast off for greener pastures…" the witch says with her slow teasing cadence
>"Like where?"
>"I dunno..."  the witch shrugs her shoulders playfully, putting her elbow on the doorframe to lean forward at the waist towards me
>her alarmingly predatory stare sends chills down my spine as she grills me for answers
>"Maybe somewhere warm, like the Mojave, Las Vegas even?" She asks tiredly
>I weasel out of her question. "I never thanked you for helping me, so I thought I'd stop by give you this before I left."
>I offer the pie up to the lanky witch
>the dark bags under her eyes soften slightly
>I suppress to the urge to run away when her pale bony hand reaches out to grab it
>she peel the foil back to see what I had got her
>I had hoped she would smile, and the witch does, but what I get is a smug, cheshire cat smile
>she knows something I don't
>it makes her stormy green eyes flash with mirth like storm clouds do with lightning
>"A cream pie?"
>"I… umm… you said you liked pies, and this one looked nice. It even has some syrup drizzle--"
>the witch interrupts me with a gentle shush, stopping just short of touching her finger to my lips
>"A cream pie?" She repeats slowly, "before you left, you wanted stop by to give me a 'cream pie?'"
>I make the connection and my face starts to burn 
>I sheepishly look around for somewhere to discard the pie
>the witch scoffs, pleased, at how satisfying my reaction is
>she grabs me by the collar to forcefully keep me in place
>"Hey, unlike certain people, I don't try to say no to free food."
>Noita forcefully pulls me inside the lighthouse
>I watch her authoritatively slam the door shut behind us
>making me feel like a lamb trapped in a lion's den
>she keeps me within arm's reach, not letting go of my collar
>the witch smirks as she abuses her imposing height to reach clean over me just to hang her hat on the wall
>"Now then…" she suggests quietly
>she coyly brushes an errant strand of black hair behind her ear
>"You can't expect me to eat all this on my own, can you?"

>Noita opens the door to her chambers
>they're unlit, dark as night
>and a witch's chambers covered in darkness is a terrifying thing
>who knows what could be lurking in the shadows
>A lingering spell? A terrifying magic beast that's gotten loose? A witch?
>she brings her Webley up to instinctively fire a spell off to light them all at once
>but pauses and then looks down at me
>she holsters her revolver
>instead Noita opts for the old fashioned way of lighting candles
>the witch takes the helm by putting a firm hand on my shoulder to walk me around her chambers
>lighting each candle one by one by reaching over me
>the feeling of her warm scratchy sweater against my back makes me dizzy
>"You aren't scared of the dark, are you?" Noita asks suggestively
>"I'm not a little kid."
>"There's no shame in it, I promise."
>"I'm not." I repeat
>Noita suddenly blows out the only nearby candle
>secluding us in a pocket of dense darkness
>she starts to hold my shoulder tighter
>trapping me with her
>there will be no running away
>her bony fingers delicately drift along my collarbone to crawl up my neck
>feeling light and faint as a spider's legs would
>their cool touch telegraphs their goal of choking the truth out of me
>the witch's fingers begin to squeeze
>"Ok fine!" I confess quickly, "I'm still a little bit scared of the dark!"
>the witch chuckles softly, releasing me from her grasp
>her lighter clicks sharply as she relights the candle
>"See now? That wasn't so hard," she whispers as she ruffles my hair. "Honesty is the best policy, don't you think?
>we sit down at her table
>the witch sprawls out with a tired, nonchalant confidence
>lounging as a predator does in the sun
>this is her territory
>she picks up a bayonet knife and sneaks a short but frighteningly interested peek at my Adam's apple
>and she wants me to know it
>Noita cuts me a slice of the pie
>she hands me the plate but suddenly refuses to let go at the last moment
>"Wait," she whispers coyly
>the witch gracefully traces a line of syrup with her finger
>she cuts through the white cream like its fresh snow
>her dull green eyes are alight with a cocky glimmer as she sucks her finger clean, staring intently at me all the while
>"You did get this because of the syrup didn't you?"
>I nod quietly as I shrink away
>I tug at the plate only for her to playfully tighten her ruthless grip on it
>"Mhmm…" Noita hums as she leans forward to follow me. "It was a good choice… tastes like peaches."
>she lets go off my plate
>I stare at the valley in the cream left behind by her finger
>nothing left but long deep gouge
>the witch pulls back, in a strange manner
>somewhere between mocking and curious
>reserved but oddly playful
>poking even
>my eyes dart up towards a tiny dessert fork appearing in frame
>it wavers for a moment
>taunting as a swordsman might with a flourish of his sword before he guts his woefully inexperienced opponent
>it savagely spears a chunk of pie off my slice
>Noita lifts the fork up towards my mouth to offer it to me
>only to suddenly pull it back 
>the witch envelopes it between her lips, closing her eyes to enjoy the simple bliss of something sweet on her tongue
>she takes a slow breath and comes out of her daze to throw an impish glance at me
>knowing full well what she's done
>she pops the fork out of her mouth, holding it upright to inspect the sharpness of its tongs as a butcher does his prize knife
>and then her eyes lock onto me
>her dead stare barely concealing the mischief on her mind
>she throws a playful glance my way, relishing the sight of my discomfort
>the witch obliges me by sheathing the fork inside her mouth and offering me a fresh one
>but chides me with a coy wag of her finger when I try to take it
>"Ah, ah, ah… what do you say?"
>"T-Thank you," I sigh nervously
>my original plan was to just drop the pie off as a formality then GTFO to enjoy a night on the town
>but this… 
>I look out the window but can still see the witch's exhausted eyes reflected in the glass
>no matter where I look I can always see their dull, omnipresent green out the corner of my eye
>Noita lights a cigarette and relaxes by leaning her elbow on the table
>pushing it to provocatively invade my personal space as she rotates between smoking and eating
>she at least has the manners to not blow smoke right in my face
>instead blowing it above my head so it hangs ominously like storm clouds
>letting me know it's there from the way the light flirts with the hypnotic swirls of shadow
>"You know, it's funny..." the witch exhales
>her tired, almost lazy, manner of speaking demands your attention
>the same collected but cocky swagger of her body is in her voice
>she lets her words hang in the air like smoke before continuing
>"I never got your name."
>"My name?"
>"Yes, we all have one, so, what's your's?" She hints with an inviting shrug
>I stare a little confused, has she really never gotten my name?
>she sits back and taps her cig on an ashtray
>the witch scoffs, "What, are you scared I'm going to use it to cast a curse on you?"
>I anxiously pick at my slice of pie
>Noita sighs and smirks
>"Alright, so how about this, how about we... rewind?"
>I yelp from the witch suddenly hooking her boot under the leg of my chair to pull me towards her
>the sound of the chair squeaking on the floor rouses sparks of mirth within her dull green eyes on par with the sparks from a train screeching to a stop
>she leans in closer with each word
>"So… what… is… your... name?"
>but before I can answer Noita interrupts me with a teasing drag of her cigarette 
>blowing the smoke in my face to make my cheeks feel even hotter
>I swallow nervously, "my name is Anon."
>"Oh… that's a nice name," Noita coos.
>I calm my nerves with a bite of pie
>only for it to turn sour in my mouth as she tilts her chin up coldly, not a hint of a smile on her pale face
>"An easy name to cast a curse on too..." 
>the witch grows taller and taller as she ponders what curse to try first
>I silently say my prayers as she leans forward on the table
>it groans desperately under her gangly weight
>her dull lich-like stare hardly conceals her predatory intentions
>daring me, provoking me, but knowing I will still do nothing in the end, it's all a game to her
>I look up at her in abject terror as she descends upon my ear, a strand of her black hair grazes my shoulder like an icy knife
>the witch opens her mouth stopping just short of biting my ear
>but lets out the faintest hint of a breath to burn the lobe with its hot wetness
>she pauses to let the moisture condensate on my skin
>running out the clock to let it turn cold on my skin before she speaks again
>so that her breath can send chills across the skin when she whispers
>"You have some pie on your cheek"
>she slowly licks the tip of her finger
>and brings it up to gently smear the cream off my cheek
>her finger is slick on my skin
>the witch indulges herself by doing more harm than good
>painting it about
>marking me with it
>the corner of her mouth turns up in a toothy smile
>and she sits back
>I breathe nervous sigh of relief as I frantically try to wipe her burning saliva off my cheek
>I shudder
>it's a futile effort
>"No need to worry though," the witch sighs, "I couldn't cast a curse on you right now even if I wanted to."
>"Really?" I ask
>I make the mistake of letting my tone get ahead of me
>Noita chuckles softly
>"My revolver is too clogged with magic residue, I've been slacking and haven't burned it out in a while."
>she draws her Webley
>"You don't mind it I do it now, do you? I promise I won't cast a curse on you when I'm finished," she winks
>"I don't mind" I lie quietly
>the witch pops open her Webley
>scattering five silvery bullets and a brassy one across the table
>the single .455 round rolls towards me
>"Why did you have a live round loaded?"
>the witch looks up at me with her characteristic disregarding confidence and covers with a smile
>"I just get a little mixed sometimes is all."
>she drops it into a small cigar-turned ammo-box
>fishing out six fresh silver cased rounds
>the new bullets have tips that are waxy and clean
>meanwhile the old ones are unevenly burnt down like overused candles
>the witch sticks her cig into each chamber
>gently burning away all the residue
>her stare drifts as she falls victim to the all too familiar doldrums of her chore
>but then she remembers I'm here for her to toy with
>she peers up at my Lee Navy rifle over my shoulder
>"Did you pick that one out yourself?"
>"No... they're issued to every Scuttler."
>"How come they let you keep it then, if you aren't a Scuttler anymore?"
>I hide my shame by picking at my slice of pie
>"I still needed a gun. They let me buy it off them because even for Fankasia, Lee Navy rifles are pretty antiquated. It's an early smokeless powder gun," I mutter sadly, "so early it doesn't even have a spitzer bullet."
>"Six millimeter, right?"
>"Yeah? How did you know?" I ask, surprised
>the witch shrugs as she points to a photo up on the wall
>a class of very young witches stand in an orderly line in front of a farmhouse
>the witch meanwhile sits next to Colt Potato Digger machine gun
>her hat is so oversized she has to hold it up to keep it from eating up her face
>cute
>the witch sighs nostalgically
>"I remember the bullets that one used, six millimeter or .236 something."
>".236 Navy, that's right."
>the witch takes a drag of her cigarette as she leans back in her chair
>she stares at the photo for a bit before returning to cleaning the cylinder of her revolver
>"You've seen those machine guns the Chancellery has, haven't you?"
>I nod, "they're Colt Potato Diggers in six millimeter too."
>"You notice how they're coincidentally some of the few people who are able to have machine guns?"
>"They're probably the only ones who can afford them." I crack a grin, "meanwhile us rabble must make do without the gospel of a belt fed."
>the witch chuckles
>"Don't you Kommandos worship machine gun Jesus or something?"
>I humor her
>"Not quite. But there is the Brotherhood of Browning, the House of Kalashnikov, and even the Homies of the Hi-Point." I say sarcastically. "And of course, one cannot forget the Church of ArmaLite, with a capital L."
>"The Church of ArmaLite?" The witch repeats in playful disbelief. "With a capital L?"
>"Oh there is quite the schism in the Church right now. Like how the Brotherhood of Browning has the Orthodoxy following the 1911 and the .45 while the Reformists follow the Hi-Power and the 9mm."
>"Seriously?"
>"But in the Church of ArmaLite the AR-10 is the Old Testament and the AR-15 is the New Testament. The AR-18 and Stoner 63 fall somewhere in between."
>I look up and notice the witch smiling smugly
>"D-Did I say something?"
>"No… it's just you Kommandos are so in love with your guns."
>"Aren't witches the same way with magic?"
>Noita starts to put her Webley back together
>"I'd say so," she sighs, "and maybe you'll get to hear some stuff about magic from me."
>she spins the cylinder of her revolver like she's playing Russian roulette
>"It'd just be a matter of asking the right question," the witch teases, referring back to our first meeting
>Noita aims her pistol at the ceiling and dry fires a couple times
>suddenly a terrifying foghorn blasts through the lighthouse, causing us both to jump in our seats
>I cover my ears
>"What was that?"
>Noita sighs, suddenly more exhausted than ever
>"That's the alarm letting me know the light needs more oil." She mumbles as she stares at the floor. "It goes off every eight hours…"
>"Every eight hours? How come I've never heard it before?"
>the witch smiles defeatedly
>"It can only be heard from inside the lighthouse. They got noise complaints before."
>Noita takes a drag of her cigarette to calm herself as prepares to go upstairs
>but then she stops and starts to lean across the table
>"Say…" the witch hints mischievously, all her playfulness suddenly returning. "How would you like to come up to see the light with me?"
>only a chosen few are supposed to have access to St. Elmo's fire that burns in the lighthouse's light
>approved by the Chancellery, or else...
>"I don't think that's allowed," I stir in my seat uncomfortably
>"Oh come on, my lighthouse, my rules." The witch coos, "and besides, the Chancellery doesn't need to know…"
>the witch's long arm reaches out to hook a finger under my collar
>she tugs me in nice and close, so close I can feel the fire of her cigarette on my skin
>she whispers softly. "It can be our little secret…"
>both she and I know it's not a question from the way she stares at me
>the witch lets me go, leaving me gasping for air as she shambles towards the stairs
>leaning on the banister with an entertained grin on her face as I regain my bearings

>how to describe the fire at the top of a witch's lighthouse…
>for starters
>it casts a preternaturally soothing glow on your face
>warm milk for your eyes
>the light is syrupy and slow, like flames of the fire are made of honey
>full of sleepy sparks that dream of being fireflies
>a great sodium light bonfire
>radiating that humble glow of old street lights
>made all the sweeter by how forbidden such a sight is
>the good graces of the witch are the only reason why I'm here
>we watch the light dance hypnotically inside the slowly spinning Fresnel lens
>it glitters and shimmers in glowing ripples that spread across the glass
>each plate of glass is a lake of light suspended in space
>a soothing glow dwelling beneath their surfaces
>gathering to reach a critical mass to finally explode out in an opaque, near solid, geyser of pure brilliance
>the spotlight slices through the foggy night of the Iron Coast like a holy saber forged in St. Elmo's fire
>the witch turns to me and smiles
>"What do you think?" She asks, already knowing the answer
>"It's beautiful," I mumble
>Noita sighs, pleased
>she takes advantage of how I'm enraptured by the light state
>she puts her lanky arm around my shoulder
>"Do you know the story behind St. Elmo's fire?"
>I weakly shake my head side to side, too distracted
>"Some say St. Elmo's fire is made from the fires that burned inside every ship that was lost at sea. Every ember; let it be from the engines, candles, or even the pilot light of the cook's stove. All to save other ships from a watery grave."
>"Is that true?"
>the witch chuckles as she ruffles my hair. "Who knows? Maybe it is." Noita smirks, "but magic flame or not it still needs fuel."
>she eyes the foghorn hanging from the ceiling uneasily
>her pulling it away snaps me out of my stupor
>she walks over to a huge shelf built like the ones you see in a brewery, but loaded up with drums of oil
>the witch reaches up to pull one down
>it sloshes in irritated protest, refusing to move at first, but it quickly agrees to go quietly when the witch really starts to manhandle it
>all it takes is one mighty tug to start it sliding off the shelf
>for a split second I think it's going to crush her
>but the witch catches it in her arms, evidently more than fit for the job, skillfully squatting down to absorb its immense weight
>she exhales sharply and comes back to standing
>her tall frame shudders with determined effort, suddenly full of a healthy, burning vitality 
>she grunts as she lifts it up and walks it to the oil tank beneath the light
>but not an awkward, stilted walk
>the witch struggles but does so with athletic finesse, each step deliberate and coordinated
>her boots confidently pound on the floor like falling artillery shells
>she gives a one last, powerful grunt as hoists the oil drum up over the tank
>Noita flashes a pleased smile as she watches it drain
>the oil is heavy and viscous
>once the drum is empty she rolls it down and sits on it while she recovers, taking deep graceful breathes
>"Where did you get all this oil?"
>Noita smiles tiredly, "the Chancellery delivers it."
>I raise an eyebrow when she starts a fresh cigarette
>"The only hard part is getting it all the way up here," she mumbles from behind her hand as she lights her new cig
>the witch takes a grateful puff when it catches
>"The delivery men just leave it on my doorstep because the last thing they want to do is come inside a witch's tower." Noita shrugs her shoulders. "And since no one in their right mind would steal from a witch, there's no worries about it going missing."
>she leans back, enjoying her smoke
>a bead of sweat flows down her temple
>the light turns it into a burning drop of ichor
>but if she carries them all up by hand… with the sweater... maybe she isn't lanky, but lithe, not bony, but…
>I clear my throat, "but you use magic to carry it up here, don't you?"
>the witch chuckles at my naivety
>"Dude, if I could? I would." She knocks on the now empty barrel. "But this stuff is volatile as hell, it solidifies from the slightest mana bleed off which makes it useless."
>she sighs sadly but then throws a cocky wondering wink at me
>"You didn't think I just was putting on a private show for you, did you? Wondering why I didn't just roll the barrel?"
>she flicks her tongue against her teeth as she emphasizes the l sounds
>Noita tilts her head to the side to get a little squirm out of me, like clockwork
>I swallow nervously. "No…" I say quietly
>the witch scoffs and hides her smug smile with a puff of smoke
>"Well, if you do roll the barrels they break because the Chancollery cheaped out on them."
>Noita taps her cigarette ashes into the barrel
>I take a careful step back, "should you really be doing that?"
>She scoffs. "Calm down, the oil isn't flammable in the traditional sense."
>"What is it made of then?"
>"Oh, it's made of--" the witch suddenly catches herself, inhaling sharply on her cigarette, "it's made of… stuff…"
>"Stuff?"
>suddenly the air turns cold
>the witch didn't like my questioning tone
>she glares at me, all the warm humor wiped off her face
>"If you really want to know, I can shrink you down, drop you into the barrel, and give it a good shake." She says coldly
>I go quiet
>her miffed expression lingers on her face before she drops the facade and bursts out in riotous laughter
>the dark bags under her eyes disappear for just a moment as flicks of jubilant green lightning jump about within her eyes
>"Really dude? Anon? Lighten up! I study healing magic not-- 'shrinking magic.' You act like you have a cleaning rod for a spine."
>the witch sighs and returns to her collected but tired self
>she pulls frustratedly at the neck of her sweater
>"Say it's a little too hot in here for me , how about we get some fresh air?" Noita suggests as she points to the catwalk outside
>"S-Sure," I mumble
>she takes a drag of her cigarette and swings herself onto her feet
>I jump a little from her boots loudly slamming onto the floor
>"But you know…"
>Noita peers down at me playfully as she reaches for the door, straightening her posture to sneak one last snide taunt in
>"I did take a couple gen eds in shrinking magic."
>My eyes open wide
>the witch smirks, "but that was a looong time ago, I don't remember much at the moment, it'd take a while for me to catch up."
>she opens the door to the catwalk, the cold night air blasts us both
>"Lucky you…" she chides playfully

>the only snow that falls from the sky are flurries that ride in on the wind
>the snowflakes are happy just to be here to have made it just in time to join their friends the ground
>swirling about like playing fairies
>it makes you dream of being snow
>it's a cloudless night, a rarity in the gloomy Iron Coast
>the full moon's glow bounces off the fresh snow covering the town to make it almost as bright as day
>being this high up makes the buildings around the lighthouse look a delightful little model town
>really all it needs is a model train chugging through it to complete the isometric, almost toylike appearance of the town
>a nice sight but a precarious one
>I carefully grab the railing of the catwalk
>only it to shake from the witch casually throwing herself onto it without a care in the world
>she has the same presence a surreptitious wind does
>the kind that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up when it grows near
>it teases you, prods you, forces you to peek over your shoulder out of fear of what's creeping up behind you
>but it was just wind…
>but you never know maybe next time it might not be…
>Noita takes a calm drag of her cigarette and relaxes enough to let the wind play with her hair
>a little more full of life, but only by a little
>she exhales tiredly with the same tone of voice one sighs with after a long day
>when you finally have a moment to remember who and where you are
>her hand shakes imperceptibly as she lowers her cig from her lips
>the sweet smell of smoke fills the cold air
>her pale, emotionless face even colder
>maybe it's not that she's more full of life after all
>but that I've mistaken the way her lanky frame shudders from fatigue for signs of life 
>and not the creeping onset of death throes
>maybe it's just that she's too tired to care about the wind anymore, it can blow her for all that she cares
>neither the warm glow of her cigarette nor the light of the moon can penetrate the glassy surface of her dead eyes
>their dull green surface is just too thoroughly iced over, sentencing all the fish beneath to a die of a slow decay from the inside out
>and eyes are windows to the soul
>the witch feels my stare on her face and throws a curious peek down at me
>sparks of mirth flicker in her irises when her stare lands on me
>I quickly look away
>the teasing glimmer in her eyes reminds me of how ice covered Christmas lights look from far away
>Noita's shadow consumes me as she looms closer
>like she's a bully trying to cheat off my paper
>she smugly waits to for me to peek over
>to give into my instinct of always keeping an eye on a nearby predator
>but then the witch pulls another trick out of her bag
>an arcane green glow washes over my face like demon drool
>I look over and see the witch's eyes glowing as she focuses her magic into drawing a fiery circle in the air with her cigarette
>a pentagram
>"W-What are you doing?" I ask carefully
>"Hm?" 
>The witch feigns ignorance
>but the way she tilts her head betrays her smug self satisfaction
>"Oh, don't pay me any mind," she says sarcastically.
>the fiery pentagram crackles haughtily
>"But tell me…" the witch leans in to whisper a question, "what's your blood type?"
>"What?!"
>her lips curl into a mischievous smirk
>"Never mind, I'm sure it will work fine without me knowing."
>"What will?!"
>the witch pretends she didn't hear me and taps the fiery center of the magic circle
>it disappears
>the witch playfully rests her chin in her hand, looking over to silently whisper, "your move now."
>the unholy glow of whatever magic she had invoked fades from her eyes like a softly dying fire
>I look down half expecting a pentagram of that same unholy fire to appear around my feet
>the witch gloats as she reads my body language like a book of tomes to know just how worried I am
>and that's when I notice it out the corner of my eye
>the sky begins to fill with shooting stars
>brilliant white hot comets arc across the sky, as bright as the moon
>their glittering tails like tracers
>I turn back towards the town to watch in awe
>awe that quickly turns to worry
>the flowing light of the shooting stars takes on a sinister implication
>I grab the railing tightly. "Did… did you do that?"
>Noita just winks and asks, "and what if I did?"
>the witch resists the tantalizing urge to follow it up with an even cockier, "what are you going to do about it?"
>she adores how I squirm beneath her
>knowing each shooting star that passes by drives the fear of God into me
>but soon the witch chuckles smugly now that the joke has run its course
>"Don't worry, all I did was divine the weather." She chides. "Low winds and clear skies until tomorrow morning, followed by snow."
>"Hahaha… yeah…" I awkwardly laugh, painfully relieved
>the witch puts her cigarette back in her mouth and looks up to watch the shooting stars too
>the light reminds me of summer fireworks, but with an astral twinkle reminds me of fresh snowflakes
>I peek over at the witch, a warm smile on her face
>a warm smile… that's a first...
>we watch as more and more stars dash across the sky
>the number of shooting stars is as infinite as the number of stars still in the sky
>at this rate I wouldn't be surprised if they're just all waiting their turn
>the witch breaks the silence. "So…" 
>she smirks and socks me in the shoulder playfully
>"What are you going to do now, really?"
>"I… don't know…" I mumble
>the witch tilts her head and raises an eyebrow
>"I buy you your freedom and you don't know what to do with it?" Noita scoffs smugly as she shakes her head
>we both get distracted by a particularly bright and fiery shooting star exploding into many little ones
>the witch takes on a sarcastic tone of pretending to be a parent consoling an ungrateful child
>"Well if you don't like your gift we can always return it," she smirks mischievously. "I'm sure your foreman will be so glad to see you again."
>I sigh. "I thought about maybe going to the Deadfront, or maybe Silairno, or maybe going to see Demon King's goats, or maybe this new Ringed Forest place…"
>the witch narrows her eyes, trying to hide her frustration
>"What are you, a migratory bird?"
>I squirm uneasily under the witch's disapproving stare, it sends chills down my spine
>"Commitment is scary." I confess curtly
>the ice breaks on the witch's face and she slowly backs off
>her jaw visibly loosens as she breaks eye contact to stare out at the town again
>"Yeah… I guess it is…" she sighs, before clearing her throat carefully. "And staying committed is scary too, always worried you made the wrong decision, right?"
>"Sunk cost fallacy?"
>the witch sighs and nods
>"But I guess in some cases it might actually be too late to give up." She spits spitefully. "No going back now."
>"Like with wasted youth?"
>Noita goes quiet… 
>the moody shadows of falling stars make her sudden stoicism all the colder, the only sound is the quiet crackle of her cigarette between her fingers
>the pregnant pause continues until she carefully puts her cig to her lips and inhales
>"Did you always want to be a Kommando?" Noita asks as star light ebbs and flows over her face
>her eyes find busy work by tracing the movement of passing stars
>"Not really? It wasn't something I thought I'd grow up to be."
>the witch smiles at the thought. "What did you want to be when you were growing up?"
>"I dunno…" I brush some snow off the railing, "a policeman?"
>she chuckles, "isn't that kind of a Kommando?"
>I rub the back of my head, embarrassed. "I thought maybe being a doctor would be cool too…"
>"You? A doctor?" The witch flashes me a smug smile, "you fainted at the sight of blood when I was fixing your arm."
>I hide my burning face by leaning an elbow on the railing
>"Fine then, what did you want to be when you were a little kid?" I retort
>the witch's husky laughter peters out sharply like she's been socked in the stomach
>"I…" Noita hesitates, almost biting through her cigarette as she cringes at the memory, "I… I wanted to be a singer…"
>I stare at the the gangly witch, somehow the thought of that doesn't compute
>The witch continues. "Little kids are naive so they don't know what things are really like. They come up with these stupid ideas."
>Noita sighs, blowing disappointed smoke that flickers in the pulsating star light
>"But then reality hits…" she continues, "and so you compromise, say you just want to sing as a hobby." 
>she leans an elbow against the railing like me, putting her hand against her forehead
>"But then biology hits… and… yeah…"
>the witch stops and looks at her gangly fingers like they're suddenly alien to her
>she inhales sharply on her cigarette and exhales quickly without savoring it as she usually does
>"What kind of music did you like to sing?"
>the witch angrily glances over the intention of turning me into a frog for pressing the matter
>an angry green glow builds in her eyes, making me think this is the end
>but then the light of a passing star helps to calm her
>she sighs and looks away trying to cover her slowly dimming eyes out of embarrassment so I can't see them, like a little kid
>"I dunno…" she mumbles, "Sinatra? Anything jazzy really…"
>we stand in awkward silence for a moment
>I clear my throat carefully, "like Ella Fitzgerald?"
>the corner of the witch's mouth turns upon hearing that name
>it's one she hasn't heard in a long time
>"Yeah…" Noita sighs, she starts to recollect her usual stoic self but can't help but smile from nostalgia, "like Ella Fitzgerald."
>"Wow…" I say as another mad flurry of shooting stars fly across the sky. "They're still going."
>"Yeah…" the witch responds dismissively. "They actually happen every full moon here. It just is either they burn up before they fall beneath the cloud cover or the moisture in the air extinguishes them."
>"Really?"
>the corner of Noita's lips turn up at my eager tone despite her casual indifference towards the shooting stars
>it's a jaded smile, the kind you give to a naive rookie
>she ruffles my hair playfully
>"But you know what is even more beautiful?" 
>The witch mimics great obelisks rising out of the snow as she points out into the distance with her cigarette. 
>"Are the towers of light that pop up from wherever they fell, appearing during new moons," she finishes
>they're the Aurora Borealis of the Iron Coast
>brilliant pillars of every color appear during new moons, reaching up to the heavens
>one would think it'd be great for tourism but the dreariness of the islands sinks that idea
>I never knew they came from the remains of shooting stars
>Noita takes a slow drag of her cig as she continues
>"I've always wondered what they're made of. I doubt it's just plain old iron and rock. Maybe it's something magic."
>"Have you ever tried getting a sample?"
>Noita almost chokes on her cig when she scoffs with laughter
>"What? Like have I ever tried catching a shooting star?"
>"No… I mean like seeing where one fell and going out to get it."
>She shrugs sadly and leans on the railing
>"Most just land in the water… those that do fall on land instantly get hidden by the fog and snow… so if you actually wanted to track one down..."
>the witch goes quiet
>her eyes widen as they follow a particularly bright shooting star
>it buzzes the town, leaving a glimmering trail of icy sparks for the dogs to bark at
>and crash lands next to an old windmill in the distance
>Noita drops her cigarette
>"It'd have to fall near a landmark," she says in disbelief
>the fog eats up the glowing remains of the shooting star like the ocean does a sinking ship
>but that doesn't deter the witch
>she looks at me to make sure she saw what she just saw
>"We could…" the witch starts
>"Bring it back?" I finish
>her disbelief shows hints of giddiness
>but then she calms herself and nudges me smugly
>"So you're coming along with me?"
>her voice is very forward with a hungry tone
>"Uh…" I awkwardly break eye contact
>she shushes me, "it's fine, I'll take that as a yes."
>Noita looks back out at the windmill in the distance
>"As for the fog? All we'll need is a way to carry some St. Elmo's fire for protection."
>"Is that allowed?" I ask quietly, like the Chancellery can hear our treason
>she shushes me
>the witch puts a finger under my chin and forces me to look up at her
>"Don't worry… I won't let them so much as lay a finger on you," Noita whispers affectionately
>she gently raises her finger to force me up onto the tip of my toes
>a coy smirk grows on her face as she raises it higher and higher to mock me at how small I am compared to her
>but lets me down before I lose my balance entirely
>Noita hides her full smile in a drag of her cig
>"It might take some time but I'll think of a way to do it."
>"Good…" I say quietly
>the spot on my chin where her finger was doesn't stop tingling
>I look up and see the shooting stars have finished
>"I-I should get going now."
>"Oh, I'll fly you home."
>"What?" I freeze. "Fly?"
>Noita raises an eyebrow and taps the ash off her cig
>"Yeah? I'm a witch. I can fly. Why did you think I divined the weather? Low winds are good for flying."
>oh God this was her whole plan from the start
>witch pounces when she sees me eyeing the door behind her
>"Wait… don't tell me…" she teases playfully, "you're scared of heights too…"
>"Only a little…" I mumble, knowing what would happen if I didn't admit the truth
>"Then how about this?"
>I yelp from the witch violently grabbing my collar to pull me into her
>mashing my face into her shoulder
>my nose digs into her sweater and explodes with the wonderful smell of fresh smoke
>and of the witch…
>it had to have been magic...
>I start to hyperventilate as I helplessly look up to the witch for mercy
>I try to weasel out of her grip only for her to tighten it
>"If I can make another star fall with my magic. I get to fly you home on my broom. But if I can't?" 
>the witch chuckles as she gives me a little noogie
>"We'll talk about it then," she whispers playfully
>she lets me go
>but it's not like she can actually pull stars from the sky
>... right?
>I quickly get my answer
>an arcane glow bursts from the witch's green eyes as she holds her arms up to the sky
>like she is preparing to summon an elder god and offers the entire town as sacrifice
>chanting in a tongue that isn't elvish, dwarvish, orcish, goblin, or anything else
>something ancient and strange
>until finally...
>a single shooting star peters across the sky
>like it had been suddenly woken from a deep slumber
>we both watch it fall beneath the horizon
>I try to flee from the idea of the witch being able to toy with the heavens themselves
>but quick as a flash the witch's lanky arm ruthlessly reaches out to keep me in place
>she casually drags me back as I flail about for dear life
>Noita turns me around
>puts a firm on hand my shoulder to stop my terrified flailing
>tilts my chin up with a finger
>and smiles
>inside the warm lighthouse, we dress to leave
>the witch wraps a flying scarf around her neck
>one the Red Baron might have worn
>but the color is too bright, too audacious
>it doesn't fit the witch at all
>too unbecoming
>playful crackles of green lightning linger in the witch's eyes as she shows me her broom
>"So, what do you think?"
>she glides her palm across the shaft of her broom like it's a prized sword
>I rub the back of my head awkwardly
>a witch's broom or not, it's still just a broom
>the witch scoffs. "Nothing? Then what about when I do this?"
>her eyes flash once as she begins to reshape the broom
>the handle forms into a stock and the bristles into metal parts
>the white hot shape of a rifle cools into a Pattern 1913 Enfield
>complete with the four finger grooves down each side and volley sights on the left
>volley sights that in combat might be next to useless, a victim of naive doctrine
>but judging from the witch's cocky smile?
>I can't help but worry she uses them for some nefarious purpose
>she expertly the rifle about and proudly presents it to me
>"And what about now?"
>I look up at the witch, a little intimidated by how brashly, how confidently she holds her weapon.
>"If my Webley is like a witch's wand, then this is definitely a witch's staff, don't you think?"
>her lanky stature dwarfs even a P13
>she makes it look like a carbine with her lanky arms and legs
>I jump from the witch slamming the butt of her broom-rifle into the floor like an angry Prussian to get my attention
>Noita leans in to offer the rifle to me like she wants me to kiss the muzzle
>"Are you sure you'll be able to handle it?"
>it hangs right over my head
>"W-What?"
>"Flying. On my broom." She clarifies by tapping the broom-rifle gently. "We did have a deal after all, no welshing now."
>I sigh and sheepishly look down at the floor
>"I'll be fine…"
>"Good."
>she morphs the rifle back into a broom
>I'm caught off guard by the bristles shooting out to stab me in the face
>i fall back on my ass
>the witch starts to snicker playfully at her prank
>she had pulled the magic equivalent of telling someone to look inside a box only for their fist to burst out to sock them in the jaw
>a prank that could only work on someone gullible
>I rub my burning cheeks which makes her she laugh at my expense so hard that she has to lean on her knees to keep from keeling over too
>she puts her broom out to help me up
>I politely refuse
>she giggles and ruffles my hair
>Noita gets onto her broom and motions tauntingly
>"Alright, now get on." She says through some lingering chuckles
>I look around her to see she's sitting right at the end of the bristle side of the broom
>"I thought I was going to ride in the back…" I protest
>"Hah, no." Noita chides curtly. "You'd agree wrapping your pilot up in a death grip is a bad idea, right?"
>I sigh, a little ashamed. "Y-Yeah…"
>"Hey now," the witch coos reassuringly. "There's still plenty of room for you to grab onto my nice.."
>she stomps forward, "long…" she stomps forward again, "thick…" she stomps forward one last time, "strong…"
>she grabs my chin and forces me to look down at it
>"broom…"
>I swallow nervously
>I don't like what she is trying to imply
>all it takes is a single authoritative squeeze of her hand for me to show mine when I look up at her, terrified
>"Now get on the fucking broom," the witch whispers
>I struggle just to straddle it 
>it's too high off the ground for me
>to make matters worse it levitates like a canoe on a lake, rising up and down from the slightest movement
>by contrast the witch is tall enough where she can still stand comfortably on the ground with it between her legs
>my feet awkwardly dangle off the ground as I make sure to keep a good foot or two away from the witch
>and while I'm preoccupied with keeping my balance, the witch steals my rifle from right of my shoulder
>"I won't be able to see with this waving in my face." She explains disarmingly
>I can feel her smirking at the back of my head, ripe with mischievous intentions
>"You know…" she coos playfully as she slings my rifle over her bony shoulder. "Your rifle is nice, plenty big, but…" she chuckles softly, "I think mine is bigger…"
>I give her a little look
>she smirks and decides to drive home the joke
>she bucks her hips to bounce me on her broom
>finding so much sadistic pleasure in it that she suddenly thrusts upwards
>doing so with so much force she has to hold the tip of the raging broom to keep it steady
>just so she can selfishly finish in a reverse slide over baby move to make me fall back into her
>I feel my face burn as she rests her chin on top of my head
>"Mhmm… Anon…" the witch purrs as she looks down at my hands
>I can feel her voice reverberating in her body behind me
>I swallow nervously from her hungry tone
>"Y-Yes?"
>"Squeeze my broom any tighter and you're going to crack it."
>I loosen my desperate grip and take a fluttering breath
>"Sorry…"
>I yelp from her suddenly pushing us off the ground with her strong legs
>my stomach flip flops as we slowly fly out the door, almost weightless
>and my blood turns to ice when we teeter off the edge of the lighthouse's catwalk
>"Oh, and one last thing."
>"What is it?" I say as I make my final prayers
>"I didn't actually pull a star down from the sky with my magic," the witch casually mentions. "I recited a chapter from my textbook on magical manifolds, you know Grassmanians."
>I turn back to look at her, feeling woefully betrayed but strangely relieved
>"I wouldn't waste my magic on something stupid like making a star fall from the sky"
>"Wait?! You can actually do that?!" 
>the witch plunges us into a steep dive
>the wind in my ears is so loud I can't hear myself yell
>but I can feel the witch's bony frame sadistically chuckling behind me
>the ground rapidly rises towards us to punish the witch for her hubris of not pulling up already
>to serve up a reverse Icarus, maybe next time fly a little closer to the sun
>at the last possible moment she peels up
>I can feel the cold, hard ground kiss my feet
>we shoot down the street like a rocket, buzzing all the windows and hapless pedestrians with our deafening slipstream
>a shooting star of a different kind
>a couple people get knocked to the ground from the wake of blowing snow we leave behind
>Noita laughs mischievously as she angles the broom upwards
>we spiral into the sky before settling at a lofty cruising altitude over the rooftops
>she slows us down so she can wipe some of the snow off her witch's hat
>and fix her fluttering scarf
>I try to catch my breath but begin to panic from how high up we are
>it's just a broom handle between me and going splat on the ground
>a broom handle I can hardly even balance on
>"See? Wonderful weather for flying! Low winds, clear sky, and a full moon!" Noita exclaims with unbecoming cheer. "And with a good excuse to get out and about too," she giggles, referring to me
>the crisp night air and adrenaline must do something to her
>perhaps in another life I'd find it as intoxicating as she does
>the witch is uncharacteristically feisty from all the freedom she feels from flying
>"Where are you staying now?" She asks, taking a moment to playfully flick the back of my shivering head
>"O-Over in t-the inn o-on t-the far e-east of t-t-town," I stutter
>the witch raises an eyebrow before sighing reassuringly
>"I guess you really weren't kidding about being scared of heights."
>she ruminates on what to do with such a jittery Kommando
>"Look, just hum a song you know to take your mind off things." Noita advises
>I can hardly even think right now
>the wind is trying to blow me off, the cold is trying to freeze my clammy hands so I slip
>really the only thing not actively trying to kill me is the moon
>the moon...
>I start to awkwardly hum the opening notes of Fly Me To The Moon
>it does help to calm my nerves
>but then I forget how the song goes after the first thirty seconds
>I feel the blood drain from my face as the terror settles in again
>"Fly me to the moon… let me play among the stars…" the witch sings softly
>her husky voice wavers awkwardly with the same uncertainty of a neglected engine starting up for the first time in years
>But once it warms up? It's like it never even happened
>"Let me see what Spring is like…" the witch smiles as she finds her stride, "on-a Jupiter and Mars…"
>her singing is the musical equivalent of warm milk, to deafen the wind and stave off the cold
>"In other words, hold my hand…"
>warm milk with honey.
>"In other words…"
>the witch's soothing singing playfully trails off, expecting me to finish her line
>"B-Baby, kiss me…" I mumble quietly
>She giggles as she starts to play with the notes
>"Fill my heart with song and let sing forevermore… you are…"
>I sigh and quickly prattle the lyrics
>"All I long for all I… and… adore…"
>"In other words... please be true… in other words…"
>I can feel the witch lay her chin against the top of my head, smugly awaiting my next words
>"I love you…" I squeak out, embarrassed
>Noita slowly hums the chorus, clumsily but nostalgically drawing it purely from memory
>drawing each note out as one would a forgotten photo album or picture book from their childhood, cherishing it
>only to reluctantly let it go with a sheepish smile on her face
>Fill my heart with song... let me sing forevermore... You are all I long for, all I worship and adore…"
>I can feel the lanky witch's chest reverberate deeply behind me as she sings
>so warm, so dizzyingly intimate
>"In other words, please be true… in other words... in other words…" 
>the witch trails off sadly
>I look back to see her warm expression quickly cooling into her usual dead look
>the magic drains out of her cheeks against her will, like a warm blanket being pulled away from right under her fingers
>such a short song but it felt like a slow, intimate eternity
>I almost feel robbed that it has to end
>fly all we like, there's just not enough time to fly to the moon tonight
>the witch fixes her scarf that the wind has returned to blow out of place
>"We're here…" she says, looking downwards

>we land softly on the ground
>I stumble off her broom and lean against a wall, trying to calm my shivering heart
>"Are you alright?" The witch chews on her last word before speaking a little quieter, "Anon?"
>"Y-Yeah… I'm okay…"
>I take a deep breathe and turn around to find the witch staring at me expectedly
>"W-What?"
>Noita gestures towards the warm inn with her head
>her hunched frame is illuminated by the toasty yellow light of the window
>her tired eyes fill with honey at the sight of the comfortable lobby through the window
>"Now that you have what I assume is your own room…" her eyes return to me, "aren't you going to invite me inside?"
>"Uhhh…"
>the witch presses me up against the wall as I put my arms up in a frantic defense
>"Why so defensive all of a sudden? What, is there something inside your room that you don't want me to see? "
>she tilts her head playfully as she cups my cheek with her hand
>I jump from how cold it is
>"Or are you just nervous? And here I was thinking Kommandos are the bravest they come..."
>she presses me even closer which makes me quickly stare at the ground
>her hands are freezing but her body is searing with an aura of white hot danger
>she playfully inspects the top of my head, brushing some snow off of it to make me shiver from her delicate touch
>"Alright…" she sighs, "then how about this?"
>Noita pulls at her scarf to reveal her pale neck and prominent collarbone
>"A little parting gift." She whispers breathlessly
>she stoops at the waist as if to offer her shoulder for me to rest my head on… or her jugular…
>but then she begins to undo her scarf
>I helplessly watch as the witch undoes her scarf
>she stretches it all the way out and gives it a good tug like it's a gag
>the playful flicker in her eyes silently tells me to, "stay still, this will only take a minute."
>Noita begins to wrap the scarf around my neck and face
>it smells of nothing but her
>each subsequent layer of it only makes the smell stronger
>sweet cigarette smoke and the smell of magic, deep and rich like chocolate and coffee
>warm
>the witch's eyes burn with an impish glow as she begins to tie a dozen knots behind my head to keep the scarf in place over my nose
>knowing that I have to breath harder just to get any air, knowing it fills my nose with the warm scent of her scarf
>it's too much
>my heart pounds out of my chest
>any more of this and it will explode
>I try to be clever and breath through my mouth to avoid the smell of her smoky scarf
>but when I open my mouth I receive a strange silky kiss from the fabric of the scarf
>it feels silky against my lips just like...
>I make the mistake of looking up at the alluring pale skin of the witch's bare neck
>how it'd feel to press them against that...
>my arms shoot up to try and desperately pull the scarf off which the witch finds cute
>she stops my panic by placing a single hand on my head
>she brushes her thumb across my forehead
>"I expect it back all in one piece, or else." 
>her eyes flash with magic to enunciate her point
>I sheepishly look down at the snow, trying to avoid staring at the witch's long legs and her steely boots
>"And hey…" she whispers right in my ear to burn it with her steamy breath, "I'm just happy to know where you're staying now. If I ever get in the mood, I could just come over and…" she fixes her stare onto me "drop a star through the roof…" she whispers affectionately
>she laughs at her own joke and taps me playfully on the nose
>"But only if you ever pissed me off…"
>I shift uneasily
>oh god I really shouldn't have let her know where I live...
>"T-The owner doesn't like us having guests over…" I let slip quietly, my voice muffled by her scarf
>the witch chuckles and brushes my hair back as she bends down to offer me her ear
>"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you…"
>"T-The owner doesn't like us having guests over…" I say louder
>"Oh…" 
>the hopeful honey drains from the witch's eyes
>the dead hollow spaces darken with bitter regret, the kind that sticks to your soul
>she awkwardly steps back, stumbling back into her haggard self
>the witch returns to hunching over as she collapses under her own gangliness
>"I…" she rubs the back of her neck and sheepishly looks up at me. "Maybe another time then…"
>the witch climbs onto her broom and throws me one last look over her shoulder 
>a grimace of regret
>"S-See you soon… I guess…"
>she shoots off into the night sky
>I fall onto my knees
>I feel horrible, she has invited me into her home countless times
>the least I could have done was tell the innkeeper off
>but then she would've...
>I huff desperately and pull at her scarf before giving up
>until I get it off, the witch and my mistake will succeed in haunting me for the rest of the night
>sneaking under the door into my dreams
>I take one last, frustrated breath
>just like smoke

>I wake up to the soft sound of lazy jazz music
>I sit up covered in a thick blanket of ash, practically buried under a heavy drift of black snow
>strange shivers begin to run through my body, it feels like someone had sucked my soul out, I feel used...
>I roll off the ashtray and onto the ground
>but as if lying in an ashtray wasn't enough
>my sense of scale is flipped on its head again when I realize the ground is actually the wood of a bedside table
>I look around in awe at the sheer scale of the dark room around me
>the disheveled sheets of the nearby bed form steep hills
>the phonograph next to me lets slow jazz float out of its horn that hangs ominously over my head
>enormous, dusty record sleeves teeter off the edge of the bedside table, Frank Sinatra's smile visible even in the darkness
>and I know better than to peek the edge of the bedside table at my size
>all of this is made for someone far, far bigger than me
>... someone who might not like tiny "guests"
>but then I notice how peculiar the clock looks
>no numbers, no hands
>just a pale, blank face
>I sit back, extremely relieved
>if the clocks don't tell time then this must just be a dream
>thank god
>I stir nervously, but without a doubt this has to be the most vivid dream I have ever had, I pray it doesn't become a nightmare
>but hey, when in Rome
>I let my curiosity get the better of me and climb up onto the phonograph
>I sit on the volume knob and recognize the song that's playing
>Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade, it comes in haunting echoes from within the phonograph's depths
>it's lucid melody tops off the surreal nature of this experience
>the volume rises and falls in tune with the beat of your heart
>I watch the record lethargically spin, flowing like a black river at my feet
>the needle bobs on its surface until it comes to a stop
>and the phonograph goes quiet
>that probably means the dream is finished
>I start to sit back and wonder how much I will remember when I wake up
>but then I notice the needle surreptitiously sneaking back across the frozen record
>and once it hits the outside, the record begins to play again
>I hear a husky sigh from an all too familiar voice
>my blood turns to ice
>ashtray… jazzy records… husky voice…
>oh no
>I hesitate as I turn to see the witch's now beyond tall figure looming in the darkness
>I suddenly feel smaller than ever when I see her
>she sits at a desk, playing with her Webley in a strange Russian Roulette-like ritual
>she idly spins the cylinder of her revolver, pulls the trigger once it comes to a stop, and then spins it again
>smoking as she stares out the window
>the ice queen's mistakes lay at her feet in the form of snowy drifts of crumpled up papers
>they pile up against the many stacks of books that stand like guard towers around the witch
>but that begs the question
>are they trying to keep things out? 
>or trying to keep something in?
>in a blink of an eye I'm suddenly hiding behind the witch's desk lamp
>its lonely cone of light casts gloomy, smoky shadows across her desk
>the bags under the witch's eyes are such a dark contrast to her pale complexion she might as well have two black eyes
>they are kind of heavy that can only come from a sleepless beyond insomnia, the kind that makes you feel like you're always trapped in a bad dream
>the mechanical clicks of her revolver's cylinder remind me of a ticking clock
>but each tick is badly timed, leading you to believe more time than passed than it actually has
>I follow the witch's gaze to see she's staring sadly at the starry night sky outside
>Noita sighs and drops the hammer on her Webley
>and a star goes out
>she's passing the time by shooting stars
>a monumental feat when you think about it, but there are just so many stars in the sky that no one will ever notice
>no one will appreciate it
>the witch takes a careful drag of her cigarette now that the record has reached its end again
>she turns her head towards it, did it finally stop?
>the Moonlight Serenade starts again and the witch exhales frustratedly
>her sanpaku eyes droop, their stare becoming somehow even more jaded, even more of a drained green
>Noita spitefully aims her revolver at the moon
>and drops the hammer on it
>it disappears and the phonograph stops
>for a second the witch's hand wavers before it falls in relief
>"Oh thank fucking god," the witch gasps
>she tiredly throws her Webley onto the desk with a loud clatter that for me is a deafening impact
>her exhausted frame groans as she leans forward onto the desk
>awkwardly placing her elbows down to save her from crashing into it
>I feel a rumbling in my bones simply from her small movement
>my shrunken perspective helps me notice new, little details about the witch
>like the way her veins rise out of the neck like excessively strung piano strings
>how her eyes aimlessly drift to desperately keep her mind from settling
>almost jittery with the starving desire for an easy fix of "feel good" that no amount of cigarettes can satiate, at least not anymore
>Noita takes a careful drag of her cigarette, her fingers mash its body like a bad memory has popped into her head
>and then she absentmindedly sighs, breathing out her regrets
>the witch absentmindedly taps her cigarette
>"Are you going to keep hiding like a mouse, or are you going to come out?" She asks flippantly
>I freeze in place and flinch the witch's eyes land on me
>the corner of her mouth fights the urge to turn up at first, but she gives into the guilty pleasure of it
>"You're pretty bad at it," she says smugly
>I sheepishly step out from behind her lamp and into the light
>Noita sits back in her chair to give me space, but doesn't know that I can feel the wind coming her body as she moves
>"H-Hi." I mumble awkwardly
>"So…" the witch's eyes are full of a cold, dead curiosity. "How's your night going so far? Getting some good rest?" 
>An ominous glow of playful smugness builds at the bottom of her stare like the heat off a fire
>"Have any interesting dreams?"
>I look up at her confused, does she know something?
>but quickly break eye contact with the looming giant when she starts to show her teeth in a smirk
>"Not really no…"
>Noita narrows her eyes, almost a little bit disappointed
>the witch shrugs saying, "welcome to the club I guess."
>she returns to staring out the window
>I follow her gaze to see she is looking at a little squat building in the distance that resembles the inn I'm staying in
>the inn is full of a healthy, happy glow
>but kept sanitary behind glass
>to be seen, but never experienced
>"You're gonna be here for a while…" the witch says tiredly
>"W-What do you mean?"
>she takes a playful drag of her cigarette before speaking to keep me waiting, ever so smug with the truth
>"Well, it's a dream isn't it? We're here until whoever's brain we're in either lets us go or wakes up."
>"Who's dream is this?" I ask carefully
>the witch leers at me with a toothy, self satisfied smile
>I fall onto my back in an effort to keep some space between her
>"Who knows," she whispers curtly
>her hot breath ruffles my clothing and makes me tingle from chills once its gone
>Noita returns to sitting back in her chair and smoking
>but then notices my boredom
>the witch chews on her cigarette as she grabs a book without even looking at the cover for me to read
>she throws it in front of me in the same way you'd give a fancy toy to a bratty kid
>to shut them up
>the cover is covered in delicate runes that resemble the thread of a blanket
>Dream Magic by Somnus
>I look up at the witch to see her staring off into space, grateful to have some peace and quiet again
>I try to hide my curiosity as I open the book
>but it's just about dream catchers
>but one chapter happens to be carefully bookmarked with a bright red piece of silk
>I reach for it
>only to be violently thrown back by the witch slamming the book shut
>"Wait not that one."
>Noita leaves me to just awkwardly lounge on her desk
>I notice no matter how much she smokes her cigarette it doesn't burn down
>the massive tip glows stronger as she inhales slowly
>and when she exhales, I follow the swirl of smoke coming from her lips as it falls to the floor
>I follow it as it sneaks behind her
>dissipating once it hits a pile of cloth on the floor
>a mess of bright red silk
>with a long graceful hem…
>and a fitting waist
>the witch casually looks behind her and jumps in her skin
>she shifts in front of me defensively to block my sightline to it
>I look up a little worried she's going to do something to me as she narrows her eyes suspiciously
>suddenly the desk begins to shiver
>the witch is fidgeting, absentmindedly drumming her fingers against the wood
>and rocking my world while by doing it
>Noita raises an eyebrow at my little flinch then makes the connection
>"Oh, is something wrong?" She asks playfully as she cups her hand that was fidgeting around me
>I try to keep my calm as her pale palm walls me in
>"You know you can't hurt in a dream…"
>a mischievous smile grows on her face, as if to say "no one can help you now"
>"right?"
>she cups her palm even closer around me
>"And besides I'm not going to hurt you…" she whispers threateningly
>this is all just great fun to her, knowing I can do nothing but take her poking and prodding
>her breathing becomes slow and heavy
>"So if anything were to happen to you…" she leers in closer, giving me a toothy smirk, "no one can get mad."
>I notice a dessert plate on the corner of the desk
>the witch must have been eating earlier
>and that's a very sharp fork… giant spikes of tongs too…
>I can feel the witch's hot breath blow over me as her smile becomes more and more sadistic at the joy of being able to toy with me like this, she almost feels bad
>"Y-You're not going to eat me are you?"
>"What?" The witch asks shortly
>she pulls her hand back
>I point to the nearby fork and plate
>she sighs defeatedly and puts her hand to her forehead
>"Dude, I just forgot to put those in the sink, calm down." 
>"O-Ok…"
>"And besides, I wouldn't use a fork for that. I'd use my fingers."
>my blood turns to ice
>Noita smiles and leans forward on one elbow to launch me an inch off the desk when it comes crashing down
>"I love finger food."
>the witch slams two fingers down in front of me
>letting them loom a little to let me know how they're both taller than I am
>I quickly start to back up
>I desperately look up at Noita to get her to stop but the fun is just too much for her
>one finger flicks me down so the other can brutally pin me to the desk
>the other finger surreptitiously creeps up to press against my side so I'm wedged between them
>they're alarmingly warm, disarmingly so
>the witch mocks me with a hearty chuckle as she lifts me slowly into the air
>she playfully crushes me between them
>not hard enough to hurt, just to cause extreme discomfort as she buffets me about, merciless playing with me like a toy
>the soft pads of her fingers cushion their brutal boniness 
>she turns me over onto my stomach, smiling mischievously when I look back at her in fear
>she drops me to the desk, I break out in a run 
>the witch watches me flee for a minute before gently tapping me on the head to throw me to the ground
>she gives me time to rest before digging a finger beneath me to force me up onto it
>she bounces me on it, watching me flail as I desperately try not to be thrown off to my doom
>but soon she tires and lets me down gently as she continues to laugh at my terror
>"But really, I'm not gonna eat you." Noita chides me playfully. "There's not enough meat on you to even fill my mouth."
>"A-Are you sure?" I ask, terrified
>I yelp from the witch slamming her cigarette between my legs
>I stare at it, terrified, before she playfully lifts it up so she can peek at me from beneath it
>"Hmmm… I guess so. I'm honestly a little surprised at how small you are," she chuckles
>"I'm not that small…" I mumble
>the witch stands her cigarette next to me and is a little disappointed I'm actually taller than it, but just barely so
>"Hmm… yeah…" she murmurs huskily
>the witch's eyes glint nefariously
>"But we can fix that."
>she begins to tap her cigarette over me
>sleepy sparks fall to fly around me like fireflies
>I shiver as I watch everything grow bigger and bigger around me
>the witch pounds her cigarette between my legs again, the shockwave makes me shudder
>this time she is far more pleased at how it's like a Redwood compared to me
>"Much better."
>the guilty pleasure of seeing me squirming only spurs her on further
>"Now, hold on tight…" she says reassuringly, her teasing tone drips with malicious intentions
>she pushes it beneath me so I'm scooped up onto the tip
>I hold on for dear life as she brings it to her mouth
>Noita's dull eyes take on a sadistic glimmer as she puts the cigarette between her lips
>with me helplessly straddling it all the while
>from this close up, her face looks to be made of marble yet still tantalizing soft
>delicately sculpted
>I back away in a panic from her green, lake sized eyes that watch my every shiver, full of wet mirth
>but I stop when I can feel the enormous heat at the end of her cigarette on my back
>I'm trapped
>I can feel the monstrous cigarette flex as her lips tighten around the other end in a playful smirk
>the world rumbles as she leans her lanky arms forward onto the desk that is now a mile below
>I get vertigo from how high up I am, and how immense and endless the witch's gangly body is in the distance
>and I feel very uncomfortable at how there is still everything beneath her waist that is shrouded in darkness
>she has long legs…
>the witch tilts her chin up unintentionally to get a better look at me
>an imperceptible change of angle to her is a terrifying lurch to me
>I am forced to hold the colossal cigarette tighter just to keep from falling into her lips
>Noita's smirk grows teeth when she realizes what she has done, and decides to intentionally tilt her chin up more 
>I want the nightmare to be over already
>the witch takes an extra long, hard drag of her cigarette
>it rumbles beneath me powerfully
>like a hungry, waking beast, with a noise somewhere between a growl and purr
>I look up at the witch's interested stare
>given flesh
>the witch holds the smoke in her lungs
>suddenly finding it viciously refreshing, an addictive bliss, for the first time in forever 
>she gently takes the cigarette out of her mouth and lowers it so I'm in front of her giant lips, like she is lining me up for a kiss
>and gently blows the smoke in my face
>the tiny effort of her lungs exhaling conjures a powerful, world ending whirlwind
>one that could rip entire kingdoms out of the ground
>I can hardly see a thing as it breaks my grip on her cigarette finger by finger
>but right before I lose my grip and fly off to my death
>I can see the witch's characteristic, playfully smug smile through the smoke


>I wake up with a start
>like I had been dropped in bed from a mile up
>I sit up and hold a hand to my chest as I try to catch my breath
>I carefully look around my room to make sure I did truly wake up
>and once I verify everything is the right size again, I breathe a sigh of relief and curl up beneath the covers again
>that dream… that nightmare… whatever that was… that was without a doubt the most surreal experience of my life
>I play it again in my mind trying to make some sense of the madness
>there is no way that could have actually been "the" witch in my dream
>just a figment of my imagination
>just something my subconscious brain cooked up
>there isn't anything kind of magic that would let the witch step into my dreams or pull me into her's
>... right?
>RIGHT?
>I sigh and turn over on my side to face the window
>but if it really was the witch herself, that feels like a little bit of a breach of privacy
>I wouldn't even be safe in my own mind from her
>it's then an arm of familiar smelling cigarette smoke playfully runs its fingers across my face
>I seize up and look up expecting the witch
>but to my relief it's just her scarf hanging on my bedpost
>I guess that's where the smell is coming from
>...
>that explains the fever dream
>I sit up and take it into my hands
>appreciating the silky texture of the fabric
>it's bright red color is so strong it's practically snickering at me
>it truly is worthy of being the witch's scarf
>and much to my surprise I find myself smiling
>I can't help but wonder if this was the witch's plan from the start
>I feel my own face turn red as the haunting smell of sweet cigarette smoke, the smell of the witch, rises up from the scarf
>I hesitate at first but indulge myself with the guilty pleasure of taking a closer cursory sniff
>my brain explodes into fireworks, the witch having lit the fuse from afar
>everything we have done together flashes through my mind
>the first time I saw her, her looming over me for the first time, the ghost ship, the pie, the shooting stars, and…
>I curl up tighter
>and her singing as she flew me home on her broom
>as terrifying as she might be, being a witch, I never expected her to be so…
>sweet
>she did expect me to do something like this, right? 
>to notice how her scarf carried the smell of her cigarettes
>"a little parting gift" to remind me of her 
>I'm not being creepy am I?
>a mad knocking comes from my door
>I flinch thinking my crimes have been discovered
>I hide the witch's scarf under the bed to try and mask the smell of smoke 
>but it's still as strong as ever
>I answer the door but only open it a crack
>I instinctively crane my neck to look upwards, expecting the pale spectre of the witch, but only see bare ceiling
>"Ahem."
>my gaze falls down to the innkeeper who is not happy at all judging from the frustrated frown
>"Good morning," I start
>he cuts me off, getting right down to business
>"Do you know the witch in the lighthouse?" He asks angrily
>from his tone I can tell it's a biting rhetorical question
>"Yes?" I hide behind the door. "Why?"
>the innkeeper's frown deepens as if to say "what the fuck is wrong with you?"
>"Look out your window."
>I wince at the ominous demand
>I can glean from context what this is about
>please tell me the witch didn't follow through on her threat to drop a shooting star on the roof…
>the lingering smell of cigarette smoke gets stronger with every step I take towards the window
>I peek over the window sill and see I was wrong to call it lingering
>so much as it is the witch marking her territory
>she coolly sits on the bench right beneath my window, idly chain smoking away without a care in the world
>why is she here?
>the innkeeper notices me tensing up and pounces
>"She's been hanging out on my doorstep all morning, scaring everyone away." He spits out angrily. "Now, a bootlegger? I'm fine with. An orc? I can tolerate. But a witch? No way, especially not one who studies necromancy! Anything but that!"
>"What do you mean?"
>the innkeeper frowns
>"Don't think I didn't notice you two outside the inn last night. She looked like she wanted to suck the soul out of you."
>at first I think the innkeeper is going to continue to berate me but instead he congratulates me
>"I don't know what you said to her to get her to fly off like that, but good job. What, was it a prayer or something?"
>the guilt of my backhanded rejection to spending more time with the witch returns
>the fact I am being congratulated by the very person who I used as an excuse is just the ironic cherry on top
>"But I mean… I don't think Noita is a necromancer..."
>the innkeeper raises an eyebrow at me being on a first name basis with "Madame Noita"
>"How do you know for sure she isn't?" He pushes his paranoia. "Look at her, pale skin, gangly figure, drained look, dead eyes, and inhuman strength? She's practically undead herself!"
>"But…"
>"People around town have only seen her leave her lighthouse a handful of times! Her always acting either haughty and distant or like she didn't want to be seen, probably because she was off to rob some graves."
>I sigh, "Is this a common suspicion among the townsfolk?" 
>This is all starting to make sense…
>"And besides," I continue. "She studies healing magic, not necromancy."
>the innkeeper rolls his eyes at me like I'm the dumbest person alive
>"Probably just to heal her undead thralls." He corrects
>I give him a confrontational look
>the innkeeper sighs. "Look, I just want you to get her out of here without any trouble. The last thing I need is for her to make the inn go crunch with a single magical closing of her fist."
>I look out the window again at the witch
>her tired and collected demeanor does make her look a little haughty and distant
>"Fine…" I say, "I need to talk with her anyway."
>I start to walk towards the door but the innkeeper points to my Lee Navy rifle
>"Aren't you bringing that?"
>"What? Why would I bring that?"
>the innkeeper stares
>I hesitate for a moment before giving into my own little paranoia
>I grab it but flick the safety on
>"See?" The innkeeper confirms, "can never be too careful around necromancers."
>"She studies healing magic…" I murmur
>and she doesn't know dream magic either, at least from what I know

>the innkeeper pushes me outside
>he locks the door behind me, gives me a thumbs up, and draws the curtains
>but the witch isn't that bad…
>really all the magic I've seen her cast, besides healing magic, amounts to little more than party tricks
>divining the weather, casting fire spells, making her eyes glow, and the like
>I sit on the far side of the bench she's sitting on
>Noita continues to sit cooly and casually with a pile of cigarette butts at her feet
>smoking as she directs her jaded gaze in the opposite direction of me
>her dead green eyes disinterestedly watching the people pass by
>her posture is the same as if she's waiting for someone at the mall
>laid back, but wanting to leave
>she doesn't notice me at all
>but the people passing by sure do notice her
>it's hard not to
>the way her black overcoat hangs authoritatively on her tall frame grabs your attention
>and her stoic expression makes her borderline unapproachable
>many awkwardly dance around her as you would with a rabid dog, like they're afraid Noita is going to suddenly get up and bite them if they get too close
>but I guess that's just it
>so far the witch's bark has been worse than her bite
>the only "threatening" kind of magic she has ever used was her just threatening to use it
>and never with malicious intentions, more just the teasing sort
>her bark is worse than her bite
>I repeat that over and over again in my mind
>even if she's still scathed from my backhanded rejection last night, her bark is worse than her bite
>once I get myself sufficiently psyched up
>I take a deep breath and open my mouth
>only for the witch to carelessly shove her pack of cigarettes into my face to shut me up, like she was able to read my mind
>with her still casually looking away from me
>"N-No thank you," I say, woefully caught off guard. "I don't smo--"
>the witch interrupts me with a single shake of the pack
>the last cigarette inside it bounces loudly
>I sigh and take it
>I roll it between my fingers
>"Do you have a li--"
>there's the click of the witch offering me her lighter
>but she keeps it close to her body like just offering it is a chore
>I reach over with my cigarette but she quickly closes the lighter
>I pull my arm back and she flips it open again
>her way of wordlessly beckoning for me to sit closer
>I awkwardly scootch over
>once I light my cigarette, the witch surreptitiously slides her arm along the back of the bench behind me
>the witch peeks at me
>she begins to take the usual satisfaction in my skittishness
>but when the corner of her mouth turns up in the beginning of a smirk, she covers it with her arm and clears her throat
>returning to her cold stoicism and idly stares down the street again, noticeably regretful at what she's done
>her arm recedes back across the bench to hang uselessly behind her
>the awkward atmosphere is painful
>I stare down at the burning cigarette between my fingers
>I shiver a little bit at the memory of her cigarette in my dream
>mine is long and fresh
>the witch's meanwhile is short and stubby
>it's practically burnt down to her lips
>we sit for a while longer until it starts to burn her lips
>it rouses the witch out of her jaded stupor
>she flicks it into the snow
>and when she looks at her empty pack of cigarettes she sighs
>this was going to happen sooner or later
>she tries to sit back like nothing is wrong
>but without the buzz of nicotine to polish down her emotions, they quickly begin to build up
>she starts to get a little jittery
>her silent treatment is suddenly excruciating for her
>which makes me realize her giving me the silent treatment isn't because she's mad
>but because she's nervous and simply doesn't know what to say, embarrassed, ashamed even
>Noita takes a deep breath and sighs
>"So…" she says, "about last night…"
>the witch avoids eye contact and stares down at the snow
>"W-What about it?"
>I don't know if she's referring when we were outside the inn and she wanted to come inside
>or if she truly had stepped into my dreams
>"I'm sorry if I overstepped my boundaries, tried to be somewhere I didn't belong."
>that doesn't narrow it down
>the witch sighs and leans forward on her knees
>instinctively hunching over to try and hide
>"It seemed like I might have scared you."
>the witch looks up at me with her dull eyes, her inquiring stare's intentions are as deep and mysterious as the ocean
>a nervous chill runs down my spine as I break eye contact
>"Um…"
>she sighs defeatedly and looks down at the snow between her boots
>"I… I… I didn't mind…" I stutter. "I actually thought it was kind of exciting…"
>the witch gives me a look of tired disbelief
>her head hardly moves at all
>"Exciting," her tone implies she thinks what I said is a joke. "You thought it was exciting?"
>"Y-Yeah…"
>I feel my cheeks begin to turn pink at my little confession
>the witch tilts her head, enthralled by my bashful show of color
>it's well deserved catharsis for her soul
>she sits back up and begins to smirk smugly
>which makes my cheeks red now that she's noticed
>"'Exciting…'" she echoes with a more cheerful disbelief in her voice. "You know, that is the first time I've ever heard anybody say being with a witch was…"
>her arm slides back across the bench to wrap around my shoulders
>"Exciting…" she repeats tauntingly
>I hide my nerves by looking down at my cigarette
>but then feel the scratchy wool of the witch's jacket rub against my side, sending tingles down my spine
>her shadow covers me as she leans closer to flirtatiously fish for more compliments
>"Exciting how?" She says as she takes my cigarette from my fingers and pushes it into my mouth
>her warm breath makes my face feel hot
>my heart beats out of my chest from her close touch
>the witch snickers at my silence
>"Is it going to take a truth spell for you to tell me?"
>I squirm in my seat
>the witch sighs smugly, "alright, I guess it will."
>her eyes begin to glow
>many of the people nearby begin to scatter
>I slip my arms into what little spaces between the witch and me
>I quickly cover my face, bracing for the worst
>which makes the witch burst out in riotous laughter
>suddenly so full of life
>she grabs my wrists tightly and pulls my arms apart like a chicken's wishbone
>"It never gets old with you, does it?"
>the witch gloats haughtily as she bends down to taunt me right in my face, stopping just short of our foreheads touching
>"I've done that countless times now and you still get, let's say... 'excited'" She teases with a cocky snicker. "I almost think you want to see me cast some terrifying magic."
>I try to pull my arms away but the witch playfully overpowers my motions until I surrender
>there's that "inhuman strength" of hers
>she laughs and takes a moment to look at me, she practically has me pinned to the bench
>indulging herself for a while
>out the corner of my eye I notice the innkeeper with a double barrel in the window
>judging from the glint of the shells, he's loading elvish silver slugs
>the witch cools her jets when she notices me staring at the window behind her
>she follows my gaze with a sneer on her face
>she doesn't so much as flinch when she sees the shotgun in his hands
>Noita turns back to me, her sneer only having grown stronger
>"He a friend of yours?"
>"N-No… that's the innkeeper."
>the witch's smile takes on a slightly sinister impish gleen to it
>she winks an eye to silently say, "look what I can do"
>she lazily flicks her gaze back towards the innkeeper, revenge on her mind
>he stands his ground but does so with quaking boots and shivering hands
>and just when he reaches the peak of his boldness
>the witch lunges her head at him
>he flinches violently and draws the curtain
>Noita gloats as she tightens her grip around my wrists to make me squirm
>she sighs happily
>"I guess that means I should be going now."
>she stands up and grabs her witch's hat off the corner of the bench
>"Say, are you up to some more 'excitement' later today?"
>"S-Sure…"
>the witch bends down at the waist to bring her face close to mine again
>her new guilty pleasure judging from how it always brings a smug smile to her face, just looming at a distance isn't enough anymore
>"Then meet me at the auction house at 1, alright?"
>I nod carefully
>the witch steals my breath away by snatching the cigarette out from between my lips
>stolen fruit is sweetest
>"And come wearing something nice" she whispers
>I sit on the bench watching her walk away
>her bark is worse than her bite
>I can't help but wonder if that still implies there's a bite

>I stand outside of the auction house like a little kid anxiously waiting for their mom to come back to the checkout line
>the auction house is in a much nicer part of town
>not quite upper class but definitely the upper crust
>the people who live here are tangentially related to the Chancollery let it be hook or crook
>the constables standing at the corner of the street eye me suspiciously
>being a kommando, I don't exactly own nice clothes and it shows
>around here milsurp is in vogue because like it's like how in times of yore merchants and aristocrats choose to wear pieces of armor not out of necessity, but out of style
>it's a fashion statement
>but that only applies to NICE milsurp
>I awkwardly pick at my jacket, the spot where the tailor had hastily trimmed the patch off has begun to become thread baren
>an elf gives me the stink eye as he goes inside the auction house
>he fixes his tie and scoffs at the rabble these days
>then of course you have the people who still stick to suits and ties
>and depending on how flashy they are, you can guess their line of work
>dwarvish fabrics go hand and hand with well to do craftsmen
>high speed, low drag elf garments are what many high ranking mercs enjoy
>sturdy orcish cloth are preferred by traveling merchants
>while moth silk usually goes with… let's call them "alternative merchants"
>a trio of them stroll past me with the cocky sneer of gangsters
>bootleggers
>and they don't just deal in alcohol they deal in most everything
>paying off or running import businesses that smuggle contraband into towns to circumvent the ludicrous taxes the Chancellery puts on everything
>with how high and unfair they are, it's not surprising someone would try to shore up the supply of goods somehow
>the funny thing is that to reduce the sheen of moth silk, instead of dying it or cutting it with dryder silk for body, the bootleggers rub oil into it
>so they always look greasy and reek of olive oil
>one whispers a joke to his buddies while pointing to the constable and they burst out laughing
>they all try to act like Al Capone, or at least how they think he would act, right down to exaggerated body language
>I'd almost call them larpers but everyone has their "thing" 
>I suddenly start to taste the witch's cigarette in my mouth again
>I quickly try and wash it out with a gulp of water to no avail
>no matter what I've tried I can't get it out
>it's stained into my tastebuds
>a hint of red silk pokes out of my pocket, the witch's scarf
>which makes me wonder where the witch is
>at first I don't notice the sound at all, chalking it up to just be the wind
>but it quickly builds to a chilling fever pitch within seconds
>giving me no time to flee, but all the time in the world to recognize it
>a stuka siren
>and it's aiming for me
>I look up to see the witch diving bombing me on her broom from hundreds of feet up
>but even with that flight mask I can recognize those eyes anywhere
>and they are ruthlessly intent on flattening me
>it's not the shrill scream of the siren that freezes me in my place
>it's the witch's stare
>the witch pulls up violently at the last second, generating a powerful whirlwind
>it knocks me onto my back and punches another poor bootlegger into a snowbank
>with the witch cockily stepping out of the cyclone of settling snow like a proud general through the smoke of a victorious battle
>Noita snickers as she lifts her flight mask to show her smug face
>"How did you not hear me coming?" She chides
>the witch gestures towards the back of her broom
>the bristles dance like wind chimes but are slowly losing their energy
>and if you listen closely you can make out the softest whine of a stuka siren
>"It's a siren for god's sake. It's deafening, especially when you dive with it ready."
>she moves a metal ring back to clamp down on the bristles, disabling the siren
>doing so with an expert flourish like a trench raider unfixing their bayonet after a good day's work
>"I didn't know your broom could do that."
>Noita holds her witch's hat against her bony chest as she pulls her flight mask the rest of the way off
>letting her long black hair wave through the air
>"Well, back in the day some Germanic broom aces joined and really helped to shape up my university thanks to their great experience. And one of the things they insisted on adding these sirens to our brooms for 'psychological warfare,' we've used them ever since."
>she throws her flight mask to me
>it's a cowled beak like mask, its empty eyes devoid of any life
>soulless rivets run along the seams in the leather to make it look like a frankenstein-like
>a brutalist plague doctor's mask
>it looks like something a necromancer would wear…
>I can't help but wonder if flight masks are tailor made for each witch
>because Noita practically possessed the mask with the same wild eyes harpies have 
>... what leather is this made of?
>she fishes the flight mask out of my hands to admire it for a moment before nonchalantly pulling me up by my shirt collar
>it's second nature to her at this point
>I dangle off the ground uncomfortably with my face next to the flight mask
>"If you look closely, you can see the Rhineland black moss that grows inside the beak," the witch whispers as she taps on a set of little air vents. "It's what makes air for you to breathe when you're high up and what keeps your face warm."
>she continues to point out little details to me with a tired but affectionate glee
>casual intimacy
>but then I notice the bootlegger fuming behind the witch
>enraged by his moth silk suit being ruined by the snow
>and makes a very stupid decision
>he angrily cross draws a sleek pocket pistol from his holster
>the witch notices me looking behind her
>and almost grows angry herself that someone else has stolen my attention
>she turns spitefully to see the bootlegger with his gun in hand 
>he freezes, stopping just short of aiming it
>Noita's eyes pulse once with a violent green glow
>the bootlegger seizes up like he was struck with invisible lighting, falls to the ground, and slowly turns to stone
>"Now, where were we? Oh right…" the witch snickers mischievously as the flickers of magic in her eyes burn themselves out. "'Psychological warfare…"
>she sets me down
>she ruffles my hair so I take my eyes off the petrified bootlegger and put them back on her
>the witch hugs me tighter
>crushing my lungs so I can't protest
>and almost making me kiss her flight mask
>"You know some people think the leather is made from harpies." She chuckles. "But that honestly would be a little too much psychological warfare for my tastes, that would just be grotesque." 
>I hide my sigh of relief as we walk inside the auction house
>she escorts me inside
>I stop in the doorway next to her. "H-Hey, Noita?"
>Noita's haggard hunch straightens up at the sound of me using her name so casually
>"Yes?" She hesitates for a millisecond. "Anon?"
>"Is he going to be okay?" I point back at the bootlegger
>Noita scoffs, "all I did was use Medusa's Stare. He'll be fine within an hour."

>the auction house is gorgeous
>elegant plaster and fixtures
>furniture made of imported mahogany
>posh carpets
>swinging jazz
>the works
>it makes me feel out of place
>but the witch pulls me along by the hand
>her skin is as soft as you'd expect from a bookish type of person
>magically silky
>her fingers use the occasion of leading me around as an excuse to grope my hand to her heart's content
>feeling up it up with a skillful agility like they have been eagerly waiting for this moment
>having spent a lot of time thinking about it
>and her hand is so cool to the touch…
>it's all I can think about…
>the witch takes me to the coat check
>when she breaks her gentle hold on my hand, I almost fall forward wanting to nuzzle my palm against hers again
>I notice the witch giving me a hesitant look out the corner of her eye as she takes off her heavy jacket and witch's hat
>and quickly I learn why
>where was once pajama pants and a sweater
>is now form fitting black dress pants and a perky button up
>the blouse a perfect cream white
>the witch slides her jacket over the counter as she sheepishly straightens the long tie around her neck
>it's the same tone of silky black as the black sand beaches outside
>it matches her hair…
>it's all so unbecoming of the tired, homely witch
>yet the sleek authoritativeness of it is so fitting
>Noita catches me staring and covers her smug grin with a hand as to not rouse the clerk's suspicions
>the witch leans on the counter, idly swinging her hips in tune with the jazz
>she quickly plucks the ticket from the clerk's hand and then strolls over to me
>playfully waving the ticket in my face
>"Now didn't I tell you to come wearing something nice? And yet you come wearing this?" She flirts teasingly. "Don't tell me you forgot my scarf too."
>I jump on that as excuse to avoid talking about my ratty milsurp
>I stay quiet and embarrassed as I hand her scarf to her
>Noita holds it up to the light and examines it closely
>"What are you doing?" I ask
>"Oh nothing," she sings, "it just is moth silk tends to hold stains."
>the witch's peers at me suspiciously, maybe even a little disappointed, at not finding anything
>she begins to roll it up to hand over to the clerk
>but then she smiles with an idea, suddenly looking at me like I'm a cut of meat
>she unrolls her scarf
>and she is the butcher
>I hold Noita's bony wrists in an effort to loosen her powerful grip on the front of my shirt as she tugs me into a side hallway
>it overflows with the fragrance and ambience of the nearby kitchen
>she puts a cool finger beneath my chin to make me look up at her
>I stir with a strange combination of nervousness and expectation towards her hungry stare
>"You don't mind if I try something, do you?" The witch whispers rhetorically
>my mind begins to swim with a dozen thoughts
>but "Noita wouldn't hurt me..." I desperately reassure myself
>the witch doesn't wait for consent
>she gently ties her scarf around my neck in a knot
>carefully watching my face to know if its too tight or too loose
>She cups my cheek and smiles when I instinctively bring my hands up to meet her's
>"Now close your eyes…"
>there comes a blinding flash of magic and electric tingles across my skin
>"And now open them…" she whispers
>I open them to see I'm suddenly wearing clothes to match the perfectly match the witch's
>but with a tie made of a familiar smokey smelling red silk
>dressed up as her's, because she can
>but if I look closely my new clothes shimmer to reveal my old milsurp beneath
>"Just a little Cinderella spell," Noita coos affectionately. "Nothing another witch wouldn't be able to see right through..."
>I awkwardly pull at my new clothes
>"But this is my territory," she whispers posessively, biting at my ear, as she grabs ahold of me by the tie
>she fixes it sharply, making me jump from her careful touch
>"And you look adorable."
>"T-Thank you…" I murmur nervously
>her mouth slowly turns up into a smirk at my bashfully affectionate tone
>she coos softly and slowly, each word smug and biting
>"Anything for my pretty little prince…"
>My face turns hot and red as I begin to squirm uncomfortably
>the witch pounces on my moment of weakness
>"Or would you prefer 'princess?'"
>I bring my arms up to push her away out of extreme embarrassment
>she giggles, finding sadistic pleasure in my all too perfect reaction
>not yielding an inch of ground to me, if anything she presses me closer
>the witch gently slaps and grabs at my arms to keep me in place beneath her
>play fighting
>sarcastically disciplining me with her the unfair advantage of her tall body and preternatural strength
>giggling girlishly all the while
>bending down closer and closer to let her shadow lay its hands on me and slowly bring its teeth up to my neck to--
>the kitchen doors suddenly swing open from a dark elf chef entering the hallway
>who freezes in place when she sees us
>as do we, caught in the act
>the dark elf chef is so surprised she drops her tray of lobster tails
>they awkwardly plap to the ground followed by the weak clattering of the tray
>the dark elf puts her hands up as an apology for interrupting and slowly backs up back into the kitchen
>there's an awkward poignant silence between the witch and I, only the ambience of the kitchen between us
>the tension receding
>but the witch recollects it all with a single powerful, shark tooth smile
>full of impish glee
>she starts to bully me again
>"Now what do you think is redder, your face or those lobster tails?" She chuckles with a quiet, breathy playfulness
>the blood returns to my cheeks
>"Oh I guess it's your face then!"
>the witch continues to "fight" me to her heart's content as an animal would play with its prey, with its food
>prolonging my embarrassment with her teasing streaks of laughter

>the witch and I sit together waiting for the auction to start
>I'm collapsed on my chair, physically exhausted from the witch's poking and prodding in the hallway
>I rub the raw spot on my wrist
>Noita's "gentle" is still fairly strong
>like how while a hydraulic press is slow and controlled, it is still forceful beyond belief
>I look up at the enormous ceiling of the main hall
>the auction house has the same kind of distinctive architecture that lets you know it was once something else
>the auction house must have been originally built as a Dwarvish beer hall
>they even kept the bar
>the witch is casually sprawled out on the chair next to me
>eyes closed and with her arms behind her head, leaning back over the top of the chair as she did back in the lighthouse
>carelessly taking up all the leg room
>acting like she owns the place, that the entire building and the island it sits on truly are her territory
>far too content and comfortable to even smoke
>the witch opens a single eye to check if I have run off
>and smiles smugly when she finds me sitting obediently next to her
>I suddenly find myself feeling embarrassed again, bashful even
>I look away and clear my throat
>"So why are we at an auction house?"
>she closes her eye and relaxes her chiropractor's nightmare of a posture even more
>"To bid on things," the witch answers vaguely
>baiting me to press her further
>"What kind of things?"
>"Magic things."
>I sigh, "what kind of magic things?"
>"Well, if you really want to know…" 
>Noita happily slips her gangly arm around my shoulders to pull me against her
>"We're here for a lantern."
>"... a lantern?"
>"A magic lantern." She pokes my nose adoringly like she's my fairy godmother casting a charm. "Because we can't just use any lantern to carry 'that.'"
>she points to St. Elmo's fire burning brightly at the top of her lighthouse through one of the grand auction house windows
>"That's why we need a Sieg-nil lamp."
>"Don't you mean signal?"
>the witch chides me with a wag of her finger
>"Ah, ah, ah… it's not 'Sig' like the gun company. It's 'Sieg.' Just pretend you're an old German witch when you say it." 
>she tightens her arm around me
>"Come on now, say it." Noita coos like I'm a puppy learning a new trick, "say 'Sieg.'"
>"Sieg…"
>"Now say, 'Sieg-nil.'"
>"... Sieg-nil."
>"Good boy," she whispers comfortably as she gives me a noogie
>only backing off after making my chair rock back and forth by the rough force of her hand against my scalp
>"Now what makes a Sieg-nil lantern special is that when they're lit they don't actually radiate light. It just doesn't go beyond the inside of the lamp. Which gives us the benefit of needing very, very little oil to keep the fire going."
>the witch relaxes and loosens her grip on me
>"And you saw how much the fire of the lighthouse guzzles oil, which is why we don't use many little lanterns to ward off the fog, it's easier to just watch one big fire instead of many little ones." She sighs cooly, "so the only other option would be for me to rip the lighthouse out of the ground and bring it with."
>"Please don't…"
>Noita chuckles softly as she braces her elbow on the top of my head
>"Only because you asked nicely." 
>the main hall begins to fill with other bidders
>I notice Noita shrink inwards even though they don't sit anywhere near us
>eventually getting skittish enough to need a cigarette
>it helps her relax back into her usual cool, collected self
>"Excuse me."
>the witch casually turns towards one of auction staff, an elf
>"You can't smoke in here," they say
>"Really?" The witch responds sarcastically as she takes a drag of her cig
>her chest billows up with a confrontational nonchalance
>until she exhales by blowing the smoke in the elf's face
>"And what are you going to do about it?" 
>the elf stands their ground for a moment before cracking under the icy stare of the witch
>they turn to leave but snidely comment, "if you keep smoking like that you're going to die early."
>Noita grins sadistically and sends them off by blowing some smoke in their ear
>which the elf bats at angrily as they stomp off
>"That's the idea," the witch calls at them
>the witch scoffs and gets comfortable on her seat again 
>and begins to pet my hair gratefully like a royal on a throne would with their prize pet
>I sit idly under her touch until she sees the kitchen bringing out some food
>"Say, Anon, how about you go and get us something to eat?"
>my mouth moves faster than my mind when I almost say no
>but I catch myself, a little embarrassed
>I lean my rifle against my chair to save it
>but as if anyone would try to take it from the witch…
>"Do you want anything specific?"
>the witch ponders the question for a moment, it's a thoughtfulness she hasn't experienced in a long time
>"I love finger food," she says in a vague tone
>confessing in a way that is both modestly bashful and smugly proud of herself
>a bead of sweat runs down my back
>deja vu from my dream hits me like a train
>I can't tell if she said that on purpose or if it's just her usual playfulness
>reserved psychological warfare… is that what this is?
>"Y-Yeah… I'll l-l-look for that."
>I quickly walk off
>desperately burying my own thoughts alive
>but thankfully by the time I get to the bar they are gone
>I go along the buffet getting anything that looks nice
>and find the plate of lobster rolls is empty
>"Hey, do you have any more lobster rolls?" I ask one of the chefs
>they turn around and I immediately recognize them
>it's the dark elf chef who had walked in on the witch and I
>"H-Hey…" I say
>"Hey…" she echos awkwardly
>we break eye contact, staring anywhere else
>"Sorry about interrupting you two earlier."
>"No, we probably shouldn't have been there to begin with."
>I rub the back of my neck as she sets a couple lobster rolls on my plates
>"I didn't mean to interrupt her feeding on you."
>I do a double take of what the dark elf said
>"What do you mean 'feeding?'"
>"The vampire. The girl." She raises an eyebrow when she has to clarify further. "The witch?"
>I sigh, this again…
>"She's not a vampire…"
>"But last night some of the constables reported people as missing. Torn apart. And the witch was sighted leaving her lighthouse earlier that night," she whispers
>Sighted? What is the witch a UFO?
>"That could have been anyone…" I mumble
>"Torn. Apart." The dark elf repeats. "Anyone else would've just shot them dead."
>the dark elf grabs me by the wrist 
>"There is some garlic in the kitchen if you need it," she whispers
>I angrily pull my arm away
>her righteous tone set me off
>"For the last time." I hiss. "She isn't a vampire, she isn't a necromancer, she isn't a lich, or anything like that!"
>I pound the bar angrily
>"Look, I'm scared of her too but Noita is a witch who studies HEALING MAGIC."
>the dark elf puts her hands up in mock surrender
>"But she's still a witch. Mind you their basic education is nothing but violent, unholy spells. Even combat medics still learn to kill during basic training."
>"... fuck off."
>I march away from the bar
>my own lurking fear of the witch begins to crest the surface of my own subconscious
>but I manage to beat it beneath the water by the time I return to my seat
>the witch takes her plate
>"You know they have some very nice machine guns for auction today." She comments
>I pick at my food, still a little down from the dark elf's "warning"
>"Those only really work if you have a party to back you up. Even with a bag of holding for the belts, most still just weigh and slow you down. They're expensive too."
>"Well, I don't think money will be a problem if you 'did' want one." The witch hints 
>she leans forward to peek at my face,  gets discouraged from my lack of interest, but decides to hint a little harder
>"And besides it wouldn't even be that hard to just 'make' a party, right?" She asks playfully
>"That's what people tell me." I sigh. "Fankasia hasn't been as kind to me as it has for other Kommandos. Things just "happen" for them. They don't have to find parties. They don't have to find riches. They don't have to find adventure. If anything, it finds them." I sit back disappointedly. "But what have I found so far? Nothing. Being a Scuttler was a dead end and just to get my damn foot in the door."
>"So you did have plans for after you finished your work contract?" The witch asks
>I shrug my shoulders, "they boiled down to running around Fankasia like everyone else." I narrow my eyes, "but I guess that's a little absent minded, right? That's not exactly a sustainable line of work."
>the witch looks at me confused, a Kommando who doesn't want to be a traveling gunslinger almost isn't a Kommando at all
>"But that's what parties are for aren't they? To back you up." She playfully socks me on the shoulder
>"If you can find one." I say nihilistically
>the witch smiles encouragingly and ruffles my hair
>I turn away a little embarrassed at her unexpected warmth, "I guess I could always just go to one of the local guilds and sign on to the first open party I find. You know, when I'm all finished with the Iron Coast."
>the witch goes quiet
>not much fight in her as she realizes her folly
>of planting the idea of leaving to find a party in my head
>I could it at any time
>meanwhile she would still be stuck here…
>the witch takes little puffs of her cigarette until her own paranoia gets the better of her
>she clumsily tries to soften her question with a teasing tone, "and maybe find an elf wife?"
>I look at her confused, before realizing what she's hinting at
>I break eye contact and stare at the floor
>"I-I wasn't thinking of an elf…" I say awkwardly
>the witch inhales sharply on her cigarette
>and her hand goes up to her face
>first out of surprise that blood has filled her cheeks, but then to hide it
>once her blush recedes, the witch covers with a smirk
>"Good answer," she says coolly
>I notice a faint fatigue in her breath and a jaded but relieved twinkle in her dull eyes
>the same you get when thick ice starts to crack after a long winter
>the witch continues to playfully snatch food off my plate
>not even touching her's
>karma kicks in when she drops something on her shirt
>she looks at it as if she can scare it into disappearing with her stare
>"Do you want to go wash that off?"
>Noita sighs and just dabs at it roughly with a napkin
>No, this shirt is cheap. It'll be fine."
>I nod slowly
>I look down at the finger food on my plate
>I wonder if I can get the witch to show her hand so to speak
>psychological warfare needs two players after all
>"I kind of expected you to wear a dress," I confess
>the witch just turns to me with a sly smirk
>"You wish," she scoffs curtly
>well that went well...
>the auction starts and they begin to sell off the first items
>one being a beautiful oil painting of the Adriatic sea off the Italian coast
>and it catches the witch's eye
>beneath the surface of her tired stare the warmth of a day dream builds
>her sudden fantasy strong enough to bleed into her cheeks
>she jumps and silently swears at her blush
>her palm slaps her cheek like a mosquito had bitten it
>Noita stares coldly at the painting
>but slowly yet surely, the allure of her day dream returns to her to soften her expression
>warming it to a bashful gaze
>"But… who knows... maybe someday..." she shrugs
>she begins to retreat back to her coolly collected self
>but has a change of heart and decides to lean on me
>not playfully, not teasingly
>but just leaning with her cold lobe of her ear pressing against the top of my head
>a little smile on her face
>and soon the auction reaches our item of interest
>most of the other bidders sit back, uninterested
>but only most
>"And here we have a wonderful Sieg-nil lantern, in very good condition. Starting at its weight in gold of four pounds."
>the witch begins to casually raise her paddle 
>but someone else in front is quicker
>the witch rolls her eyes and raises her paddle the rest of the way
>the person in front quickly moves to outbid her again
>and again
>and again
>a bidding war
>the whole front row turns back to leer at us
>bootleggers
>from the way they gather around him, their boss is the one bidding against Noita
>he continues to bid like nothing is wrong, simply nodding as one of his henchmen gives him the scoop about who he's bidding against
>the bootleggers begin to become rowdy
>cracking their necks and knuckles, putting their hands over their holsters, puffing out their chests, and all other kinds of saber rattling
>employing gangland intimidation tactics
>and getting ready for gangland violence
>the other bidders notice and silently plea with the witch to give it up with desperate stares
>but she continues to bid carelessly
>and when the boss doesn't get his way
>he turns with a threatening flourish, giving us a suspicious sneer before focusing on what he pegs as the weakest link to make an example out of
>me
>the witch maintains her reserved poker face and begins to run her fingers through my hair
>using her affection to mark me as under her protection, part of her territory
>embarrassing me by making me melt in front of the whole room
>still sadistically teasing even in the most serious of moments
>Noita stares directly into the boss' eyes
>daring him to try something, anything, and see what happens
>the boss makes note of her attachment to me and turns back around
>"Noita? What are you doing?" I whisper
>"Don't worry about it." She says coolly
>the auctioneer's voice warbles as he continues to raise the bids higher and higher still, getting a little worried
>it's getting into the dozens of gold bars now
>"This is a 'business expense' wouldn't you agree?" She smirks. "I have to keep my little escort safe don't I?" She teases
>the witch chuckles at my discomfort towards her choice of words
>"Which means this is all coming out of the Chancellery's pocket."
>A bottomless cash reserve.
>the bootleggers begin to get uncomfortable themselves at how high the price of the lantern is getting
>questioning their boss' judgement
>why do they even want it to begin with?
>they can just keep sneaking under the ocean in little submarines
>repelling the fog be damned
>and even with the lantern they'd still need to steal St. Elmo's fire and the oil it uses
>their boss' resolve begins to falter at the witch burying him with her wealth
>until he cracks and sets his arm down
>"Going once? Going twice?" The auctioneer asks, relieved, "and sold to the…"
>the auctioneer notices the boss' death stare
>"Sold to the witch…" 


>"It's beautiful isn't it?"
>the witch holds the lantern up to a window so that it looks like the fire of the lighthouse is coming from inside of it
>the fire is prideful and strong against the dark night outside
>she sighs happily, drops it into her witch's hat for safe keeping, and then folds that up to comfortably stow away in her coat pocket
>she gives me a knowing little grin and tilts her head to the side as she watches me start to zip my jacket up
>"Say… Anon…" she starts with a warm bashfulness before she recovers her eternally casual confidence. "There happens to be a steakhouse nearby."
>Noita forcefully takes me by the front so she can zip my jacket up the rest of the way for me
>"I'm was thinking Steak au Poivre for me and a nice Filet Mignon with Béarnaise sauce for my favorite 'little prince.'" She whispers, her hands linger to playfully bat at my jacket zipper like she's an impatient cat
>I blush at her new way of teasing me
>nicknames
>but also from how soft and affectionate her touch is
>"You'd buy me a steak dinner?" I ask with a hint of modest disbelief in my voice
>"I'd do 'anything' for you…" the witch smiles
>she bends down at the waist so she can be face to face with me
>letting her shadow run its hands over me, firmly holding me in place for its master to taste
>the tip of Noita's tongue peeks out as she angles her chin up
>she finds a captivating catharsis in the way I shrink away from modesty now, and not from fear
>Noita inhales gently like I'm a snowflake that could break just from her breath
>her dull green eyes shimmer excitedly at the prospect of a kiss
>but at the last moment she catches herself
>and retreats with a hungry, flirty smile
>dessert comes after dinner
>she pinches my cheek and chuckles at the way she can shake me around like a chew toy in a dog's mouth
>and that I let her
>"Now be a good little Kommando and wait for me outside in the alley while I take care of payment." She coos softly
>the witch gives me a playful shove towards the hallway
>and sends me off with a smug, expectant wink
>I walk away stirring with all kinds of guilty thoughts
>wondering how "forceful" the witch would be...
>how tender her bony frame must feel…
>if her mouth tastes smokey...
>but when I open the door to the alley I get those thoughts painfully knocked out of my head
>by a punch that sends me to the ground
>before I can even react I receive a well placed kick to my ribs
>I gasp for mercy as I'm pummeled by a circle of attackers
>a car idles behind me with its headlights on
>so that all I can see are blurry glimpses of cruel shadows each taking their turn to leer or sneer at me with a punch or kick
>they leave me a bloody mess on the snow
>I prop myself up with shaky arms to see a line of bootleggers with glistening tommy guns blocking where the alley meets the street
>their boss proudly stands at the front with his arms crossed
>ripe with the cocky self satisfaction of seeing me on my knees before him
>he steps towards me with his goons backing off
>"You know that you and that witch seemed pretty chummy," he maliciously circles me like a shark
>the bootlegger boss slips my rifle off my shoulder, pretending to inspect the wood of the stock, only to beat me over the head with it
>he grunts snidely with each swing
>"She looked like… she wanted to… suck on you… like a cigarette!"
>He takes a breather and chuckles to himself, handing my rifle off a nearby bootlegger
>"Tell me." He squats down to watch the blood run down from my cheek onto the snow. "Are witches all that they're hammed up to be? Because to me… what I saw in there?" He points to himself and then at the door. "She looked like she was all bark, no bite."
>the boss kicks bloody snow into my face
>"A witch worth her salt would'a showed her teeth when I tried to cross her like that. But her? She can't even keep her chewtoy in her fuckin' mouth." He spits at me
>I painfully watch him draw his pistol
>too weak to do a thing
>a gaudy FN 1910, a war starting kind of pistol, chrome plated
>he sneers as he clicks off the safety
>"Now where's the lantern?"
>I swallow nervously, suddenly prepared to die to keep it a secret and Noita safe
>the door to the alley opens
>I'm saved
>the bootleggers all jump in their skins when one of the Noita's steel toed boots casually steps out onto the snow
>the boss takes a couple pensive steps back
>Noita has called his bluff simply by entering the scene and ooming over everyone's heads
>haunting them with her mere presence
>he gestures with his FN to some bootleggers who scurry around the car to frantically aim a Lewis gun at her
>Noita's eyes slowly scan the alley to make sense of what's happening
>but all the affectionate warmth from earlier has suddenly gone missing
>like she has retreated into her own mind
>secluding herself behind a wall of ice
>nothing so much as a worried twitch on her face, even when she looks at me
>just a tired stoicism
>it's the same expression Noita gave me when I met her for the first time
>where I was in a similar moment of weakness
>and looked upon like a chore...
>the bootlegger boss puffs out his chest and shoves his gun against my head
>it's so cold it burns, practically a branding iron
>I reflexively put my hands up in pain
>I desperately plead with my eyes for Noita to do something
>this is it, unleash your witchcraft, if there was ever a time this is it
>please
>but she just stands unmoving
>uncaring
>"Give us the lantern or your boyfriend here gets it," the boss spits
>I nervously watch for the witch's reaction to the ultimatum
>but all she does is make a simple calculation
>and give none
>"Okay," the witch shrugs with casual irreverence
>the boss' gun lowers from surprise
>the witch pushes her way through the firing line of bootleggers
>perfectly comfortable in her quiet betrayal
>each crunch of her boots on the snow another nail in my coffin
>the boss looks down at me confused but with a hint of pity on his face
>and realizes he doesn't even need to kill me, the witch has done it already
>a human side stronger than the witch's...
>he gestures with his gun towards her back
>"Take her alive, in case she hid the lantern already." He whispers
>the bootleggers begin to stalk the witch from behind, slowly closing the distance
>I fall forward onto to my hands
>my throat is painfully shut from a storm of emotions
>one so loud all it silences my screams for the witch to turn around, to stop, to come back
>TO DO SOMETHING
>Medusa's Stare them all to stone
>drop a shooting star on their heads
>shrink them down to nothing…
>make them feel useless and unwanted…
>...
>my disbelief is so strong that I want to remind the witch that we can't see the shooting star together if I'm dead
>but I begin to wonder if the witch only ever saw me like a cigarette
>an object to be used
>handled intimately
>enjoyed by making the lit end blush with light
>but ultimately something to be discarded
>the witch stops at the end of the alley
>she remorselessly draws a new cigarette from her pocket
>already having moved on
>she casually lights it and takes a calm drag
>holding it softly between her lips
>in a daze
>all bark, no bite
>the bootlegger boss was right
>at least that's what I think before she decides to "bite"

>it starts with a chill in the air
>one that sucks away all the warmth
>leaving behind nothing but a shivering existential dread
>a cold that seeps into your bones to make them ache with a fear drawn from the darkest and most forgotten recesses of your brain
>a primal fear of the unknown and unholy
>the bootleggers' guns begin to shiver in their hands
>their careful approach becomes a hesitant one
>and press on with some stupid deathwish
>but flinch when an unnerving glow starts to emanate from the witch's eyes
>one that's as soft as a calm breath on a cold winter's night
>the witch herself is so relaxed she appears to be in a world of her own
>above the petty troubles of the mortals behind her
>she is just here to enjoy her smoke
>the bootleggers assure themselves there is nothing to be scared of…
>the boss said she was all bark, no bite…
>but all stop dead in their tracks when they notice something is very, very wrong with the witch's shadow
>it's pointing the wrong way
>impossibly pointing against the headlights of the car behind me
>it grows ominously like it's bleeding through the fabric of reality
>seeping outwards like oil over water, but too fast, too quick
>and once it builds up enough mass it becomes monstrously self perpetuating
>enlarging at a mounting pace, unstoppable
>all consuming
>the bootleggers' shadows begin to become skittish
>and it's a frightening sight to see your own shadow moving without you
>until eventually they are all chased away entirely
>scattering before the alpha like scared dogs
>leaving their masters to die
>the closest bootleggers begin to cautiously back away, respecting the unnatural apparition's territory
>and jump back when the witch's shadow touches their feet
>as if it had burned them
>the fringes of the witch's shadow begin to shiver, cooking the very air with its evil aura
>a morbid curiosity keeps the bootleggers in place
>one that forces them to watch, holding their feet to the fire
>the witch's shadow begins to violently burn from the inside out
>contorting painfully in eruptive fits
>its fiery aura singes the bootleggers' souls
>who hardly resist the urge to do as their ancestors did upon seeing fire for the first time
>to fall to their knees in terrified, almost religious reverence of a force beyond their comprehension
>some throw their guns to the ground as a peace offering
>others brandish their weapons like crosses
>but the cracks in the witch's cold, dark facade have grown too wide
>Pandora's box has been opened
>the fire rises
>only vaguely humanoid now
>burning wildly to the mad wailing of some unheard demonic choir
>until it finally reaches a fever pitch
>and pops
>the bootleggers all flee like animals before a wildfire
>so out of their minds with horror that they've devolved to the primal instinct of flight
>fighting this… "thing" be damned
>the witch's shadow wavers immaterially like a fire turned to ash
>as if whatever mortal shell it had occupied to conceal its terrible fury now only serves to further its mania, evocative of a savage wearing the scalps of its enemies
>my eyes water at such a terrible sight
>where even from far away I can feel the ferocious burn of dark magic upon my skin
>I taste metal as my nerves begin to ache
>my own body trying to put itself out of its misery rather than fathom the horror of the shadow's mere presence
>the witch's shadow seizes upon bootleggers one after another with unbridled savagery
>with the ones who it hardly grazes instantly disintegrating into ash like the shadow is made of a volcanic heat hotter than the center of the earth
>they were the lucky ones
>sickening flourishes of blood arc through the air, the same you get when a vampire bites down on someone's neck
>the screams of souls being torn from bodies fill the air like smoke
>and only add fuel to the fire
>the witch's shadow burns higher and higher
>it looms like a lighthouse set aflame
>its burgeoning power scares my consciousness into hiding away like a little kid under his blanket
>where it can only think one thought
>this is why people are scared of witches
>the bootleggers all deal with their panic in different ways
>some kick and punch at the shadow from a fight instinct
>others cry for mercy as they fall to their knees in hysteria
>and a few stand frozen, reduced to scared children staring with wide open eyes
>but those with the strongest minds flee towards the car
>because how can you fight off a shadow that doesn't even obey the rules of light?
>an escape that is cruelly destroyed by the witch's shadow dropping a bootlegger it has finished with atop it, like the first snowflake of a morbid snow
>he hits the glass like an overripe apple
>his every opening is cauterized shut with magic burns
>pores, ears, tear ducts, everything.
>and with a broken jaw
>the shadow had violated him from the inside out
>and yet he had been one of the bootleggers who had fallen to his knees to try and please it
>but the shadow's brute strength was just too much
>it broke him like a toy
>the sight breaks the last of the bootleggers
>who suddenly understand the true magnitude of their hubris
>and its consequences
>their shoulders fall defeatedly when they feel the approaching burn of the witch's shadow lowering itself towards them
>it causes the fragile world around its herculean body to catch fire in ethereal black flames
>it blasts us all to the ground with its mere presence
>a black magic so powerful that it sucks the breath from my lungs with a selfish kiss, making me helplessly gasp for air
>I cower before it so out of my mind with fear that my brain chooses to shield me from the insurmountable horror of the eldritch giant
>by instead imagining it to be the witch laying down before me, playfully leaning forward on her elbows
>but my confusing hallucination begins to crack when the witch begins to lower herself to get a better look at me
>a sadistic and smug smirk on her face as she does so
>as if the hallucination is collapsing under her imagined power and not the shadow outside
>coming close enough just before the dream shatters like glass, for me to hear a short but haunting sound
>reminiscent of a heartbeat
>the sound is strangely comforting as it strips away all my mental barriers to play with my soul
>it's so soft and warm and makes me feel so small and meek
>it fills my ears like honey and soothes my terror
>akin to the calming venom of a poisonous spider or the song of a siren
>it's disarming
>but only so it can get at you in the end
>but I snap back to reality before the shadow or the witch can sink their teeth into me
>why did I imagine that…
>I look up to see the final bootlegger being consumed by firestorm of darkness
>he woefully consents to being toyed with, too hopeless to care anymore
>handled in a mockingly intimate way
>by something between colossal tongues of fire and a giant's fingers, but both neither at the same time
>in his final moment he makes eye contact with me, giving me a defeated stare that carries one final desperate plea for help
>but he already knows the answer
>there is nothing I can do
>and so he makes what peace he can in knowing he will die nothing more than finger food for the witch's shadow
>his interrupted cries of being damned to an eternal purgatory are like the dying crackles of a campfire
>one that finally goes dark after burning so brightly
>the witch's eyes lose their unnatural green glow
>recalling her familiar
>the witch's shadow recedes like a tide, leaving behind the wreckage of the night
>with the cold ambience of the night returning
>rushing in with unnerving speed
>as if the world just wants to pretend this mistake never happened
>to cover up the scar its left behind and try as hard as it can to just forget about it
>because no one will believe it ever happened…
>but I feel like a shell shocked soldier who's poked his head out of his foxhole after a night of artillery
>and is only now seeing the magnitude of the destruction
>all that's missing is the smell of smoke in the air

>the witch sighs quietly
>she's finished her smoke
>she takes one last drag before tiredly putting her arm out to flick her cigarette butt into the snow
>but then stops
>noticing how quiet the night is
>how empty the cold is
>something that is all too familiar, woefully so
>the witch's tries to peek behind her but hesitates
>that bridge has been burnt, best not to look now…
>but then something breaks in her heart
>and her fingers begin to bite down on her cigarette butt
>suddenly refusing to let go of their chew toy
>the witch forces herself to look behind her at the fallout of her madness
>it's a scared, little Kommando cowering on his knees in the middle of a disaster zone
>bloody and beaten, fatally so
>the witch's eyes widen from surprise
>but quickly look away from unexpected shame
>fixing themselves on the dying cigarette butt between her fingers
>and only then does she realize the full gravity of what she has done
>so she puts it back in her mouth, refusing let it go out
>Noita calmly walks over the viscera of her madness
>too punch drunk with mana fatigue for her shoulders to grow heavy with guilt
>something like a heatstroke
>she shambles over the snow with heavy footsteps but is still a ghost to me
>she stands over me
>carefully inspecting me to see if I've lost my mind while I sheepishly look down at the snow
>she squats down and offers me her palm
>"You're going to catch a cold if you keep playing in the snow like that," she whispers enigmatically
>the sound of her husky voice makes me shiver
>I continue to stare down at the snow
>the fingers of her hand curl up with regret
>balling into a fist
>one that grows so tight with frustration that it shakes
>maybe in another world she would have left me there
>but in this one she thoughtlessly seizes me by the front of my jacket
>her inhibitions burned away
>too tired to care anymore
>I kick and squirm as she brings me up to her face
>I shrink away from fear
>which makes the witch angry
>"Don't make me force you," she says through gritted teeth
>she frustratedly shoves me to the ground like a schoolyard bully not getting their way
>and squats down, offering her palm once more
>I look at it with intense fear
>never would I have ever thought such a harmless gesture could carry such threatening weight
>the witch's petrifying eyes pierce my soul
>all the ice has been burned away by a Delphian storm of green fire
>on the verge of both exploding with too much magic power and imploding from too little at the same time
>the witch shakes her hand one last time, her frustration mounting
>the fear of what happens if I refuse outweigh that of me going with her
>I sheepishly take it
>only for her to crush my hand in a cryptically affectionate death grip
>I don't know if she does it to keep me from running off or because she has forgotten her own strength
>"I'm going to fly you home now."

>the flight home is awkward to say the least
>especially with how I'm riding on the back of the broom this time 
>hugging the witch from behind by her instruction
>which plays my fear of heights and her against each other to keep me trapped in place
>psychological warfare
>I'm trapped between a rock and a hard place
>a gust of wind forces my hands to hug her tighter
>but I quickly recoil from how her midriff feels beneath them
>a hard place indeed…
>the witch is indeed as lithe as she is bony
>but her tall frame feels calloused over, not vainly fit
>like her muscles have become strong from the exhausting job of holding the witch up, her too lanky for her own good
>she strains just to keep the broom in the air
>and even though I can't see her face behind her flight mask, I know she must be gritting her teeth
>so tired everything is but a lucid dream to her now
>but in the end
>all I know is the witch feels warm for the first time ever
>we touch down outside the inn
>and kick up a cloud of snow with our landing
>some of it falls to dust my head like powdered sugar
>the witch's posture straightens at the sight, like a cat noticing a treat
>I look up to see her turned halfway to stare at me out the corner of her eye, too stiff to turn any further
>snow sits on the ridge of her flight mask to make her look like a gargoyle after a cold night of snow
>I half expect her to lift off again
>and so I quickly climb off the broom before she can do so
>but the pain from getting beat up in the alley makes me stumble clumsily
>"Are you okay?" The witch asks
>her deep voice is even slower than usual with how exhausted she is 
>and muffled by her flight mask, which disrupts her dreary cadence by making it echo hypnotically
>"Y-Yeah…" I lie quietly. "My face is just a little bit cold is all…"
>I bring my hand to my face to feign feeling a chill but just end up getting blood on my fingers
>I stare at it defeatedly and suddenly start to feel cold for real
>I yelp from Noita almost drunkenly throwing herself towards me to slam her palm into the wall above my head
>it cracks
>Noita gets so close she's nearly giving me an eskimo kiss with the beak of her mask
>a little loopy and uncoordinated
>"I can fix that," she whispers as she gently brushes some of the snow out of my hair with her finger
>one snowflake misses its jump and falls upon my forehead
>she follows it, eyes wide and fixed, to watch it stick the landing onto my skin
>the witch begins to feel the strangest desire
>something she might have suppressed if it was any other time, but tonight?
>her breathing starts to loudly rattle around inside her mask
>tonight, while she might have stopped caring, she has definitely started "caring"
>Noita forcefully seizes both my wrists in one of her hands so I can't slip away
>"Now shut up before someone sees us."
>I helplessly try to break her biting grip
>but am left shuddering when she starts to surreptitiously peel off her flight mask
>not all the way
>but just enough to show her mouth
>all of her frustrations and infatuations on full display
>she opens it slowly, long strands of saliva bridge the growing gap between her lips
>her hot breath fogs up what little air there is between us
>there's just no hiding how hot and heavy the witch is running right now
>so close and warm that she melts some of the snow in hair which runs down the sides of my face in scared little tears
>the witch gently runs her tongue over her teeth
>my eyes grow bigger
>it's not that she knows this scares me and she enjoys that
>it's that this is all is just a fever dream to her
>and you can do anything YOU want to in a dream
>suddenly visions of bootleggers being consumed flash through my head
>of the vampyric flourishes of blood
>of the remains left behind after being finished with
>and of how hungry the burn of the witch's shadow was...
>I brace myself against the wall, trying to push myself through to save me from the witch
>she leans over me with uncharacteristic clumsiness
>letting her tongue loll out of her mouth, steam rising off of it
>I gasp from the sensation of her blindly licking for the snowflake on my forehead
>her chic demeanor gobbled up by a hot sloppiness
>the witch drags her tongue across my skin excruciating slowly so that I feel all of its sultry weight
>it burns me with the hot wet trail it leaves behind
>but eventually the witch finds the snowflake and pulls her tongue away with a flirty flick of the tip
>like she had just tasted the most irresistible ice cream
>and selfishly goes in for seconds before she remembers it's just me
>her tall frame rises, seemingly energized by my taste
>Noita brings her mouth to my ear
>desperately wanting to not just bite down on it
>but maybe to bite my ear off entirely as she would with a little chocolate rabbit
>she raises her mask up just a little further
>so that she can peek at me with a single hauntingly green eye
>full of smug mirth
>almost happy now it's the same color as the deadly fog of the Iron Coast
>"Better?" She whispers quizzically
>I suddenly notice how much blood has filled my cheeks
>how hot they are
>how warm my face is now...
>"Y-Ye--"
>I stifle a panicked scream from the witch collapsing on top of me
>all the hot air leaves her body in a single breath when she lands against me, she's burned herself out
>she shudders powerfully against mine, fitfully drifting off into a near comatose state
>imploded
>I stand deathly still
>my heart beating out of my chest
>I have to decide something fast or the witch will surely cook me to death with her body heat
>I shiver from her still being able to terrify me even while she is asleep
>even while she is asleep…
>a sudden sad deja vu hits me
>I look up at the moon behind the gloomy clouds
>I listen closely to her breathing, somehow expecting it to match the haunting echoes of some moonlight serenade
>I... I wonder what she's dreaming about…
>a confusing storm of emotions begins to kick up but is suddenly blown away by a single, gripping sensation
>Noita's heartbeat against my shoulder
>my mind goes blank and so I let it gently thump against me for a while longer
>before I have a clear and concise thought
>she's still human too...

>the innkeeper's raises an eyebrow at me kicking open the door
>but scoffs and goes back to reading his book when he recognizes my boots
>he leans back, sighing that he has to deal with such childr--
>he chokes on his own breath when he sees the witch on my back
>strewn over my shoulders to hang like a giant, gangly spider
>he mouths what is probably a forbidden Elvish swear
>and frantically flails for his double barrel shotgun that he keeps under the front desk
>diving for cover really
>with his eyes growing wide from surprise when he comes back up
>staring down the barrel of my Lee Navy rifle
>he looks up, a little worried the witch has possessed my body somehow and that's why I'm acting out so brazenly
>"D-Didn't I say guests aren't allowed?" He presses delicately
>I sigh tiredly
>"Oh sure." I mock, "I'll just leave her outside passed out on the snow. I'm sure she'll be very happy in the morning when she figures out who left her out there."
>the innkeeper feigns confidence. "But that sounds like a 'you' problem to me," he bargains
>I lean over the desk frustratedly, showing my teeth
>"Oh yeah? Well I told her exactly who is responsible for the 'no extra guests' rule." I hiss
>the innkeeper looks like he had tasted a sour lemon
>he sheepishly lowers his shotgun to let me pass
>I grunt from the witch's weight as I hike up the stairs
>I headbutt the door to my room open and take a short breath
>scanning over the sad, cramped space looking for a place to put the witch down to sleep that is not my bed, for obvious reasons
>I gently set the witch at the table next to the window
>she sprawls out like a dead body
>all limp and pale
>maybe she really is a necromancer…
>I carefully pull her jacket off her shoulders, her body is suddenly so cold again
>Noita looks so harmless when she sleeps
>but I eye her shadow uneasily
>I stare it for a while, worried it will try something
>but it sits as still as the witch
>just as harmless
>I turn to set her jacket on the bed
>and suddenly get seized from behind
>NOT HARMLESS NOT HARMLESS
>I desperately kick and squirm in a high panic, too terrified to scream
>it was just waiting the entire time
>"Sh-sh-sh-sh-shhh..." the witch shushes me as she slides a hand over my mouth. "It's okay… shhh..."
>she's going to feed me to her familiar
>"It's okay Anon… shhh… don't fight it…"
>and the more I fight, the tighter her arm grows around me
>"Stop struggling… it won't work… shh…"
>she keeps me firmly restrained against my will in her lap, whispering deceptive sweet nothings in my ear all the while
>"It will only hurt more... just let it happen…"
>until I eventually admit defeat by going limp
>she's too strong
>the witch watches me breathe defeatedly into her hand until she is satisfied I've lost all my fight
>"I'm going to remove my hand now…" Noita offers
>but then suddenly clasps her hand over my mouth even tighter than before
>"No. Screaming." She hisses threateningly
>she forces me to look her in the eyes as I nod desperately
>she lets go of my mouth but her hand still lingers for a moment, expecting me to scream for help
>but eventually whispers "good boy…" >pleased at my lack of resistance
>I flinch from her slowly running her hot hands up and down my body
>making sure to hit every bruise and sore spot she can
>is this what it feels like to have your soul sucked away?
>"See? it's just me… no need to be scared…"
>I try to shrink away from her roving hands but there is nowhere to go
>she's just buttering me up
>afterall, a scared animal only gives you tough meat
>"I did mean it… when I said you were my favorite little prince…" she offers, "and you always will be…"
>were, past tense
>Noita sighs as she brings her hands up to my head
>running them through my hair to check how healthy of an offering to her shadow I am
>I choke back a scream
>frozen with fear
>my heart on the verge of exploding
>but then the witch pulls her hand away
>and where it should be dripping with blood
>there is only a soothing green glow
>from the witch gazing upon it with an empty satisfaction
>experiencing a pitiful deja vu of her own, remembering happier, simpler times
>her hands return to roving over my battered body, tired and jaded, healing my wounds one by one
>pushing the warmth from her body into mine
>which cause her lanky frame to waver exhaustedly
>as if she's a sinking ship being battered by cold waves
>each muscle shivering as she desperately tries to keep her head above water
>"Anon… do you remember what I said? In the auction house?" she asks with a somber voice
>she sighs at the memory
>"I meant it…" Noita pleads quietly. "I meant every word of it…"
>her breathing becomes ragged as she starts to gasp for air
>the mana fatigue of the night has caught up to her
>but she presses on through sheer will power
>"I'd do anything for you…" Noita struggles, "because you're… you're my favorite little prince…"
>she hugs me weakly
>like she's a sick little girl who doesn't want to let go of her teddy bear
>"And you'll always be that way to me… no matter what…"
>the witch puts a tired hand over my heart as if she's trying to heal it with what little magic she doesn't have left
>but is so mentally drained that she doesn't realize the futility of it
>but that's okay… when have I… when has anyone… ever liked her magic… 
>"No matter what… always…"
>she echos faintly, she lets her chin rest on my head as her eyes close
>"My… favorite… little… prince…"
>Noita falls unconscious
>but keeps her arms wrapped around me in a desperate sort of rigor mortis
>I sit in silence
>there isn't so much as the ticking of a clock or the howling of wind outside
>even her shadow is gone
>it's just me, alone with my thoughts
>and in the silence, I come to an understanding about the witch
>even she, a witch, can get scared
>magic can only do so much
>and when some people are scared they wall themselves off
>stacking brick after brick between them and the outside world
>building a tower to lock themselves away at the top of
>where they will eventually die alone, succumbing to a burning self hatred slowly eating them from the inside out
>in a tall fire that can be seen for miles
>the tower becoming a lighthouse
>but that is unless…
>someone is stupid enough to come knocking
>drawing you out
>seemingly oblivious to the shadow of self doubt following
>but wooing it all the same too
>and so when something does scare you into running back to your tower out of habit
>your shadow screams at you not that it was right all along
>but for you to stop, to turn around, to do something
>tearing you apart like tinder, burning angry, scared, and confused
>until you succumb to it
>and hope it'll just burn itself out…

>but that's all over now
>the witch's breathing ruffles my hair so softly that it sends tingles down my spine
>it feels just like the first faint gusts of spring air
>it feels gentle
>it feels warm
>it feels right.
>her chin scratches my head in a gentle back and forth with each ebbing breath
>her tall frame is so closely wrapped around me
>that I can feel her every movement
>everything from how she shivers when she exhales
>to the sleepy little twitches of her dreams
>and if I focus on it, even the beating of her heart
>the comfortable quiet of the dark inn room amplifies every sensation
>from touch, to sound, to even smell
>in the same way of when you hear a bump in the night and are suddenly hyper aware of everything, like how loud your beating heart is
>but here, the bump in the night is the beating of the witch's heart
>and it's no surprise to anybody that the witch smells like cigarettes
>but like fresh ones, the kind that have been freshly lit on a cold winter night
>offering a soothing warmth and a distinctive scent that can travel a mile
>sweet and calming
>I find myself becoming sleepy
>lulled into a peaceful, dreamlike daze
>feeling oddly protected…
>safe
>enjoying the magical ambience of the witch's presence
>and I stay that way for god knows how long
>until the witch suddenly wakes up
>jolting upwards like she had been struck with a bad dream
>she reflexively tightens her arms
>crushing me
>"Anon!" Noita gasps from surprise
>she begins to take her arms away
>"I--"
>but interrupt her by quickly hugging them close to my chest, not wanting to let go
>I look up at her shocked face
>but quickly lose my nerve and break eye contact
>"M-My chest still hurts…" I mumble awkwardly
>the witch stares confusedly for a moment longer
>but then shows her understanding by playfully squeezing me to force a quiet squeak out of my lung
>"I can fix that…" she whispers with a smirk
>I sigh from her pressing her bony body against me as she readjusts herself
>her hands heal everything they feel with ease, but still can't quite wipe away the pain
>but not that I mind with how unbridledly intimate her touch is
>"How do you feel now?" The witch asks with an affectionate whisper
>"Better…"
>"Better? Just better?" She chides sarcastically. "Because I can make you feel a lot better than just 'better.' In fact..."
>she provocatively sneaks her hand under my shirt to rest it right over my heart
>I silently gasp from her hand beginning to glow
>"I can make you feel goooood…" she whispers with a frighteningly sultry tone
>the time for playfulness is over
>"Would you like that, Anon?" Noita coos temptingly as she slides her glowing hand up to cup my cheek. "For me to make you feel…"
>and suddenly the weight of the world drops away
>all the stress, all the pain, all the worries, everything
>"Gooood?" The witch asks, already knowing the answer
>but her voice is hypnotically distant, each tone folding onto itself, and folding onto other tones in a soothing chorus that I almost can't make out
>because all I can make out for sure is an intense disarming pleasure flooding my nervous system
>one so strong that I don't even have the strength to wirth in ecstasy from it
>I gasp and shiver when the witch pulls her hand away
>"W-What was that?" I ask quickly
>but the witch shushes me by hugging me tighter
>"Shhh… it's just a little disarming spell is all, to put your mind at ease, to 'grease the wheels' so to speak."
>she sneaks her wrist up out of my shirt collar to show me the palm of her glowing hand
>the light catches my eyes
>"But you know, it happens to work best if the receiving mind is 'willing.' And from the way you reacted?" Noita giggles. "It seems like you wanted it even before you knew what it was."
>I blush and squirm in her lap
>"Bu--" I protest
>"Shh…" the witch whispers. "Just let me have my way…"
>I melt from her applying the disarming spell again, but this time with both hands
>using it as an excuse to feel me up with a far more selfish intention this time
>all under the shallow pretense of still "healing" me
>but not that I care or could do anything if I wanted to
>it feels too… too…
>the witch gets more ambitious with how tightly she squeezes, causing sparks to fly across my vision
>good…
>"Now can you believe this spell is outlawed in most kingdoms? Noita coos
>the hypnotic distortion of magic makes each word ring in even the deepest parts of my brain
>no place is safe from the flood of pure cold euphoria
>"Apparently a few too many undergrads were using it on each other in the hallways or something." The witch snickers. "So it's a good thing I'm not an undergrad…"
>it feels like she's running lotion across my brain
>playing with my body to make it twitch under her touch, all my other senses numb and dumb
>Noita sighs happily at the way I gasp for air
>"And even if I was… would you say no? Hmm?"
>I'm too much of putty in her hands to respond
>endlessly melting like a popsicle from her warm magic
>my nerves licked by the occasional loose spark of mana
>furthering my teeth grinding delirium into a lucidless sleep paralysis that holds me down so the witch doesn't need to
>so vulnerable it's no surprise a sleep paralysis demon decides to make a meal out of me
>the witch's shadow begins to creep across my legs, sliding its hands over them like a predator seizing its prey, mischief on its mind
>I can't move, I can't scream, I can't even hyperventilate
>all I can do is watch
>the witch notices my terror and turns up her magic to boil my brain into a warm soup
>making everything okay by the magic force of her hand
>but is very careful not to burn my consciousness
>she shushes me gently, her eyes glow with a reassuring light that shines down into even the deepest depths of my stupor
>"Shh… just let me have this, okay?"
>the witch's shadow rises to its full intimidating height to straddle my lap
>and witch gasps from it affectionately running its hand through my hair
>very pleased that her selfish little idea with her shadow worked and in spades no less
>she's using it to double the stimulation she can get out of me
>being both the big and little spoon at the same time
>she sighs happily in a daze of her own
>one her shadow's hand pulls my head into the crook of its neck as its other hand rests over my fragile heart
>all the while the witch herself continues to brazenly explore the most intimate parts of my body
>allowing me to understand what it feels like to be a jar of jelly during an earthquake
>quivering helplessly to a force of nature beyond my control
>and it's only later do I notice the witch has stopped and tucked me into bed
>but I still wirth from powerful traces mana lingering in my system, each spark bouncing about to explode like a shrapnel when it hits a nerve
>gripping me with teeth grinding aftershocks of pleasure
>and it's only much, much later, that my brain solidifies
>but only just enough for me to rediscover other sensations besides pleasure
>such as the feeling of cool bed sheets against my skin
>they help to calm the feverish state the witch has left me in
>I look around and find Noita still sitting at the table near the end of my bed
>she calmly stares at the window
>smoking
>only the ambient glow of her cigarette illuminating the room
>each drag she takes is relaxed and content
>each puff cherished
>I can see it in her eyes
>how their dull surface has lost their ice and now swims with an honest satisfaction
>a flowing kind of peace
>the kind where you're content to just see where life takes you
>even her shadow is relaxed, it sits in the chair across from the witch with its arms crossed
>begrudgingly pleased with how things have turned out
>the witch sighs and reaches towards the Siegnil lamp on the table
>the source of all our troubles
>only to casually tap her cigarette against the inside of it
>... she's using it as an ashtray
>she's practically made my room her own territory now
>Noita keeps her glowing cigarette in one hand and reaches down with the other to loosen her formal tie a little more
>letting it hang even sloppier than before
>with a couple buttons on her white shirt casually undone so she can finally breathe
>while her lanky legs are propped up on the table, her sleek dress pants make them look like they go on forever
>there's no need for reserved facades anymore, she can be as messy and human as she'd like now
>I almost feel like I'm invading her privacy just by looking
>especially with how graceful her neck is, that tasteful flourish of her collarbone, and an afterglow half dressed with tousled clothing almost like--
>I quickly return to just laying in the bed
>riding out aftershocks that rock me to sleep
>that night we both dreamed of shooting stars


>I wake up to the imperceptible kiss of a warm breath across my fingers
>which in my half asleep state of mind I enjoy for a while
>but quickly curl up from embarrassment when I realize who's breath it is
>I carefully open my eyes to see the witch sleeping next to me
>leaning against the side of my bed with her head resting on her arms
>comfortable enough to sleep near me, but not in the same bed just yet
>wouldn't want to overstep her boundaries…
>she's posed like she had given up climbing in next to me out of humility
>but perhaps just settled for watching me sleep…
>but Noita looks as harmless as can be with how softly she breathes, so meek
>she even has the corner of my blanket scrunched up into a ball under her chin, hugging it
>but she sleeps too peacefully to
>all the weight on her haggard psyche lifted
>even the bags under her eyes look well rested
>her sharp, pale face just a little bit less sunken
>just a little bit less stressed
>just a little bit more… happy…
>happy…
>I pull my hand away
>but quietly hide behind my blanket when the witch's gentle breathing begins to kiss my face without my hand there to block
>happy isn't a word I ever thought I'd describe the witch with
>towering, looming, threatening, and predatory for sure
>smug and sadistic, depending on her mood
>but…
>the witch stirs in her sleep, scrunching the blanket even tighter, pulling me towards her
>I silently yelp from getting a little too close to her face
>every single one of her hot breaths gleefully kiss my lips
>I shut my eyes and try to keep my cool
>but when I try to scootch away I find the blanket has bound behind me
>a kommando burrito
>I curse my luck and try to think of a way out
>but in jump in my skin when I open my eyes again
>I woke her up
>the witch's green sanpaku eyes look at me, forcing me back under the sheets simply with her stare
>but it quickly warms with an affectionate playfulness
>which drives her forward to melt me with a kiss
>pushing me down into the mattress with the tender force of it
>sucking the life out of me with a selfish disregard for how weak compared to her
>boundaries be damned, the air in my lungs belong to her
>I flinch from her savagely grabbing at my back to selfishly pull me closer
>I belong to her
>corralled beneath her tall, bony body 
>she breaks her burning kiss with a wet pop and smirks as she watches me helplessly gasp for air beneath her
>me shrinking away from bashfulness and just enough fear at how forward she has become to make her feel powerful beyond belief
>"Good morning," Noita sings with a "matter of factly" smug smile
>the witch has won the day already
>and perhaps the war as well

>the air outside is as cold and wet as ever
>rife with the gentle tinkling of snow melting off rooftops and trees
>a light percussion of gutters, storm drains, and sewer pipes
>an atmosphere overshadowed by the omnipresent gloom of the Iron Coast
>one that suddenly flutters like a scared bird from the familiar sound of heavy, steel toed boots stepping upon the snow
>forced off its roost from a delightful danger filling the air
>the witch almost follows it with her eyes as she looks up at the clouds rumbling over head
>smirking at some joke only she gets
>maybe you it's that you need a predator's eyes with a magic gaze to see it
>a hunter's stare
>it makes me feel funny...
>especially so when the witch stalks her way up to my side with that surreptitious little swagger of hers
>it's just something about her tired hunch but towering stature that makes her look like a snake hiding in the grass, poised, dangerous, and watching
>shambling forward with the wind somehow always there to mask the sound and force of her movements
>and it always ends the same
>with the rattle of a cigarettes and the clean one-two of a lighter's jaw snapping open and closed
>Noita takes a drag of her cig and raises herself to her full height
>which in turn makes her shadow balloon with hot air behind us
>it flirtatiously throws its arm over my own shadow's shoulders
>a possessive silent gesture
>wordlessly whispering "don't go anywhere now..."
>but I wouldn't leave for the world
>the witch sneaks a cocky peek at me, her green eyes shimmering with enigmatic amusement
>the danger is too intoxicating
>the witch playfully tilts her head towards me
>"It looks like it snowed last night," she says casually
>"But it snows every night." I respond
>the witch gives me an incredulous death stare
>annoyed
>not knowing if I'm being a smart ass or playing coy by refusing to make small talk with her
>but in either case she has half a mind to slap me on the back of the head for playing hard to get
>and she'd probably take my head off if she did that…
>we stand in an awkward silence
>listening to the morning ambience of melting snow and people going about their business
>the witch goes to take a drag of her cigarette
>but stops and looks down at her cig like it reminded of her of something
>her fingers begin to hold it with a pensive tenderness
>suddenly careful not to mistreat it
>full of that self aware remorse you only ever get the morning after
>from a hangover, from a loose thread
>one that distracts her so much it might as well be a sword hanging over her conscience by the thinnest simple thread
>just a sword of Damocles
>her shadow pulls its arm away
>"H-Hey… Anon… I…" 
>Noita starts to hunch down, hot air leaving her with every word. "I… need to tell you something…"
>"Yeah?"
>she tries to recover some of her confidence but finds its gone cold
>"I… I lied... when I said I studied healing magic."
>"What?"
>she brings her hand up to shield her flush face, perhaps worried the heat will burn me
>"Look… it… i-it wasn't a total lie." She backpedals, she desperately tries to feign a smile. "More of a white lie really..."
>the witch takes a nervous drag of her cigarette which helps her to at least make eye contact
>"It's just not…" but she quickly falters and just looks down at the snow. "It's just not my primary field of study."
>I breathe a sigh of relief
>that isn't so bad
>I encourage her with a forced but curious smile, "so what is your primary field of study?"
>the witch sighs, takes her cig out from between her lips out of shame, and looks up at me to finalize her confession
>"Cryptid Combatics."
>"What's that?"
>"... it's a kind of 'Alternative Magic," she deflects before sticking her cig back in her mouth
>"Which is?"
>the witch winces and yanks her cigarette out like it had burned her
>she can't enjoy it, not like this, not now
>"It's another name for Dark Magic! I study dark magic, alright?" She blurts out defensively. "Are you happy now?" She demands angrily
>she takes her frustration out on her cigarette by stamping it into the snow
>but soon realizes how bad it makes her look
>she goes for another cigarette but fumbles the pack
>she stares at it apprehensive when she catches it
>looking at it like she doesn't deserve it
>"Look… I still technically do study healing magic…" she bargains. "A big part of Cryptid Combatics is knowing how to heal your 'combatants.'"
>"... do you mean thralls?" I ask quietly
>the blood drains from her the witch's face
>which she hides out of shame
>"Yeah… like with your thralls..." she mumbles quietly
>but then if her healing magic worked on me
>oh...
>"Does that mean I'm one of your thralls?"
>the witch scoffs and smirks at me with smug grin
>"Only if you want to," she responds playfully
>but wipes the smile off her face when she sees my reaction
>she clears her throat and awkwardly rubs the back of her neck
>"I wouldn't…" 
>she sighs quietly before steeling herself to look me in the eyes
>"I would never do something like that to you."
>this "morning after" has taken a turn
>Noita turns away to get some breathing room
>her shadow shrinks away to hide its burning face beneath the snow
>and has half a mind to throw itself into a sewer to cool its embarrassment
>a million thoughts race through my mind
>does it really matter?
>am I right to feel almost betrayed?
>and again at that?
>did… was I right the first time?
>was that a fluke in there too?
>each toxic suspicion scorches my mind until there is nothing left
>my head spins until I manage to gather the ashes of my psyche by focusing on the twinkle of the sun upon the snow
>but upon closer inspection find it's not the sun at all
>it's tall, pale, looming, and strong
>but burning with embarrassment at the top
>it's a lighthouse
>I turn back towards the witch
>"But we can still go to see where the shooting star fell, right?"
>the witch does a double take before cracking a smile
>"Y-Yeah." She says nonchalantly, understanding the meaning behind my question. "It shouldn't affect it at all."
>"Yeah, it shouldn't." I echo
>there's a short pause
>neither of us sure what to do
>but Noita is sure what she wants
>she bends down to give me a kiss on the forehead
>the brim of her witch's hat tickling my hair
>"Good answer," she whispers

>"Yeah I'll get a black coffee" the witch starts, "and uhhh... one of these."
>she absentmindedly reaches up to point at the menu above the register like she's ordering with it at her table
>but quickly realizes her mistake and stoops back down
>softly chuckling at her own mistake with a reserved humility
>"Sorry, I meant one of the orcish meat rolls."
>the golem cashier nods and looks towards me, completely unphased by the towering witch leaning against the menu
>but come to think of it, I don't think he CAN be phased at all
>maybe stoned depending on if he's on the clock or not
>... do golems clock out?
>do they even slee--
>the witch rattles my brain loose with a tired flick to the back of my head
>I come back down to earth
>"I'll just get a chocolate milk and uhhh…"
>I look up at the menu but the witch is blocking it with her head and hat
>she smiles smugly thinking I'm looking up to her for reassurance
>"I'll just get an orcish meat roll too…" I say quickly.
>but extend my thought when I feel the witch place a hand in my shoulder
>"S-Same as her," I blurt out
>the witch leans coolly against the wall as we wait for our order
>the building is too small to eat in here, crowded too
>just a hole in the wall of a coffee shop
>the kitchen is even bigger than the front
>so everyone just wants to get in and out as fast as possible
>and combine that with how you have Kommandos coming back from long tours at sea and on land?
>I look outside a two squads of Kommandos having a little shoving match outside in the plaza
>the atmosphere is a "little bit" chaotic
>but the witch ignores the ruckus
>her eyes closed and her cig dangling between her hips
>there's a subtle tilt to her posture
>not all like the sadistic curve she takes on when she teases me, always smugly using her height to her advantage
>but one that is a gentle full body tilt
>her body angled towards me like a tree in the wind, a sly smile spread across her face
>her eyes closed in a dreamy state
>almost like she wants to lean on me while we wait
>but settled for just imagining it, held back by modesty
>yet when I look down, I can see her shadow is already doing so against mine
>"Sooo…" the witch brings my attention back to her, "supplies…"
>"We can get them after we eat." I explain. "But all we really need is some food, water, and ammo."
>"Don't you mean YOU need ammo?" She pokes playfully
>"I mean yeah. I'll probably be doing most of the shooting if it comes to it."
>Noita feigns disbelief. "What? You? Defending me?"
>I go quiet from embarrassment
>"... do you not think I could?" I ask
>suddenly feeling a little empty inside with how snidely the witch is towering over me
>she chuckles at my discomfort
>"I dunno, what do you think?" She taunts sarcastically
>I sigh, I don't want to take the bait
>but the witch waves it in front if my face
>"It just is with how heavy your bandolier is already. I can't help but think you just want an excuse to peruse some guns." She teases
>I squirm a little when I notice her shadow flirtatiously running its finger across the exposed barrel of my Lee Navy's shadow
>"I mean, you have magic guns too." I challenge much to her chagrin
>which she paints across her face with raised eyebrows
>the witch tilts her chin up
>but not to back off, it's so she can get a better look at me
>inspecting me
>sizing me up with her swirling green stare
>keeping me trapped in the eye of the storm, worried she's going to smite me
>but Noita quickly shows her hand with how her eyes begin to twinkle at my unexpected resistance
>secretly giggling at how she wanted a reaction but didn't expect something like this
>enticed that she's gnawed me down enough to find a spine
>closest to the bone, sweeter is the meat
>and her gaze is drooling with curiosity
>I gesture to her Pattern 1913 and Webley
>"Haven't you ever thought of maybe buying more? Maybe they'll even have special magic loads you can check out."
>the witch humors me with an incredulous scoff
>but one that is cut short by her own brain conspiring against her
>staging a mental coup with the realization that perusing guns with me could be an opportunity for bonding
>and needless to say, the witch loses the battle in a humiliating defeat
>she hides her sudden begrudging interest with a reserved smile
>"What, the guns or the ammo?" She deflects vaguely
>"Maybe both?"
>the witch chuckles and playfully socks me on the shoulder, but puts a careful hand around my other one so she doesn't send me careening into the floor
>I flinch from her love tap which makes her laugh
>"Ohhh… I think I heard your bones crack. I think someone needs to eat more of their vegetables." 
>she ruffles my hair with her elbow, teasing me with her extreme height
>I bring my hands up to try and stop her but it only makes her do it harder
>payback
>"Don't you mean milk?" I protest.
>"Now is that why you got a chocolate milk? Scared that I'd break your bones by accident if I were to…"
>she keeps me hanging, making me look up at her worriedly
>prompting her to roar with laughter instead of finishing her thought
>she starts to lean on me
>resting her chin on her elbows that dig into my hair
>chuckling at how I have to put all my strength into my legs to keep from collapsing under her weight
>especially at how I try to hide my gasps for air
>but she eases off right before something snaps once she sees a golem coming towards us with our food
>letting me off with a quiet snicker as she thanks the golem
>the witch hands my stuff to down to me but pauses on the chocolate milk
>"Did you want to try some?" I ask
>"What?" The witch quickly hands it down to me. "No, no… I was just looking at it is all."
>"Really?"
>she clears her throat as we begin to work our way towards the door
>"It's a nice color." She admits begrudgingly
>but her mind gets ahead of her
>"And I haven't had anything chocolate in a long while."
>"So you did want to try some?"
>Noita throws the door open
>looking back almost angrily at me
>there's a balance to this sort of thing
>but she recovers her cool with a sigh followed a pensive but empty smile
>and just points out the door with her head
>signaling the end of this conversation

>I sigh from the weight of my pack on my shoulders
>I don't think I've ever carried one so full and heavy with supplies
>even my footprints in the snow look deeper
>but at least my pack makes pleasing rustling sounds
>it's an encouraging sound, cheering me on
>out of habit I look up to my side expecting Noita to offer some teasing remark about it
>but there's only the wind and snow
>the witch and I split up to make our shopping more efficient
>she went off to buy magic stuff
>eye of newt, toe of frog, the usual
>while I went off to buy food, water, and--
>wait
>I suddenly notice a particularly familiar note hiding among the rustling sounds of my pack
>a sound every Kommando, every traveler, every Fankasian knows
>I stop and slide it off my shoulders, instinctively ducking away into the mouth of an alley
>and follow the sound of magical clinking to find the source
>a healing potion
>I must of bought it out of habit
>it's not "cheating" on the witch to have a healing potion, is it?
>I quickly pull it against my body, hiding it from the light
>I stare into the potion's deep, rich, magic filled depths
>my shoulders heavy with a guilty feeling
>I'd imagine that it's like refusing free food, only to turn around and gladly accept it from someone else
>and knowing Noita… she'd get mad...
>I jump in my skin when I remember what she did to the bootleggers, fumbling the potion
>but I catch the bottle and hold it tight against my chest again
>my eyes widening when I feel an imperceptible kick from the inside of the bottle
>of a magic kiss against the glass, like the potion is trying to tempt me
>"But it's not cheating…" I qualify silently. "Noita knows healing magic specialized for 'Cryptid Combatics,' not people."
>I take a deep breath and wrap the potion inside a shirt to mask the clinking of the bottle
>"And I'm no thrall."
>hiding it in the bottom of my pack
>which feels ten pounds heavier on my shoulders
>"It's insurance." I say to myself as I walk down the street. "Insurance for myself."
>I round the corner and see the witch standing in the distance
>her sharp, pale face high over the rest of the crowd
>standing like a weeping willow, hunched but tall
>seeing the witch suddenly makes my pack feel even heavier
>as heavy as she was when I carried her inside the inn
>when she had collapsed from mana fatigue
>I slow my pace which makes the bottle of healing potion clink thoughtfully
>Noita takes a drag of her cig, watching the tip glow brighter
>grateful for some company in the cold
>she exhales tiredly, her shoulders falling low and lonely
>but it's not substitute for the real thing
>maybe the healing potion isn't insurance for me
>but for her
>I sigh, grateful my moral dilemma has been solved
>it feels like a weight has been taken off my shoulders

>the witch stands waiting for me, window shopping
>the snow falls in slow, heavy flakes of powdered sugar
>but never upon her, always around her
>either not wanting anything to do with her or not wanting to disturb her
>but either way her authoritative black jacket and witch's hat remain spotless from snow
>giving her the aura of intimidating unapproachability a statue of a powerful figure has
>one that still affects me even after all this time
>I crack a nervous smile as I near her, brushing the wet snow off my head
>"Hey, I got all the food and water. All that's left is the guns and ammo, if you still wanted to go that is."
>I look up expecting some coy, teasing, and probably suggestive answer as always
>but get none
>Noita doesn't even acknowledge me at all
>she just stares straight ahead in a daze
>"Noita?"
>I lean to the side to peek up at her face
>"Noita?" I repeat
>I sneak around to her other side to do the same
>"Noita? Hellooo?~"
>but all she does is subconsciously bite on her cigarette
>stopping just short of chewing on it
>and that's when I see it
>two little pinpricks of light hiding within the darks of her eyes 
>like the shyest stars in the night sky
>each a surreal VHS kaleidoscope of somber red, greens, blues, and everything in between
>haunted by the faint echoes of old memories
>which make the witch's eyes glass over from a melancholic nostalgia
>the kind that you feel only once in a blue moon
>when you remember something sweet
>the witch is through the window of a candy store
>hypnotized like she's a little kid again
>the window chock full of jars filled to the brim with every kind of candy imaginable
>each more overstuffed and sweet than the last
>but the colorful sight just leaves her feeling empty with wistful aneomia
>the witch takes a mellow drag of her cigarette
>stained glass hues wash over her face like aquarium light, one full of sugar water
>Noita swimming between sadness, bitterness, jealousy, and childlike awe all at the same time
>her irises selfishly grab at every sweet color they can in a fit of mad self destruction, trying to ignore their own poor, bitter green
>like a child who tries to catch every snowflake in the sky but refuses to accept the futility of it
>where deep down they know it's stupid, but it's the only thing they CAN have
>"Noita? Are you okay?"
>because maybe, just maybe, if she gathers enough of that sweet light, she'll finally be able to taste it
>the witch bites down on her cigarette
>her eyes suddenly full of sugar water
>and it must taste sweet...
>"Noita?"
>I tap her on the shoulder
>she jumps out of her skin in a violent flinch
>the dreamy colors in her eyes fall and shatter like glass
>the witch looks between me and the candy store before sighing
>she brings her hand up to hide under her hat, shrinking away
>"Jesus Christ, dude, don't scare me like that," she mumbles
>but with a tone that implies she's more frustrated than scared
>"Sorry." I apologize. "You just… uhh…"
>there's an awkward silence, the kind you get when neither person wants to clean up a mess you both made
>I tiptoe around it. "Are you ready to go to the gun stor--?"
>"Yeah, I'm ready."
>"Are yo--?"
>"Positive," she interrupts again
>I stare at her apprehensively, the witch peeking out shyly from under her hat
>"But you seemed like you wanted to go inside the ca--."
>"No. I'm fine." She barks defensively
>there's another awkward pause of us staring at each other
>"What would happen if I wanted to go inside, would you try to stop me?" I ask carefully
>the witch glares at me for testing her like this
>but I stand my ground
>I open the door to the candy store and point my head inside, imitating what she did at the coffee shop
>her eyes glow with anger
>fists tight
>jaw clenched
>Noita ready to sock me in the face in a full rage
>until her shadow, the cool one for once, rises behind her to put its hand on her shoulder
>the witch turns to glare at it too
>where upon it just silently whispers for her to simmer down
>her glow is showing
>and in front of me, no less
>the witch's fury suddenly collapses in on itself
>she sighs and avoids eye contact as she stoops through the doorway
>but has the tiniest hint of a nervous smile that I can see in the reflection of the window next to her
>one that becomes a full but embarrassed smile when she steps into the sweet warmth of the candy shop
>it's nice to be asked…

>the inside of the candy store is huge
>but feels cramped and cozy from how much candy there is
>the cashiers use magic to ring up exactly what you want, teleporting it from whatever jar it's in
>but if you don't know what you want, you are more than welcome to just wander
>in fact everything past the front desk is coin operated to encourage it
>so you can go for many aisles without seeing a single other person or even a fraction of the store
>and each aisle is long and narrow, lit by sleepy yellow lights
>giving a feeling of sweet privacy
>the shelves are so tall they make it feel like an elvish library
>tall enough to make the witch look normal sized, or maybe even small
>like it was made for her, like it was waiting for her
>but she sure doesn't act that way
>she acts like it's a museum, looking at everything with calm, almost distant, eyes
>Noita's wandering gaze settles upon a jar of dryad "amber" pearls
>and for moment I think she's finally found something she likes
>little pearls of chocolate encased in balls of maple candy
>but she looks at them like they're a display of bugs trapped in amber
>not something she see herself eating
>her gaze begins to wander again
>I'm starting to feel bad for dragging her inside
>the witch doesn't seem to hate it, but she doesn't seem to like it either
>and we've wandered countless aisles now
>but then I see something out the corner of my eye, a trick of the light
>I look behind the witch to get a better look at it
>her shadow bounces around from jar to jar, hopped up on just the taste of sugar in the air
>smooshing its ethereal hands and face against the glass
>acting like, well, a kid in a candy store
>that is until it notices me staring
>and responds in tune
>giving me a simpering, flickering smile in the form of it wavering bashfully like the dark of a candle's flame
>knowingly tilting its head at the witch now that the secret is out
>and winks as it falls away, giving me the floor
>I take a deep breath and steel myself
>"H-Hey, did you find anything you liked?"
>"Hmm?" Noita moves on from the orcish animal gelatin treats. "No, not really."
>I can't tell if her tone is supposed to be sad or disinterested
>and her dull eyes keep her secrets behind glass
>but I trust her shadow
>"Well… uh… they have lots of stuff."
>I look away so it seems like I'm more confident than I am in leading the way
>"Candied snail shells, taffy slugs, tadpole sodas, and licorice pipes." I turn back to the witch with a smile. "You might like the licorice pipes, it says here they make licorice flavored smoke."
>"I don't like licorice," Noita says curtly. "Do you?"
>"Uh, no." I admit quietly
>I turn away again to hide my dejected frown
>"B-But what about dwarvish butter bars or cream drops. Or..."
>I look at one shelf with disappointment
>really?
>"Jelly beans."
>the witch's ears perk up and her shadow collapses into her body
>"Jelly beans?" She echoes with an angry disbelief
>this better not be a trick
>she shoves me aside with a slow absentmindedness
>throwing me to the ground, leaving me gasping in pain
>but it's all worth it when I hear the sugary jingle of the witch dispensing some candy for herself
>I hold an arm to my bruised chest and look up
>Noita leans forward against the shelf, hiding her candy against her chest
>and picks one piece
>she doesn't give a dramatic reaction
>but magic is linked with strong emotions
>and her eyes crackle gently with magic
>wiping away the bags under her eyes like tears for just a moment
>the witch gives a deep sigh
>a mysterious weight taken off her shoulders
>they taste just like when she was a kid
>overly sweet with artificial flavors
>I try to keep my wheezing quiet so as to not ruin her moment of bliss
>but the witch offers me her hand to me
>"Take one," she says, wanting me to share the moment with me
>I get up carefully, taken aback by her rollercoaster of moods
>Take one." She repeats forcibly
>she's not asking again
>I gingerly grab one at random
>I get black licorice…
>"How is it?" The witch tilts her chin up expectedly
>"I-It's good…" I lie
>"Even though it's black licorice?" She smugly taunts with a knowing smirk on her face
>I nervously looking away at my tiny lie being so expertly sniffed out
>Noita chuckles and she reaches over, affectionately flicking me on the side of the head like a school yard bully
>we lean against the shelves eating jelly beans in a comfortable silence
>the witch finishes her handful and reaches across the aisle with her lanky arm to dispense more
>pouring some into my hand without even asking
>Noita picks over her new handful, inspecting each individual jelly bean like a jewel
>avoiding eye contact
>"I like jelly beans." She suddenly says with a wistful emptiness
>stating the obvious
>she holds up a bright green jelly bean, looking at it with a strange jealousy
>"I know they're really bad for you. Nothing but sugar, food coloring, and chemicals." The witch gives me a smug smirk. "But damn they're good."
>I nod in agreement, eyes widening at her pouring more jelly beans into my hand as an excuse to get even more
>she sighs at the sound and feeling of them pouring out of the jar
>it makes her feel almost a little guilty
>"And you know, believe it or not? When I was a little kid? I had quite the sweet tooth."
>it's strange thinking of the witch that way
>that yes, even though she is a towering eldritch killing machine
>she was once a little kid too
>and I saw the proof of a photo back in the lighthouse with my own two eyes
>just a cute little potato she was
>but kind of overgrown now…
>"So whenever we went into town I would always hang outside the candy store, looking in through the window until it was time to go home."
>Noita bites her lower lip at the memory and cheers herself up with a jelly bean
>"But every once in a blue moon I'd get to pick something and I'd always get the same thing." She looks up at me, "do you know what I'd get?"
>"Jelly beans?"
>she nods nostalgically and blushes at her coming confession
>"I liked pretending they were magic beans like in 'Jack and the Beanstalk,'" she chuckles in good humor
>but then she makes the mistake of looking at her gangly arms and legs
>and slouches from the sudden weight of unwanted self awareness
>"And I guess I did end up growing like a beanstalk…" she feigns a smile. "Pretty 'giant' too."
>the witch nudges me playfully
>"But hey, who knows, maybe you can climb me and slay the giant at the top." 
>She sarcastically holds a finger gun to her temple and makes a gunshot noise with her mouth
>"Just be careful not to get caught or I'll grind your bones to make my bread." Noita winks threateningly
>which makes me blush a little at the hungry forwardness of her tone
>and look down when she mischievously flashes her sweet tooth at me
>"Because personally? I think you'd make a nice 'sweet bread.'"

>the witch reacts to the taste of sugar like a shark smelling blood in the water
>she pulls me around by the wrist, gesturing for me to hand her coins that she jams into cranks with a reckless abandon
>but always makes sure to give me the first taste of the spoils
>she pours me a helping of white dwarf ore candy, taking care to give me the biggest pieces
>and intently watches me eat one before starting on her own handful
>I think asking now while she's in a good mood is best…
>"Hey, Noita?" I start awkwardly, "can I ask you something?"
>"Mhmm… yeah?" She murmurs with her mouth full
>"Can you tell me more about Cryptid Combatics?" I ask quietly
>I instinctively brace for her lashing out in a hot rage or freezing over into cold distance
>but instead a meek smile simmers to the top of her face
>the witch throws me a playful sideways glance, tilting her head in sarcastic disbelief
>"Why do you want to know?" She teases curiously
>she bites down on another hunk of white ore candy, gleefully awaiting my answer
>I stir awkwardly
>I never thought I'd get this far
>I kind of expected her to turn me into a wet spot on the wall with a single flick of her wrist as an explanation
>"S-Same reason you'd ask a Kommando about his guns…"
>the witch is quiet for one incredulous moment
>but begins to chuckle quietly at my pure hearted honesty
>"Oh… Anon…" she chides
>with the same amused tone of voice you'd give to a foolish puppy
>"I think you misunderstand..." she steps towards me threateningly. "because my intentions are faaaar different than yours."
>she parts her lips into teasing smile filled with vanilla and cream
>a sight that makes me look away out of modesty which makes her smirk as she turns away in search of more candy
>"But really now, Cryptid Combatics…" the witch swallows as she searches for the right words. "It takes a surprising amount of musical sense."
>she pulls a coin from her pocket to flip into the air over and over as she walks
>coolly baiting for me to follow
>"You have to speak in its whispering tongues, sing in them, to draw eldritch essences from the endless well."
>the witch's eyes become alight with aggressive passion for her art
>full of power
>"Working with cryptids is as much a craft, a doctrine, as building and commanding tanks is. To treat such 'Things' as animals to be tamed is to misunderstand the entire idea of a cryptid. They are forces of nature. Armored with the beyond."
>I nod awkwardly at a sudden chill in the air from the witch imparting such forbidden knowledge upon me
>"To command a cryptid, it must fear you." Noita explains with aggressive finality. "Master cryptid magic and you will have the detritus of the void at your disposal to forge as you will. To toy with as you will."
>her tall frame grows frighteningly taller with each word
>"You must show the hunter what it is like to be hunted. To be prey. Be to it as, as it is to most others." The witch vindictively crushes the coin in her hand and looks back at me. "Above."
>she takes her own words to heart
>stalking towards me with the slow, imposing swagger of a titan who has awoken from eons of slumber
>the once tired now ready to crush all those smaller than it
>with her normally exhausted shoulders high and strong, huge with arrogant confidence
>a moving mountain, an avalanche
>I brace myself up against the shelf out of instinct, trapped
>"You need to think like them, eat like them, fight like them…" the witch preaches
>and parts her lips to show her teeth in a sharp, sadistic smile when she notices how sweet my helplessness is
> "Love, like them…" she whispers suggestively as she strokes my hair. "There's nothing like in the world."
>softly chuckling at the blood draining from my face
>only to "magically" brings it back with a single kiss to my forehead
>"Cryptid magic, I mean," she clarifies playfully
>"So are you like an alpha cryptid?"
>Noita perks up humbly at the compliment
>"In a way," she smiles
>she looks down at the remains of the coin in her hand
>she was only able to crumple it
>"But it's impossible for one to stand at the top of the eldritch pyramid. But you can get high enough to kick around those beneath you. Just remember to kick hard enough or they'll pull you down." She winks
>"So how high up are you?" I ask
>the witch smiles. "High enough," she says casually
>she leans against the shelf next to me
>"It's the same as a vocal range really. Aim too high or too low and your voice cracks, literally."
>Noita's shoulders fall as she rubs the front of her neck meekly
>"It's why you learn to whisper your notes…" the witch shrinks inwards. "You don't want to sing too loud lest you rouse something from the depths to make you scream."
>"Can I hear a note?" I ask innocently
>Noita draws away
>she's said too much
>hiding her nerves by turning the crank on a jar of chocolate "musket" balls
>"A-Are you sure? It's… umm…" she rolls a "musket" ball in between her fingers. "Not for everyone." She explains distractedly
>like she's talking about the candy
>"I can take it," I insist. "I'll be fine."
>she stares at me a while, like I'm the most fragile tower of snowflakes, and takes a careful but hesitant breath
>the witch's face goes blank
>a dead eyed stare that makes her usual stoicism look warm and jovial
>the sweetness in the air turns not bitter, not sour, but bad in the simplest of terms
>the bags under her eyes suddenly heavy with the knowledge of a dark world beyond
>the gravity of my request hits me
>I try to put my hands over my ears
>but the witch effortlessly brushes them aside
>leaning in like she is going to bite on my neck
>and whispers an eldritch tone
>just a tone
>nothing more
>quiet as a breath
>but yet it overwhelms my senses
>primal fear flooding my mind
>intimacy turned nightmarish
>I fall forward, my body gone limp
>but the witch catches me in a tight hug
>selflessly shielding me from the consequences of my naive request
>she had warned me this would happen
>and sighs sadly
>but is still worried all the same
>the cold of the endless well is unlike anything else
>a freezing grip that threatens to sweep me away entirely
>Noita senses that I'm beginning to lose myself
>and responds by lovingly brushing her hand across the back of my head
>to remind me of my place with her silent, magic touch
>it's here with her
>she keeps me close to nurse me through my terrified shivers
>almost angry that something else had to the gall to make me shiver in fear
>she tightens her arms around me with such affectionate strength that not even an eldritch could take me away from her
>possessive like a dog with a piece of meat
>I find myself subconsciously burying my head into her bony chest, all feebleminded and simple
>instinctively seeking safety in her tall lanky frame
>so statuesque, so strong
>the feeling of her sturdy body against me helps to keep me sane
>anchored
>protected against the lingering cryptic echoes inside my mind
>the scratchy wool of her jacket kissing my cheek better all the while
>until all my shivers are gone
>"So yeah, that's Cryptid Combatics..." Noita says warmly. "It's about power. It's about evasiveness, speed, fear, and imposing presence. It's about…"
>I look up to see her delicately pluck a "musket" ball from her palm
>"Risk…"
>she leans in to lovingly load it into my mouth, using her finger as the gentlest ram rod
>"And reward…" she whispers affectionately
>getting in close so she can put her thumb beneath my chin
>to gently instruct me to bite down on the "musket" ball
>her pointer finger across my lips
>shushing me
>this talk is over
>only sweet thoughts now
>like how they're called musket balls because the inside is full of elvish sweet root powder
>which puffs out like BP smoke when you break the chocolate shell with your teeth
>"Good right?" She asks quietly
>the witch sighs, tilting her head gratefully
>it's nice to share things
>she pushes my head back down to enjoy the feeling of my exhausted breathing against her chest
>selfishly savoring the moment
>delighted by it in fact
>ever so sadistically pleased that all it took was the tiniest peek under the skirt of her arcane arts to turn me into putty in her hands
>a sudden flirty spark in her eye
>which makes her hug slowly tighten with a selfish curiosity
>refusing to let go even when I begin to squirm
>the horrors of the well may have passed, but please don't tell I've traded one for another
>the witch lifts me up so that I hang with my feet helplessly dangling off the ground
>madly sniffing my hair
>her arms of steel immediately cage me in like a scared little bird
>her oppressive otherworldly strength threatening to drown me, crush me
>it's just too much, she's too much
>just sheer overwhelming physicality
>the witch enjoys the feeling of me kicking against her in an existential terror
>squeezing me even tighter out of an aggressive sadism
>cute aggression
>and having so much fun doing it
>where she can't help but wonder...
>if she squeezes hard enough, will I squeak like a chew toy?
>I helplessly gasp into her chest
>or will I pop?
>I feel the witch carefully caress my hair
>the spark in her eye now a raging green inferno
>she should really do this more often…
>she turns her chin up, lavishing the sight of me drowning in her lanky arms
>but who's to say she has to stop now?
>she licks her lips hungrily
>who's to say she can't go further?
>and flashes her sweet tooth
>because even then...
>a perverted smile slowly grows on her face
>who could stop her?
>"You know, Anon..." Noita starts. "One nice thing about black magic is that it teaches you how to be 'creative'"
>she hisses every word so confrontationally
>her breath playing with my hair as fiery burns do burn hapless wheat fields
>"'Creative' like when it comes to getting what you want, not afraid to be cunning." She smirks, Stalking me closely to whisper directly into my ear. "Conniving even."
>her bony chest reverbates with her voice to make it seem like it's somehow all around me
>"One day soon," she declares with a maniacal giggle. "I'll show you Hanussen's seventh incantation of the oil, just the elegant creativity of it. Where you can see how the Void didn't just whisper to him, but spoke."
>she taps my head adoringly with her finger, like she's casting a spell on me
>"All the beauty of the dark sciences on display~" she sings
>the witch salivates deviously, practically biting, at the thought of sharing it with me
>her gaze worryingly distant
>full of the Void and of her fantasies
>and wanting to drown me in both
>"Because too many mistake black magic for teaching nothing but 'scarier` versions of other spells." Noita grimaces, her dreamy tone suddenly turning sour. "A fireball but purple and poisonous," she spits mockingly
>where I can feel the anger building in her chest
>I don't like where this is going…
>my caveman instincts yell at me to run, to get out while I still can
>the witch channels her frustrations into lifting me higher
>but there is no escape
>"No, no, no…" she corrects mockingly
>like she's read my mind
>"Esoteric reality warpers make evil wizards look like Catholic nuns, Cryptic smelting isn't some kind of cookbook alchemy, and Hanussen's whispers aren't cheap dollar store hexes."
>I don't like where this is going
>"Dark magic, cryptic magic especially, is for when Grandma's fireball spell doesn't cut it." She whispers. "It's for when you want to invoke the Thousand Whispers from the Endless Well to drown an entire battalion in a lake made of their own blood." Noita hisses.
>she scoffs arrogantly
>"Try and buy that at a white magic shop."
>but then her confidence leaves her
>her shoulders drooping
>"Dark magic... it just… it requires a little more 'nuance' than just swish and flick. N dimensions tend to come harder than just two or three." She sighs. "There's a difference between bone flares and slingshots… a difference between a Void seance and a telephone call with grandma…" she snuggles me brutally. "You have to be creative..."
>the witch almost falls back against a shelf, tired and drained herself
>and goes quiet for a moment
>thinking carefully about what to say next
>"Hanussen's seventh incantation of the oil is a beautiful painting, really it is." She promises awkwardly. "And I could even find us a nice Trusan wine to enjoy together, as we watch the incantation work its magic to paint itself right before our very eyes."
>the idea prompts her to apply a fresh pressure to her hug, refusing to let go of me
>on the verge of breaking something if need be
>with cheer returning to her face when she looks down to see me wheezing against her
>where somehow I know that she's wondering how I'd look when a little bit too tipsy
>red as the wine perhaps?
>the mental image pleases her greatly
>cooling her confrontational aura
>the witch chuckles to herself
>and runs a curious finger through my hair
>circling it about like I'm the most delicate of potions
>mixing my mind to send intimate chills down my spine
>she sighs calmly at how I shiver, helplessly tangled around her finger
>"So tell me, Anon…" she whispers adoringly, resting her chin on the top of my head. "Have you ever had a dryad lemon drop before?"
>I fail to see how that connects
>but not that I can really think at all with how oppressive her hug is
>I really am drowning in her
>in sensory overload
>the witch smirks proudly
>and deigns to let me gasp for a breath of air
>curiously pressing her thumb against my Adam's apple to laugh at how I meekly struggle for life
>"They're really quite good," she promises deceptively
>with a knife held to my neck
>she drives her other hand into my pocket with a shameless aggression
>my eyes quickly widening from how "wrong" it feels
>only for the witch to snicker when she shows her hand of just having innocently stolen a coin
>nothing more
>just a run of the mill mugging
>"What, were you worried I was going to try something else?" She taunts smugly
>Noita shoves me backwards into a shelf
>with such force I worry I've made her angry
>but it's only so she can turn the lights out on me with her shadow
>where I can only bring my hands up to protect myself as she flies towards me like a bat out of hell
>the black tail of her coat her wings
>she smashes into me, viciously getting me up against the shelf
>with my legs around her waist
>Noita so dizzyingly tall that I'm still somehow looking up at her
>but I guess it is just my place in the world...
>she savagely throws open my jacket open to expose me to her
>it bulges monstrously from her gangly arms forcing their way inside
>she makes me shiver from the sensation of her heaving body brushing up against mine
>taking care to hold me by the tender spots behind my ribs
>so that she can feel my tiny hummingbird heart mere inches from her fingertips
>with a subtle smirk on her face that drips with a predator's cunning
>like blood from a vampire's mouth
>the witch pulls her hat down to hide her indecency
>blotting out the world
>her mad, smiling face too close for comfort
>with long glossy strands of hair forming cell bars around me
>I look up
>and am instantly hypnotized by the black holes that are her pupils
>darker than dark, they suck in the sight of me with a debaucherous exhilaration 
>ringed by coronas of eldritch green light
>crazed sanpaku eyes
>"Open." Noita commands
>the witch slides the dryad lemon drop onto my tongue with intimidating intimacy
>my entire face puckers from how painfully sour it is
>even my eardrums pucker
>bringing tears to my eyes
>which the witch hardly resists licking up
>she laughs teasingly at my reaction
>"Good right?" She coos
>sarcastically imitating her sweet, doting tone from minutes before
>I shrink away, scared what will happen if I say no
>"Ooh… what's wrong?~" The witch sings mischievously. "Don't like it?~"
>she giggles girlishly
>"Then let me finish it for you."
>she lunges forward violently
>almost snapping my neck, finishing me off
>Noita forces me into a kiss with such wild hunger that it causes all the jars around us jump out of modesty
>the powerful witch carelessly violating my boundaries as she fishes about for the lemon drop with her tongue
>making the kiss taste like sweet root and chocolate
>deep and rich
>hot like cigarette smoke
>rampaging across every inch of my mouth, marking each as her territory
>no place is sacred
>the lemon drop was just a pretense for invasion
>and there is nowhere to hide
>the witch in a blood lust from the sweetness she's discovered inside my mouth
>full of a rampant disregard for how fragile I am compared to her
>how she could easily break me if she isn't careful
>which only makes the way I struggle that much sweeter to her
>Noita sucks the soul out of me in vampire's kiss
>the magic in her eyes feasting upon it
>growing stronger, brighter
>she will find that lemon drop one way or another
>my back arches when she passionately digs her fingers deeper into the two soft spots behind my ribs
>one way or another...
>the witch shudders as she moans into my lungs, forcing them to echo her song
>until it hits a fever pitch
>Noita finally finding catharsis
>and the lemon drop
>she slowly retreats like an outgoing tide now that the war is won
>relishing the taste of her conquest, of her ill gotten gains
>and triumphantly looks back over her trail of destruction
>her saliva running down my shivering chin
>she tilts her chin up with a psychotic fire in her eyes
>somehow knowing that I had begun a little bit of myself in that scared little lemon drop
>she lowers herself to show me her mouth
>reveals her war trophy
>looks arrogantly into my eyes
>lifts her tongue higher to give me a better look of the lemon drop
>and mercilessly crushes it between her teeth
>crunching on it as a skinwalker does bone
>she presses her cold hand against my cheek
>cooing silently as she fawns over me
>not satisfied yet
>her fingers tightening with sadistic, not playful, strength
>disturbingly reminiscent of how someone might hold the cheek of an adorable child
>"Now then…" she says slowly
>taunting me by dragging out each word with her husky voice
>"What would happen if I were to take a bite out of you? Hmmm? Would you taste sour? Sweet?" She whispers mockingly as she tilts her head to the side. "Tender even?" She hisses into my ear
>treating me like a cat treats a cornered baby rabbit
>my jacket hangs from my arms like a flayed skin
>her cold body greedily sucking the warmth out of me
>I try to turn to hide myself
>but the witch mistakes my modesty for me presenting my neck to her on a silver platter
>that or she finds my moment of weakness absolutely delicious
>too much to resist
>and so she bites
>hard
>ravishing my poor neck with sadistic glee
>I kick against her out of reflex
>my instincts screaming that I've been set upon by a wild animal
>and maybe I have been...
>the witch so firm against me that she could bounce tank shells
>making the shelf shiver behind us with every breath she takes
>but I wouldn't have been surprised if it was actually the world itself shivering...
>because even the witch's shadow has run off to hide somewhere
>I'm on my own now
>to be mercilessly gnawed upon like a piece of hard taffy
>Noita presses the singeing tip of her tongue against my jugular
>biting harder with a decadent elegance
>drunk with power
>her wet hot breath like venom
>slowly sucking the fight right out of me
>lulling me into a feeble state of mind of willingly submitting myself to her as a good little meal
>a treat
>the witch grinds up against me, insatiable
>the shelf tilting behind us
>her eyes wild with the bloom of victory
>I taste better than she ever could have ever imagined
>she shudders, beyond pleased
>saliva running down my neck like blood
>bite down any harder and she'll chomp clean through my neck
>and her teeth are so, so sharp
>her so close to spilling me all over the floor
>all it'd take is one errant twitch
>Noita pulls me closer like a starving vampire
>holds my head in place with a gentle hand
>runs her tongue over my sweet skin
>pins my jugular beneath her canines
>throttles my vascular system with just a breath
>peeks up with glowing eyes
>readies herself to taste tender I really am
>and winks
>I get whiplash from getting affectionately patted on the cheek
>the witch tapping me out for me
>Noita lets me down
>and it's a little frightening to admit it felt like I was in free fall
>I collapse on the floor, limp and spent
>panting as I quickly cover the throbbing bite marks on my neck
>using both my hands out of embarrassment
>all the pent up blood in my jugular begins to flow again
>making me feel light headed
>the witch gives me some space out of politeness
>turning her back on me to casually light a cig
>but watches me cockily out the corner of my eye
>I shrink away, trying to protect myself from what just happened
>ashamed
>but grateful to be alive because of one very simple realization
>I look up to see the witch smoking satisfiedly, idly examining a lemon drop between her fingers
>Noita didn't even use any of her magic…

>"Not too tight…" I protest quietly
>the witch scoffs and rolls her eyes playfully
>she smiles, savoring how skittish tying her scarf around my neck makes me
>"Tight?" Noita echos
>and pads at the scarf mischievously
>"That's not tight…" she taunts
>which kicks my sixth sense into high gear
>my hands shoot up just in time to stop her from yanking on the scarf and popping my head off
>the witch jumps back
>having been given the surprise of a lifetime
>making even her cigarette dangle awkwardly from her mouth
>a surprise that you can feel in the air
>her eyes electric green with shock
>it's a little sweet to see
>enough to make me rub it in with a cocky sneer
>which the witch does not appreciate
>at all
>the skies seem to darken as her eyes turn stormy
>it's one thing to catch her off guard
>the witch starts to press me backwards
>but if it's a "fight" I want
>she narrows her eyes ominously, sizing me up 
>it's a "fight" I will get
>Noita starts to slowly push her wrists forward against my hands
>but does so with a vicious strength
>silently daring me to see how far this will get me
>with a cocky sneer growing on her face
>I turn away nervously from the mischievous wrath in her eyes
>maybe this was a mistake…
>but am forced to make eye contact again when the witch starts to really test my strength
>coaxing a stifled whimper out of me
>she has me on the ropes and she knows it
>my arms start to shiver under the pressure of the witch slowly getting closer and closer
>her ever so curious to see how much more of this I can take
>the witch takes a playful drag of her cig
>it lights up dangerously, less than an inch from my face
>Noita holds her breath, knowing if she were to breathe too hard I might just get blown away
>I should have just let her tug on the scarf
>I give in and try to hide behind it
>honestly a little worried that the witch won't accept my "surrender"
>but thankfully she does
>and in good enough of spirits to compromise
>having found my little rebellious phase cute
>endearing even
>but chooses not to let off on pushing me around
>so I have no choice but to continue struggling against her arms
>a captive witness to her little show
>"Now this…"
>where she delicately, not violently, finishes knotting her scarf around my neck
>with her almost showing me how by making my hands "fight" against her
>forcing them to become intimate with her movements
>"Is tight..." Noita whispers playfully
>and finally pulls the scarf tight with a long, slow, affectionate tug
>not tight enough to make me choke
>but just tight enough to make me helplessly flounder on the tip of my toes
>the witch affectionately exhales along with me
>breathing with a soft, knowing sympathy
>and finally lets off on her arms
>a loving tenderness
>backed by a terrifying brutality
>she lets me down easy
>but I still stumble away to clumsily put some distance between us
>my face as red as the scarf and my arms feeling like jelly
>I awkwardly pull at the scarf trying to loosen it
>but it's like the knot is magic
>magic…
>all it takes is a peek at the witch's cocky grin to confirm my suspicions
>which means the last time she did this, she made it so I COULD take it off
>how narrowly I survived…
>I rub the side of my neck
>"Did you really have to use your scarf?" I ask nervously, "couldn't you have used a healing spell?"
>"Hmmm…" Noita hums
>she leans forward distractedly
>and uses the burning tip of her cigarette to pull the scarf away from the tender spot on my neck
>which makes the bitemarks throb from the heat
>"Maybe…" she snickers teasingly
>the witch leans back and takes a nice long drag of her cigarette
>clearly pleased with her handiwork
>she blows the smoke out with a toothy grin
>or is it teethwork?
>"But I think the scarf is sooo much cuter," Noita taunts smugly
>I sigh defeatedly
>"And besides…"
>Noita suddenly pulls me up by the scarf
>playfully stringing me up like a hangman from her long arm
>"You did ask for something to cover the…"
>Noita pretends it's too taboo to say
>and just smugly taps on the side of her neck
>a silent smirk on her face
>"Or did you just want me to carry you around on a string like a good luck charm?" Noita teases. "Or maybe more like a ragdoll? Because fun fact…" 
>she gently traces her finger along the side of my face
>"Back in the day they used to put a sugar cube or piece of candy in the head of ragdolls for kids to suck or chew on during church. So do you think if I sucked on your face it'd help to calm me down? Hmmm?"
>the witch bares her teeth playfully
>"But then again, you fighting against my teeth even felt like the lapping of a ragdoll," she snickers curelly. "So maybe I'll just bite your head clean off this time."
>I blush painfully
>it was on the way to the gun shop that I had noticed my reflection in a window
>and realized just how prominent the bite marks on my neck were
>everyone saw…
>I gasp from her yanking on the scarf a little too viciously for my liking
>just rubbing it in at this point
>"Then everyone will really see just how bad you are at fighting me off," she bites
>which drives me over the edge
>I desperately fight back against the witch
>I don't care if something breaks, I just want off
>this isn't fun anymore
>the witch notices and immediately backpedals
>"Hey-hey-hey!" She drops me to the ground. "I didn't mean it like that!"
>she instinctively cups my cheeks to apologize
>but recoils like they burned her
>"I was just joking is all! I didn't really mean that you couldn't fight me off or anything!"
>the witch starts to get scared
>like she had broken something fragile and expensive
>"I-I can use a healing spell if you want! It's no trouble at all! Promise!" Noita bargains desperately
>searching for something, anything to cool my feverish embarrassment
>she tears the scarf off like its a deadly red viper biting me to death
>and sets a cool hand against my neck to wipe away her brand
>shushing me worriedly when I squirm at how cold her touch is
>"See?" Noita runs two fingers down my neck. "All better!"
>the bags under her eyes look heavy
>"You can't even see a thing!" She says nervously, trying but failing to feign confidence. "As invisible as… as…"
>her shoulders fall sorrowfully
>and all the hot air she's built up disappears in a deep sigh
>leaving her as tired and willowy as ever
>the bags under her eyes darkening like a great fire has gone out
>the fun's over
>"It's gone, okay?" She mumbles quietly
>"O-Okay…" I mumble even quieter
>the ambience of the main street bleeds through into our small side road
>the ruckus of the gun district audible
>but quieted by the sad, awkward buildings around us
>all the windows dark and empty
>the light gone
>not even the snow stirs here
>it's just the witch and me
>alone
>Noita stirs nervously
>and forces herself to ask, "it didn't hurt, did it?" 
>"What didn't?"
>the witch grinds her teeth out of embarrassment
>"When I… you know..."
>she dances around the specifics
>but turns to hide her mouth out of shame
>"No?" I lie for her sake, "Not really."
>but somehow the witch knows the truth
>"Good… good…" she mumbles pensively
>awkwardly rubbing the side of her neck
>like she's trying to hide something
>something bad enough to make me jump when I see it
>bite marks
>she didn't heal the bite marks on my neck at all
>it was faster to just transfer them onto her own neck
>Noita hides the marks under her hand like they give off a terrible curse
>she'd rather I didn't have to "suffer" any longer than I had to
>which makes me feel oddly grateful
>I would offer her the healing potion I've been hiding, but that'd probably rub her the wrong way
>so I snatch the scarf from her shadow
>"Before we go," I offer it up to Noita. "Do you want me to tie this around your neck? To hide the… you know..."
>I jump in my skin when her arms shoot up reflexively to stop my hands
>the witch struggling embarrassedly for a moment
>avoiding eye contact
>but eventually yields to let me dote upon her
>begrudging grateful
>"S-Sure…" she stutters quietly
>letting me tenderly wrap the scarf around her neck like a delicate wreath
>her hands nervous against my wrists all the while
>"Just…" she smiles self awarely. "Not too tight…" she protests quietly

>the red of the witch's scarf is a pleasant contrast against the muted black, white, and silvers of her uniform
>it makes her look unexpectedly elegant
>Noita glares a nearby gang of goblins back into the "safety" of the shadows, and turns away with a sneer at the morbid irony of it
>or at least as elegant as a ghoulish, eldritch wielding witch can be...
>Noita looks down at her scarf with the same look of superiority she gave the goblins
>which is still surprisingly regal
>and pulls at it
>but not uneasily
>more curiously
>bashfully even
>like how you would act with something someone special gave you
>but maybe it's more than just "like"
>because Noita bites her lip whenever she smiles like that
>something that I tuck away in the back of my head for safekeeping, to be cherished
>and then look out over the gun district
>while one would think that heavy import taxes on weapons and even heavier taxes on ammunition would curb demand
>it doesn't, at all
>so the Chancellery ordains at least a handful streets in every town to be a gun district
>the place where most all weapons are to be bought and sold
>though the locals often call them "powder districts" because of the lingering smell of gunpowder and gun smoke in the air
>as if the smell is somehow worse than the coal soot that already hangs over everything…
>but really
>it's just that keeping everything in one place helps the Chancellery to keep an eye on imports
>a pair of bootleggers go pale when they see the witch, as if they saw a ghost
>and on bootlegging…
>they scatter with such speed that it makes me wonder why the Chancellery doesn't just sic witches on them
>but then I notice Noita's shadow hungrily turning its head to watch them run
>on second thought, maybe it's for the best they don't
>the witch turns to look over the wall of graffiti next to us
>also known as "society's comment section"
>"Ugh… what is up with these?" she scoffs absentmindedly
>and points to a sonnenrad someone painted
>"I've seen these in random places all over Fankasia. What are these? A gang sign?"
>"Uhh…" I say awkwardly. "Y-Yeah, you could say that."
>"Is it from a gang of dark witches?"
>"A gang of what now?"
>the witch rolls her eyes
>"It's a black sun isn't it? It's the equivalent to a percent symbol in alchemy."
>"It is?"
>"It is, except no one has used the sonnenrad for hundreds of years because it's so hard to draw. You used to have to fill in each arm and ring according to the reactivity of your Void compounds." The witch turns to give me a knowing look. "We use numbers now."
>she leans in to inspect it closer
>"Really, they only used it to begin with to get funding from nobles because it made their proposals look cooler. But then the public picked up on it, so now most people just slap it on whatever they were doing to look smarter."
>"Really?"
>"Yeah, so whoever's using this is either the smartest or the stupidest group alive."
>"Hahah yeah…" I echo
>"It's so old and out of date that none of Hanussen's tones can even be recorded on it. You lose all meaning."
>"Do they have a meaning?"
>"Hanussen's whispers? Of course they do." The witch responds
>"... what did the one you whisper to me mean?"
>Noita's face contorts into a cocky grin
>"It was the whisper of creative intent."

>after some more walking we pass through the mouth of the gun district
>and into the burgeoning swell of people passing to and frough
>a towering constable leers at me with the same crooked glance he gives every Kommando that passes his way
>but then snaps to attention, feigning innocence
>when a witch black "shark fin" begins to rise out of the crowd behind me
>one with a long shadow that's almost as unnerving as what's casting it
>a sight reminiscent of a surfacing sea monster
>a pale one that appears out of the depths with dead fish eyes
>dull green and cold with knowing suspicion
>like Noita had somehow sensed his "transgression"
>so the constable looks to me with a pleading apology on his face
>having triggered the witch's possessive instinct
>so I quickly grab her by the hand to pull her away
>where despite her tired hunch and terrible posture, she still looms over most everyone else
>ominously so, like the reaper
>both ghostly and woefully unavoidable
>it's just something about how she carries her exhaustion
>wearing it on her sleeve with such confident disregard, that gives her such an intimidating poise
>which makes me wonder how she had even managed to "hide" in the crowd before
>but yet the witch isn't untouchable
>her eyes shift uneasily from to side to side as she looks about the vibrant marketplace
>perhaps finding it a little too "vibrant" for her taste
>too vibrant in the same way that the lights of a party are "too vibrant" for the dark of night
>her pale face hangs over the crowd like the moon over the ocean
>more a silent observer than a participant
>she quietly holds her hat down with her other hand
>no need to look at her, she's just passing through
>moving to avoid the waves of people, but content to swim among their shadows
>and lingering like one herself
>the strangest kind of wallflower
>the witch sighs nervously, hankering for a smoke 
>but defiantly refuses to let go of my hand
>affectionately anchored to me like my own special shadow
>Noita gawks at a local gun hobo
>the crusty gnome hawks scavved optics of dubious legitimacy
>counterfeit parts of rare inter-war guns hang off his jacket like frag grenades
>gun hobos are the scum of the earth
>preying on those who don't know guns
>buy something from them?
>and they'll "forget" the firing mechanism
>the recoil spring will be missing
>the feed ramps will be off
>and the bolt will be made of pig steel that breaks after 3-4 cycles
>"Anon…" she starts hesitantly. "I had this notion that Kommandos were resourceful," the witch peeks at the gnome. "But… I've messed up catalysts that smelled better," leaning in to whisper, "and that were in better shape."
>the gun hobo mumbles something in gnomish to her when we pass by
>"Oh… kay?" Noita says, taken aback
>when we get out of earshot I ask, "what did he say?"
>"Umm… so--"
>the gnome calls out with something insulting judging by his tone
>the witch stops dead in her tracks and turns to glare at him, a little dumbfounded by his audacity
>even her shadow is offended
>the gun hobo smiles like a gypsy and says one more insult
>which finally ignites the fire in the witch's eyes
>she angrily waves her finger to pop a pin off one of his parts
>it shoots up towards his chin
>but is suddenly caught by a glittering blue aura
>the gun hobo is quick on the draw
>knowing more gun magic than most, which makes him braver than most when it comes to a dark witch
>so he mocks Noita by wagging his finger back at her
>which proves to be his undoing
>Noita is the proud type…
>the ground almost cracks from her rage
>I take a few careful steps away from the witch
>you can feel it in the air
>her hot fury
>especially when a corona of shadow begins to radiate out from her boots
>casting an angry ring of melted snow
>angrily stifling the cold
>the gnome realizes his mistake
>there is no amount of street cred in the world that was worth this
>and puts his hands up in desperate surrender
>but it's too late
>all it takes is a determined flash of Noita's eyes to make his every gun part spontaneously disassemble
>each one exploding in a violent cloud of springs and pins
>I gasp and hold my own rifle close
>I didn't know she could do that
>it knocks the gnome to the ground with such force I'm surprised nothing cracked
>where he sits dumbfounded
>as he is showered by a rain of fiddly metal bits
>the witch snickers
>she looks to me for approval at her little pin popping trick
>tilting her chin up cockily
>and something about how she stands so confidently moves something within me
>so frighteningly intelligent
>so murderously cunning
>she is just… wow…
>the witch smiles
>magic cooking off in her eyes like sparks in a hot chamber
>and brings her hand up
>there's still the glass of his scopes to shatter…
>ruthless
>she readies her fingers tauntingly
>and looks back towards the gnome
>ready to pop his every optic like a balloon
>but then notices a shadow next to her
>one that's just barely able to peek up at her
>a familiar one
>she hesitates
>one that strikes "fear" into her heart
>the witch sighs
>she lets her shoulders fall
>and begrudgingly pulls the hobo to his feet
>yielding for my sake
>even if it does still look like she's about to beat the gnome up for his lunch money
>she tries to dust him off with a gentle wind spell
>but he still ends up looking like a lion had roared at him
>Noita peeks back at me, really seeking approval now 
>she lets the gun hobo go
>he falls on shaky legs and stumbles away in shock
>a feeling that I know too well...
>the witch awkwardly shambles up to me
>still running a little hot judging by how the snow melts around her boots
>she reaches out carefully, a little worried she'll burn me too
>and delicately picks an errant pin out of my hair
>with a pensive smile on her face that admits… maybe she overreacted…
>"S-So…" she starts nervously, not sure what my reaction will be. "How about that gun store?"
>but before I can open my mouth
>two constables force their way through the crowd behind Noita
>"HEY! YOU TWO!"
>the witch jumps in her skin
>and is only more dumbfounded when a constable pulls a gun on her
>no magic in the world can ever make that feeling better
>I grab Noita by the hand
>but you sure as shit can run from it
>we break out into a mad dash
>the constables hot on our tail
>with Noita following my lead
>and laughing girlishly at the mischievous thrill of it
>her laughter is electric when we skid across the ice in a messy turn
>and turns wild with adrenaline when a gunshot grazes her witch's hat
>I look back to see her hiding it under her arm to lower our profile
>her hair waving freely in the wind
>each strand moving gracefully like long strips of clouds
>her eyes buzzing with excitement
>lightning in a bottle
>and keeping with her ability to read me like a book
>Noita gives me a playful wink to remind me to man the helm
>she uses her magic to part the crowd in front of us
>pulling them aside by their shadows
>so skillfully that if it happened to you you'd mistake it for the wind
>but then throws them back into the path of the constables like they had slipped on the ice
>her magic will buy us time, but not enough to window shop
>I frantically look around for a store we can duck into
>one that won't just hand us over to the constables
>Dwarvish stores are often full of loud, boisterous hunters, only matched in weight by the guns they buy
>Tiefling ones usually entail an overbearing salesman trying to convince six heat shields for your revolver, one for each chamber
>and Elvish ones are really just a game of Russian Roulette, but when you do find a good one?
>I set my sights on a quiet looking elvish store
>it fires on all cylinders
>Kaldwin's Royal Blades and Automatics
>the witch picks up on my aim
>and launches herself forward in a tackling hug
>she uses a mighty wind spell to kick up a wall of snow behind us to hide our escape
>one so strong it sends us flying through the door of the shop
>we slide across the floor
>but I quickly clamber to my feet to shut the door behind us
>pressing my back up against it
>fully prepared for the constables to try and break it down
>but it looks they haven't got the faintest idea of where we've gone
>Noita bends down to join me in peeking through the window
>and giggles at how out of breath they are
>but moves to soothe my own burning lungs with a cool hand against my back
>acutely aware of how it makes my hairs stand on end
>a reaction that coaxes her to experiment by gently blowing on the back of my neck
>which makes me shiver like I'm being rattled by the strongest wind
>satisfying Noita, if only for a second
>she pulls me back under the pretense of keeping the constables from seeing us by accident
>so we can enjoy our fading adrenaline highs together
>with nothing but mischief on her mind
>and her heart racing like never before

>but eventually the magic fades, and she goes to dust herself off
>suddenly a little modest
>it's calm inside the store
>more of a curio and relic shop really
>both in the sense of antiques and weapons, but mostly in the sense of antique weapons
>with the refined air of a museum but exciting mystery of a surplus store
>there's even a wind chime made from hollowed stick grenades and an old firing pin that hangs over the door
>it's surprisingly big for a little hole in the wall
>it makes me wonder if it's enchanted with one of those "bigger on the inside" spells
>Noita takes a few cursory steps around
>most of the stuff is made from wood
>old timey stuff
>like a table of phonographs
>she stops to admire a mural
>it's one of those pseudo-religious ones you see in so many high elf capitals
>every scene an elvish triumph, and ONLY an elvish triumph
>"Anon, look at this!" Noita scoffs humorously
>one scene happens to be a witch being burned at the stake...
>"It's always good to see them getting what they deserve." She gestures satisfiedly. "Shame they couldn't get the rest of her 'coven.'"
>I look up at her a little stunned
>"W-What do you mean?"
>"Do you really think a real witch would let that happen to her?"
>she jabs her thumb back at the mural with a crooked smile
>"Real witches don't burn, because we learn safety magic from day one."
>"Oh, like in your coven?"
>Noita's face darkens 
>her stare so intense it makes my skin crawl.
>"I go to a college of Arcane Sciences, Anon. Hanussen's College of Arcane Sciences." She hisses. "'Covens' are for strange pagan women who like to play dress up on the weekends." 
>"A-Ah…"
>I feel weak in the knees
>but then notice the ammo is kept a ways behind the witch
>a way out
>"I should find some six millimeter ammo so we can get out of here," I bargain nervously
>but when I try to move past her, my life flashes before my eyes
>her leg shoots out to savagely block my way
>in the most snide, animalistic "I'm bigger than you are" way
>and the steel toe of her boot flying past shone like the blade of a guillotine...
>"Where do you think you're going?" Noita grimaces
>I stand unsure what to do
>"Don't you think we should take our time here?" She suggests sinisterly
>Noita takes her sweet time in pulling out her pack of cigarettes, frighteningly casual about it all
>"And just enjoy the atmosphere?" She continues
>and tilts her head to the side smugly
>"Together?" She recommends hostiley
>the witch draws her magic Webley to light her cig with
>the light from the fire spell makes shadows dance ominously across her bone skinny face
>"And besides," she takes a long drag of her cigarette, perfectly content to let me wait, "I don't see any ammo."
>she lazily flips her Webley over and fires off a spell at the shelves behind her
>their shadows mutate monstrously, collapsing under their own weight and pulling their former masters down with them into the void
>"Do you?" Noita gaslights coldly
>a lingering wind akin to breathless screams emanates from the gouge in reality as it slowly seals up like a scar
>"No…"
>"Good." The witch smiles and stretches casually. "Because if I had taken you to say, a potion shop, you'd just end up being bored out of your mind."
>she holsters her Webley, showing her little "episode" is over by disarming herself
>"But here?" Her finger lovingly grazes the bottom of my chin like a cold bullet, "I think that there's something here that we can both enjoy."
>she turns the phonograph next to me on with a flash of her eyes
>which makes me jump, music to her ears
>"Don't you?" She asks quietly
>and maybe it was the music, maybe it was how I squirmed, or maybe it was the witch getting a kick out of the look on my face
>but her cold facade shatters with a smug chuckle
>"I had you going there for a minute, didn't I?" Noita teases
>"So you weren't mad?" I ask carefully
>"I mean I was, a little bit." She trails off quietly, rubbing the back of her neck. "But when you make a mistake, sometimes you just have to commit." She shrugs as she looks up at me expectantly. "You know?"
>I nod quietly, "then shouldn't of I 'commited?'"
>Noita raises an eyebrow, "what do you mean?"
>"As in… it was me who said… you know."
>she bites her tongue from curiosity, careful to not tease this hint of spine away
>"Hey~" she sings lightheartedly, "no harm done."
>she sighs comfortably and brings her leg down
>"Just a little misunderstanding is all."
>the witch happily pats me on the cheek
>and just has to ruin the nice moment
>"But not many have drawn a witch's wrath and lived," Noita whispers in my ear
>she wraps a bony arm around my chest to forcibly hold me in place
>so I have no choice but to watch as the ammo shelf returns from the Void, witness to it
>with her smirking at how I instinctively kick and squirm at the long tendrils of darkness that linger upon it
>effortlessly restraining me with her soft, sadistic touch
>"So it's best not to try your luck," the witch bites playfully

>Noita casually smokes against the side of the ammo shelf
>with her head laying on top so she's staring up at the ceiling
>and her free arm hanging like a tattered rope
>it looks very uncomfortable
>the witch exhales calmly
>but she somehow finds it relaxing
>she listens to the phonograph playing lazily
>the echo of the street outside offers a quiet backing to the music
>giving it an odd sort of depth and a warm feeling to each note
>I notice the witch's lanky arm swaying gently in tune
>charming in its own way
>"You recognize this song?" She asks idly
>I look up from the boxes of 6mm Lee Navy
>"No?"
>"It's La Mer, the Django Reinhardt version."
>the witch peeks down at me distantly with one eye
>"It's French," she says curtly
>and grins like it's some great truth
>"You know," she stretches tiredly. "Once we had a French witch join our magic classes, an alchemist." 
>"Really?"
>"Yep, with the Lebel, the Modele 1892, and the havresac full of potions. The whole 'Eiffel Tower` so to speak.'' Noita reminisces lackadaisically
>she returns to gazing at the ceiling
>smoking away like the fume stack outside an alchemical lab
>"Have you ever met an alchemist?" She asks with her cig between her teeth
>"Not yet."
>I narrow my eyes at a box of 6mm loaded with dwarvish cordite
>this is the first time ever heard of dwarvish cordite ammo
>"They're to thank for all the new bullets that keep coming out. But do me a favor and don't thank them too much." Noita grimaces, "it's given them quite the ego."
>"It is pretty important work." My eyes widen at the velocity specs of the cordite bullets. "Impressive too…"
>the witch sighs annoyedly, putting her hands up in mock defeat
>"Look, I'm not saying they don't deserve the praise. Alchemists are clever, more so than the average witch. But just is…" she hesitates sarcastically, "they tend to have a little bit of…"
>the witch scoffs at the thought
>and brings her dangling arm up to rest her chin on
>"Let's call it mana envy," she says snidely
>"Mana envy?"
>Noita reaches over my head to pluck a Colt SA off a nearby shelf
>spinning the cylinder casually
>"Let's just say there is a reason they chose alchemy over say, druidry," she suggests vaguely
>and then lowers her voice like there could be an alchemist lurking just around the corner
>"If they were to cast anything stronger than a bunsen burner, they'd be comatose for the rest of the day." Noita gossips. "There's just not a lot of mana in their blood, the poor things..." she sighs
 >I put the dwarvish ammo back
>"Do you have a lot of mana in your blood?"
>Noita gives me a smug look
>"Well, not to brag or anything..." 
>she pulls the hammer back on her Colt 45 
>"But I have enough mana in my blood to kill a horse," she hints threateningly
>and drops the loudly hammer 
>getting a quiet laugh out of how I flinch
>she sets it back on the shelf and comes up behind me
>shambling like a ghost
>to rest her chin on top of my head
>"You know, they have more than just ammo." She reminds me boredly
>"I know, it just i--"
>"Do I have to send the entire shelf into the void again?" Noita sneers at me, "or will I have to send you instead?"
>"..."
>"Good answer."
>the witch grabs me by the wrist to lead me away
>I quickly grab a random box of 6mm before she can pull me too far
>her grip is like a vice around my wrist
>flirting with the very real danger of breaking it...
>and one of the witch's steps is at least two of mine
>so I'm practically flying after her
>she must think I feel light as a feather
>the witch peeks back at me with a smug sneer
>but then hits her head on a low hanging dream catcher
>she holds a hand to her head and winces from the pain
>I snicker quietly
>which makes her immediately clamp down on my wrist to make me wince too
>Noita snickering back at me
>"I thought you were supposed to be good at flying." I taunt
>she chuckles in good humor
>alright, I got her
>I took a shot and it landed
>I push my luck, "or is it just that you always have your head in the clouds?"
>and the world stops
>Noita eyes flash angrily
>and the air turns cold as her shadow flares up over me
>she lets go of my almost bruised wrist
>and lashes out to seize me by the collar of my shirt
>she yanks me forward
>almost sending me face first into the floor
>but "saves" me with her crushing grip
>at her mercy
>it's still just a game to her...
>the witch looms forward
>slowly pulling me up to face height
>and bares her teeth to really make me squirm
>I feel like a mouse in a hawk's talons
>"And I thought you were taught how to watch your tongue," she hisses
>the voice of someone clearly not used to being antagonized
>and isn't one to just let such things slide
>but impudence can be adorable in the right context
>so her anger slowly turns to sadism at the prospect of really making me squirm
>someone just needs to be reminded of their place in the food chain is all...
>"Or do I need to show you how?" Noita whispers
>bloodthirsty
>the witch's imposing presence makes me feel lightheaded
>outplayed on so many fronts
>and she all she's done is pick me up
>Noita brings her lips up to mine, tantalizingly close
>so close I can almost feel the static charge of her fury jump between them
>I make the mistake of opening my mouth
>which she takes as an invitation to fry my brain with a kiss
>my legs kicking wildly like I've been struck by lightning
>the witch squeezes my wrist to enjoy the sadistic pleasure of me helplessly gasping into her mouth
>I go limp
>she breaks the kiss with an arc of saliva spread between her smug smirk and my shivering lips
>she lets me down
>satisfied in having stolen the air from my lungs as punishment
>law and order has been restored
>but is kind enough to let me lean against her while I catch my breath
>she runs her fingers through my hair
>and has a short laugh at my expense
>pleased to have won the battle of wits with nothing short of pure brute force
>and so handedly, that she almost feels bad about it
>I shiver from her gently scrunching my hair in her hand
>savoring the feeling of it
>with the witch ever so curious as to why I'm starting to relax against her
>she enjoys it, sure
>her body shifts beneath me, all cool and lithe
>enthralling
>but I should know better than to let my guard down around her by now
>Noita suddenly yanks on my hair
>giggling impishly at how I jump and squirm
>she just couldn't resist
>not when I make it so easy for her
>she indulges herself with another selfish tug
>she just always wants me to be on the tip of my toes
>I look up sheepishly, silently pleading for her to let me go
>and thankfully she does
>albeit with a cruel shove into the box of armor behind me
>I fall into it with my head spinning
>I struggle to find my bearings amid the messy tide of kevlar and chainmail
>Noita approaches with the cocky swagger of a hunter who's caught something in their trap
>the air jumps with every authoritative thud of her boots upon the floor
>I get the strangest desire to hide myself
>a forgotten instinct from the days of when humans were prey
>the witch's shadow curiously nips at my forehead
>I try to protect myself with a chainmail vest
>holding it over my tender underbelly
>but it only succeeds in making Noita chuckle at how naive I am
>the witch snatches it from my hands
>and mocks me by "pretending" to inspect it
>"You know, chainmail is great for stopping blades."
>she brings a finger up delicately
>circles it across the chest of the rugged chainmail
>and stabs clean through it
>with a thrashing tendril of shadow she's conjured off the tip of her finger
>dark swirls of mist form around the entry "wound" on the chest
>"But it not magic," she chides smugly
>the witch wrenches her otherworldly blade out of the chainmail like a bullfighter
>a cruel but stylish flourish
>it leaves a shivering after image in the air, like it cut reality itself
>but it didn't even leave mark on the chainmail
>like it didn't even notice it was there...
>the witch looks between the chainmail and I
>and chuckles sinisterly to herself
>"Actually," she teases curiously, "I think you'd look kinda cute in chainmail."
>she pulls me out of the surplus box with one hand
>bending down at the waist
>so she can press the chainmail against me
>with a cold strand of silky hair kissing my cheek
>knowing the "wound" on the chest is still warm from her dark magic
>which makes my heart race from how close it is
>but the witch is so offhand and casual about it
>like she's checking the size of a shirt
>"Cute like a little peasant boy in way over his head."
>her dull eyes look into my nervous ones, playfully threatening to steal my soul
>"Because in the olden days, when it came to storming a witch's tower, that's what peasants were." Noita whispers devilishly
>she tosses the armor to the side
>it falls flat and weak
>useless
>"Cannon fodder," she clarifies ominously
>I turn my head away, a little unnerved by the parallels
>"Hmmm…" she takes the opportunity to pore over the side of my face. "Maybe a helmet is more in order."
>the witch looks around and finds an old Fallschrimjaeger helmet sitting atop a shelf
>"There you go~" she coos as she crowns me with it
>she knocks on it playfully
>"I think this will come in handy."
>"Why?" I ask
>"You know…" Noita starts vaguely
>she straightens her back out
>but only so she hunch over me
>she tilts my head back
>so i'm witness to her looming
>the witch making the world go dark with her chilling sadism
>"In case you were to ever fall from somewhere high up," she threatens knowingly
>I blush as she begins to lower her face to meet mine
>but then she stops
>"And you know, it's funny…" she whispers
>she gently turns my head to get a better look at the helmet
>tapping her finger on the shooting star insignia, the komet
>"This looks a lot like our graduation medals at Hanussen's."
>"Does it?"
>"Yeah…" she trails off, "almost a perfect match too…"
>Noita sighs and tilts her head to the side curiously
>"What are the chances of that?" She wonders softly
>she lets me go
>I hold the helmet over my head in case she tries something
>"And I happen to graduate soon too,"  she comments delicately
>the witch brushes her hair behind her shoulder
>and looks up at me deviously
>"So does that mean you're my graduation present?" Noita asks breathlessly
>I stumble for a response
>she presses her forehead against the front of the helmet
>smiling affectionately when she sees the red in my cheeks
>"Come on now, don't be like that. I'd be gentle~" she sings
>Noita throws her lanky arms over my shoulders in a strange sort of mock proposal
>"Gentle…" she pauses to think, tilting her chin up playfully; "like a mortar and pestle."
>the witch crushes the helmet under her fingers
>with my head still inside
>her smug smirk kisses my ear with her hot breath
>making me quake in my boots
>and flinch
>when she finally flicks my dangling chinstrap
>she sets the helmet back on the shelf and quietly goes to look at some rifles
>leaving me feeling very strange
>and exposed
>her finger was cold like a knife

>where just the implication of its sharp touch has me delirious
>I lean against the shelf
>grateful to have some breathing room
>because if the witch were to so much graze my skin by accident, my entire being would implode
>Noita peeks back at me to make sure I'm okay
>I cover with my symptoms with a meek smile
>heart palpitations, weak knees, clammy hands
>the whole nine yards
>the witch hunches beneath a ceiling support beam
>her lanky arms hanging loose and lazy by her sides
>with bony fingers that gracefully graze the rifle crowns like they're prairie flowers
>and a stoic grimace on her face that makes her nigh unapproachable
>that is, if you have the guts to look her in the eyes to begin with
>swirling abyssal wells that threaten to smite you into the Void if you dare to stare into them for too long
>yet there's just something about their morbid, emerald depths that is just so hopelessly hypnotizing
>welcoming even
>existentially dangerous
>twin temptations that sit atop a bony throne
>one only made paler by the cold black rain that falls around it
>flanked by long dark curtains that shimmer with a silky patina
>a hard face that's regal in its own way
>because it beats all the courage out of you like the insurmountable peak of a towering flakturm
>I stroll up to the witch's side as she inspects a PzB 39
>careful to stay under her spotlight stare
>where it's almost like a game of cat and mouse
>so I try to stay as quiet as possible
>wondering if I can manage to catch even Noita off guard
>some of her mischievous spirit has rubbed off on me
>because mice really aren't supposed to be the ones doing the prowling
>but the expression on her face when I yank on her tail of her jacket will no doubt be delicious
>but sadly the witch still notices me within seconds
>preternatural instinct
>a creeping smirk sneaks onto Noita's lips
>a coy, sidelong glance that strikes me like lightning
>she didn't expect to have the privilege of enjoying my company so soon
>and I'd be inclined to agree
>what with how my heart is still pounding out of my chest
>and only pounds harder standing in her shadow
>buzzing more than it is beating
>but...
>I stir side to side nervously
>I... want her to talk to me
>her attention is electric
>Noita works the action of the PzB 39 and dry fires it thoughtfully
>offering me some time to sort my thoughts out
>she always seems to have me at gunpoint
>always a bead of sweat running down my spine
>even without saying so much as a word to me
>she makes the air feel hot and cold at the same time
>her every motion ghostly yet heavy and direct, almost confrontational
>beckoning like a smug finger, begging the question
>the witch really knows how to throw her weight around
>and does so without the slightest care for who it ends up crushing
>Noita flips open one of the little 7.92x94 boxes on the side of the PzB
>her hunch makes her exhaustion a weapon in its own right
>it conceals just how high caliber she is
>hollow, sure
>but hollow like a hollow point round
>a war crime
>it makes me wonder how I ever had the courage to stand by her to begin with
>to be the first to knock on her door, and again, and again after that
>maybe it was magic
>but does it matter?
>the fading adrenaline in my blood offers me a sobering perspective
>that while Noita may be too cunning for my own good, too… indescribable at times…
>provocative?
>I clear my throat
>will I always know what door to knock on?
>the Iron Coast is a big place
>and the rest of the world even wider...
>"So what will you do when you graduate?" I ask hopefully
>the witch's creeping smirk blooms into a full blown smile
>I had the guts to speak on my own after all
>she lowers the hulking rifle so she can better glance at me
>cocky and ever so aloof
>she holds it in the crook of her arm like a hunter posing over a great beast they've slain
>I'm going to pin my medallion on my hat" Noita says a matter of factly
>with a tone that's more coy than modest
>her lazy voice saying every word as slow and husky as always
>slow like a cigarette left to burn itself out in an ashtray
>husky like the waiting breeze before a cool summer rain
>and the witch has all the time in the world
>as confident and commanding as a soldier in a propaganda poster
>evoking emotion simply with their statuesque presence
>the witch would do well in one…
>"But I do get a new uniform along with my graduation medallion," she comments
>Noita carelessly tosses me the PzB 39
>almost knocking me over
>"One that will be much nicer than this one." She picks at her threadbare sleeve, "Fancier too." She entices
>but I still hold the PzB 39 close for protection
>"Will you get a new hat too?"
>"Now why would I need a new one?" She responds playfully
>hints of hurt pride on her voice
>"No, but I just thought… umm…"
>I trail off when the witch takes her hat off distractedly
>light as a feather
>yet a river's worth of black ink flows from where it used to sit atop the witch's head
>and it's just something about how I hide behind an anti-tank rifle like even it won't be enough
>that puts a perverse little glimmer in her eye
>inspiring her to mischievously fix her hat over my head
>it's way too big…
>Noita chuckles sadistically and lets go of it, so that the PzB can prop it up at a messy angle
>way, way too big
>I peek up at her worriedly from beneath the brim of the hat
>looking ever so small
>and meek
>which the witch finds unreasonably cute
>"This is a 30,000 gold Le Pic De Magie dark witch's hat…" she fawns
>with a hushed, sultry tone
>"Woven from an exact 9:1 ratio of Moth to Dryder silk, sewn by string frogs, and dyed black with the essence of the night; said to be the bled from Nyx herself." 
>and yet
>here Noita is just carelessly teasing me with it
>I shrink inwards embarrassedly
>with a part of me worried I'll burn her priceless hat with the heat of my cheeks
>cheeks that the witch wants nothing more than to cool with her lips
>and maybe her teeth
>so she just smirks and lovingly pets where me through her hat
>the next best thing
>"And my medallion? It will go right~"
>her finger hovers over my head, circling and taunting
>"Here." Noita declares breathlessly as she presses her finger against my silk covered forehead
>like she's marking me and not the hat
>"It's a symbol of a witch's authority." She teases. "And made of Baroque silver no less~"
>her every word delicately squeezes my racing heart
>as you would a timid rabbit's ears
>"Is that good enough for my favorite, little prince?" She asks
>each word flirty and beautiful
>so would you believe me, if I said no?
>the witch steals her hat back with a serpentine grace
>because I feel like she's just blowing smoke in my ear
>but do I dare tell her so?
>I suddenly realize I'm standing on the tips of my toes
>having subconsciously followed the witch's hat leaving my head
>as close as I'll ever get to truly standing face to face with her
>"But you didn't answer my question," I mumble as I roll back on my heels
>which makes the witch scoff and roll her eyes sarcastically
>What? Her little song and dance wasn't enough?
>I want more?
>so she arrogantly steals the PzB 39 out of my hands, not as punishment, but as payment for the Faustian bargain I've made with her
>"If I can be honest?" 
>the witch's playful tone comes to an awkward halt, turning sour
>Noita sighs and shrugs tiredly
>"I don't really know what I'm going to do after I graduate." She admits
>the witch weighs the PzB 39 in her hands
>and returns it to the shelf
>because in the end, it's still just not her style
>"I've gotten offers. Good ones in fact. But," she hesitates
>the witch distracts herself by looking over a baker's dozen of Mosins
>"None of them really stood out to me." Noita recounts with quiet finality
>"What kind of offers were they?"
>the witch scoffs self awarely at herself
>the weight of the world forces her to lean an elbow against a wall as she talks
>"I mean, you do know the cliche, right?" She asks. Already knowing the answer, "of the sinister prince leading a coup with the help of an evil, dark magician at his side?"
>"Yeah?"
>"Well… lets just say it exists for a reason."
>she perks up and pushes herself off the wall, letting a leg swing girlishly before she brings it down onto the floor
>"So there is no shortage of royals visiting Hanussen's," Noita hints cockily
>royals?
>She's spent time with royals?
>I feel a nervous pang in my chest
>and pretend to be interested for other reasons
>"L-Like 'prince' princes?" I ask
>"Yep." 
>I hold my breath
>"With the crown... the cape…" Noita starts dreamily. "And the harem of beady eyed bureaucrats," she jokes flippantly
>"Oh."
>but the witch doesn't notice the quiet apprehension in my voice at all
>too caught up in her nostalgia
>because what girl wouldn't be when bonafide princes came knocking at their door?
>"Their offers were quite handsome too," she recalls. "Very, very handsome in fact."
>my chest grows tighter
>"But…"
>I breathe a hurried sigh of relief
>"With royals, they're always talking at you, not with you." Noita shrugs. "I just couldn't see myself going through with that. All they do is sit back and let you do the work."
>she peers at me for a moment, suppresses a sigh, and tries to find something to distract herself with
>"Otherwise…" Noita draws on
>trying to think of something to change the subject
>but finds nothing
>nothing to distract herself with, nothing to change subjects with
>just reality
>she tries to rub the back of her neck, only to find her scarf blocking her hand
>honest, unflinching reality
>she pulls a handful of her red flight scarf back
>suddenly looking at it like blood upon the risers
>"I thought about being a Rune Striker."
>"What's a Rune Striker?"
>the witch quickly "wipes" her hand clean
>"They use a special runic typewriter to write their spells," she explains hurriedly, "and are given generous stipends of mana to do so."
>"Oh so they write scrolls?"
>Noita smiles thoughtfully, loosening her scarf
>"It's like magical drone warfare. Where the paper is a moving map of the battlefield, with spells falling wherever the typewriter strikes, hence the name." Noita says ominously. 
>understandably quiet about it
>drones…
>I've heard all the complaints
>warfare brought down to an honorless press of a button
>that it's too too distant, too detached
>a dystopic mechanization of something that was once viscerally human
>almost voluntarily sadistic
>a war crime
>...
>I can see it perfectly

>the witch shambling into a bunker late at night
>and sitting down at a desk
>to tiredly type away at an ornate typewriter
>like she's writing a report due the next morning
>her dead eyes methodically scanning the cryptic runes and symbols that scatter across her shifting paper
>with her sighing each time she has to push the tray back in place
>a sound that punctuates the innocent clicking of runic keys
>elsewhere
>enemy soldiers are screaming
>their souls retching
>burning bile scorching their cheeks with tears
>gut shot, head wound, shrapnel cut?
>all foreign concepts
>they miss the artillery...
>for the Endless Well has begun to leak
>some desperately try to seek shelter in their foxholes
>but all find that they've begun to fill with writhing monstrosities
>inky horrors that are "unhappy" to say the least
>water gathers in low places
>and in the distance the air is hazy
>as the forward trenches are all consumed in one motion
>by the earth closing its lips
>the soaked ground has begun to revolt against them too
>hellfire oozing forth from above, below, and everywhere in between
>the world just collapsing around them
>and yet the witch just keeps typing
>a deceptively comfortable yellow glow emanating from her bunker's door
>where the only sign something is "wrong"
>is how the those sleeping a little too close to the wires
>notice their hairs standing on edge
>but are otherwise blissfully unaware of the unfathomable curses they conduct
>wrist thick wires that run up to the magical black boxes behind the witch's typewriter
>that loom like the pipes of some mad industrial organ 
>the witch's papers all written with ink drawn from an unholy well 
>esoterically coded to keep from waking something even worse
 >and always burnt after reading 
>mana meters and indicator lights dancing to the typewriter's Eldritch tune
>the uncaring gnash of an efficient mechanism
>a machine gun but without the report
>because that's heard elsewhere…
>until
>the witch gets up for a smoke break
>but the people on the other end of the typewriter don't know that
>all they know is the sky has stopped splitting itself apart for a moment
>left in an uncanny silence
>the horrors have stopped
>where for once a Rune Striker and those shivering in the trenches have something in common
>they both stand under the same starry, smoke filled sky
>if only for a moment

>but
>"I… I don't think being a Rune Striker would be a good fit for you."
>because in the end
>it would still be back to the bunker
>just a lighthouse of another kind
>Noita looks at me quizzically
>taken aback by the sudden confidence in my voice
>"Really?" She responds surprisedly
>her hand wavers nervously over a rack of rifles
>but then there's an effervescent spark in her eyes like a change in the wind
>"Well…"
>and she makes the defiant choice of an FG42
>"My last offer was from Hanussen's Broom Cavalry, the 'Moon Devils.' Think paratroopers but with brooms and dive bombing."
>I encourage her quietly, playing the wind in her parachute
>"You'd get to feel the wind in your hair. The excitement of combat. The freedom of the air."
>the witch chuckles smugly. "You think that's more my style?"
>"It beats the hell out of wasting away in a bunker." I say curtly
>her chuckle builds into a full blown burst of lighthearted laughter
>music to my ears
>like the cheerful song of a caged bird flying free for the first time
>it makes my cheeks blush for an entirely different kind of reason
>the witch racks the FG42 triumphantly
>"You know it was actually my broom aerobatics at Hanussen's who recommended I join the Witch's Air Corp," Noita reminiscences, "the 'Moon Devils' specifically."
>she weighs the rifle in her hands
>"She said I had a talent for both the air and arcane, which is perfect since Void phasing is critical for stealth and dodging flak."
>Noita smiles, appreciating the way the rifle lines up with her high, bony shoulders
>deceptively odd looking for the punch it packs
>long and lithe
>"Was she a good shooter?"
>the witch sucks on her teeth
>"She was a real 'straight shooter' when it came to running drills."
>"Was that a good thing?"
>the witch smirks 
>"Our final exam was dodging multiple SAMs. And let me just say, you have not LIVED until you've dodged one."
>she sighs nostalgically, ever the sadistic adrenaline junkie
>"But outside of class she was a nice old lady."
>Noita pads at her scarf shyly
>"She actually gave me this scarf because I kept getting cold during our high altitude flights."
>"That's sweet."
>"She told me I had a neck like a featherless, starving chicken when she gave it to me." The witch says bluntly
>"Oh… so quite the love hate relationship then?"
>"More love than hate, tough love really." Noita shrugs, "she made some great meat hedgehogs too, my second favorite food."
>"The first is jelly beans isn't it?"
>"No, but close." She chides playfully. "It's something I picked up from my gun wizardry professor."
>"What is it?"
>"Well, let me preface this by saying they were very British, as British as a Bren and Vickers." Noita warns
>before smiling bashfully
>"Jellied eels," she declares 
>I immediately bite my tongue
>"..."
>"What?"
>"..."
>"What?!" Noita repeats suspiciously
>"A-Are they good?" I ask meekly
>"No, no, say what really has your tongue."
>She gives me a little look and tilts her head to the side.
>"Or I rip it out," the witch threatens delicately
>my legs turn to jelly
>especially when she gently rests her finger underneath my chin
>forcing me up on the tips of my toes 
>ready to cut the truth out of me with her cold touch
>the witch is the kind to run her sword through her chest
>to hold you close as you fall limp against her
>and to quietly shush all your worries away like a cool spring breeze
>sweet
>but forceful
>"I just thought it was something a weirdo would like..." I confess
>the witch gives me another look
>but then the corner of her lips turn up
>and she turns away to chuckle to herself, covering her mouth
>"Well, my gun wizardry professor did hang out with the alchemists at the musketry club." She deflects with a gentle tapping of my nose
>I rub my hand against the cold spot on my chin
>"So you're saying all alchemists are weirdos?" I poke carefully
>"I mean," Noita grins, "they can hardly levitate their own beakers, so they're pretty weird to me."
>"... I can't levitate beakers, am I a weirdo?"
>the witch giggles at the sarcasm in my voice
>and holds the FG42 close
>it might kick a little
>but hey, someone has to teach us not to fly too close to the sun
>the witch smiles warmly
>this can work
>even with how it loads from the side
>"Hey, we're all weirdos here," she sighs
>the afterglow of laughter making us both lethargic and content
>"I'd like to come back for this." Noita gestures shyly, "when I have less on my plate and lots of open blue skies to explore."
>but then an idea crosses her mind
>"Because you know, graduating paratroopers must have been pretty excited when they were given one of these," she hints smugly
>I blush at how she has expertly turned things around on me with just a sentence
>the witch leans against me, bullying me with her shadow
>looming again
>and just when I thought I had her up against the wall
>the witch tilts her to the head curiously to watch for a reaction
>her grin sadistic and teasing
>"But hey," she whispers sharply, "for now that's in the future."
>she runs her finger across my forehead
>her eyes focusing on where her medallion would go if I was wearing her hat
>and that's where she leaves it

>but that isn't to say the witch is content with sweet things being sweet
>No.
>she wants more
>something to really complete the occasion
>the taste of blood in my cheeks
>it's like a fine wine to her, irresistible
>and so when we leave, Noita lures me in by getting the door for me
>which I fall for hook, line, and sinker
>thinking it to simply be a nice gesture
>only for her to block it with her bony arm
>so I have no choice but to crouch under her sleeve, that hangs like the blade of a loose guillotine...
>Noita feigns innocence by tilting her head to the side
>impishly awaiting my next move
>a mischievous tension that is nothing short of delicious to her
>even the witch's shadow gets in on the action
>it leans against the door like some kind of eldritch delinquent and seems to snicker at me as well
>I shift from side to side uneasily
>more than a little intimidated
>because it's just something about the witch's playful, little smirk that bleeds the confidence out of me
>her attitude
>because as picking up a cat by back of their neck can revert them to kitten status
>so too does the witch's burning sadism break me down into a nervous, little mess
>where I can never shake the impression that the witch doesn't just want a "glass of wine"
>she wants the whole bottle
>a mischievous kind of magic is what it is
>the kind that feeds in the dark…
>and Noita's smirk is starting to show teeth
>so I quickly pick the easy way out without question
>the witch stifles a snicker
>watching as I hunch down to meekly pass beneath her arm
>but not quite meekly enough for her tastes
>Noita brings her arm down to give me a close shave with the bottom of her sleeve
>whose rough wool teases me with the way it kisses my hair
>the witch's way of silently reminding me who's the predator and who's the prey between us
>and judging me by how cool the air outside is on my cheeks?
>remind me it has…
>Noita squeezes through the door behind me like a titan leaving their tomb
>and calmly strolls up to my side
>she gloats at how desperately I avoid making eye contact
>which only succeeds in enticing the witch to poke and prod at my soft parts with her playful stare
>just to get a reaction out of me
>I want to cover myself
>but it feels like any sudden movement will set her off
>where all that will be left of me is a stilted yelp over the ocean
>whose waves quietly lap at a beach just a couple blocks away from us
>which, by an act of God, soothes the witch's mania
>because Noita just sighs and ruffles my hair appreciatively
>for even she isn't immune to the soul sucking gloom of the Iron Coast
>coal fumes, eternal snow, and winter blues aren't exactly a "winning" combination
>this isn't to say the mood is ruined
>but rather that it's quieted it to a slow, tender drip
>like paint dripping off a brush
>finished
>the witch draws her pack of cigarettes for warmth
>but then does a double take
>she's almost out of smokes
>"So this is it, huh?"
>Noita sighs as she picks one of the few cigs she has left
>"What do you mean?"
>"Like, we got everything we needed. Food, water, ammo, everything…"
>she quietly lights her cig
>"So I guess all that's left is to go and see where that shooting star fell…"
>and takes a drag of it even quieter still
>suddenly I start to feel it too
>the feeling of standing at the edge of a cliff
>where the last thing you want to do is take a step forward
>but the path is finished, there's no going back now
>it'd just be retreading old ground
>and it's in a cruel twist of fate
>that the witch's cigarette jumps first
>the words stolen right out of her mouth
>so she steals me as a replacement
>hiding us away in an alley
>I try to protest but the witch just shushes me fearfully
>Noita
>fearful
>...
>"Excuse me?" An unfamiliar voice asks in the distance
>one that's far too cheerful to be from around here
>Noita and I peek around the corner at the voice
>"Have you seen a witch around here?"
>it's a white mage is talking to a constable
>"But ain't you one too, dear?" The constable jokes
>which makes the white mage giggle so brightly that it's almost impolite
>her robes are prim and proper
>clean and trim
>cut out to be an adorable elf
>"I'm looking for a witch about… yay… uhh…"
>the white mage struggles to mime out the dizzying height she's thinking of
>"A-A tall one." She settles curtly
>I look up at Noita
>who is stricken with a thousand yard stare
>she holds me in tight in her arms
>like the mage is going to take me away from her
>the witch presses herself up against the wall so hard that not even her shadow can be seen
>the mage comes to a stop outside our alley
>and stoops down to inspect the cig Noita had dropped
>her face contorts in disgust
>finding it a disgusting habit
>she scoffs and sets off down the street, now knowing that Noita is nearby
>it takes a while for the witch to let me down
>but when she finally does
>I collapse against a wall gasping for air
>discarded so Noita can peek around the corner at the white mage to make sure she really is leaving
>"Do you know her?" I ask
>"..."
>"Noita?"
>"..."
>"Noi--"
>the witch takes a deep breath
>"So do you remember how I asked you o--"
>she stops herself
>her tone sour and stilted
>and takes a moment to gather her thoughts
>"To come with me…" she clarifies, "to the auction house yesterday evening?"
>Noita kicks at the ground
>like a little kid being forced to fess up to something bad they've done
>"I left the lighthouse assuming I'd be back before anyone noticed I was gone."
>"Wait, so who's been watching the lighthouse while you've been gone?"
>Noita's silence is the only answer I need
>"You just left it without anyone to take care of it!?"
>the witch gives me a death stare
>practically stabbing me into the wall
>"Well excuse me for having more important things to attend to!" She spits 
>her eyes burn bright, ready to incinerate
>but then Noita remembers who she's talking to
>and cools off shamefully
>"I-I just… I just lost track of time, okay?"
>she goes back to peeking around the corner at the white mage
>"So I assume that mage picked up the slack?" I ask
>Noita winces like I've stung her
>"I think it'd be best to avoid her for now," she squeaks. "Plausible deniability and all that."
>"Can we just fly away then?" 
>"But I thought you were scared of heights," the witch says in forced good humor
>but falters when I fail to give her a reaction
>"The mage would notice the broom magic…" she admits
>she sighs and dusts herself off
>cheeks hollow and haggard
>ready to face the music

>but was it worth it?
>Noita smiles at the thought
>it was
>she takes a moment to indulge herself one last time
>in her dirty, little secret
>she forces me to look up at her by gently putting a finger under my chin
>so precious…
>just teetering on the tip of my toes
>like a delicate little flower…
>her fingers slowly tighten around my jaw
>a flower that she just wants to pluck the petals off of one by one...
>my teetering turns into a morbid hanging
>too precious to leave behind…
>the shadows around us begin to shiver in an obedient fear
>No, best kept in the dark with her...

>"Anon…" the witch whispers soothingly. "Do you remember when I mentioned 'void phasing?'"
>Noita takes me into a hug and starts to pet me 
>playing with my hair
>but her body feels like it's made of high explosive
>"Now most can only void phase a short distance, but I can 'swim' much further than that. I can void phase all the way back to the lighthouse in fact." The witch coos
>but then she begins to chuckle mischievously
>"But best of all? The white mage would be clueless," she gloats. "It is dark magic after all."
>I instinctively try to weasel away
>but Noita petrifies me with her glowing eyes so that I fall limp in her arms
>too scared to do a thing
>"So I just need you to promise me one thing..." she whispers ominously
>the witch holds me in place as an unwilling sacrifice to tongues of shadow that dance around us
>a circle of mad cultists
>ready to behold the forbidden
>"Keep your eyes closed, okay?"
>I shiver
>my bones ringing as the witch hums a homecoming tune to entrance the Void
>to make it do her bidding
>a morbid lullaby that tells me to close my eyes
>and which offers a certain clarity as I struggle against the witch
>are her eyes dead because of what they've seen?
>or is it that I simply mistake their esoteric wisdom for death because it is something beyond life itself?
>the water of the Endless Well begins to pool at our feet
>the shadows all wild with madness
>it rises to my knees
>to my waist
>to my chest
>to my neck…
>I desperately try to keep my head above water
>it feels so wrong
>it's one thing to witness dark magic, it's another thing when it chews on you
>I miss her shadow...
>the watery terror pulls at the fibers of my being, unraveling my mortal shell with a morbid curiosity
>its motions reminiscent of the casual nonchalance of unwrapping a piece of candy
>and all I can do is whimper as it strips my conciousness bare
>my heart having long since stopped
>never have I known such fear
>woefully unable to stop the witch now
>but when have I ever been able to?
>"N-Noita?" I gasp tearfully. "Wait! I--"
>the Void pulls us under
>and I wasn't able to close my eyes

>I wake up drowning
>woefully unable to scream
>the Void leaks from my eyes
>only for it to disappear when I try to wipe it away
>my body feels like it's still lingering in the in between of worlds
>and my mind
>
>it feels burnt
>hurt
>my heart slowly comes to terms with beating again
>but honestly it's just happy to be made of flesh and blood again
>I fall back and look around
>I'm lying on a couch in a very familiar lighthouse
>carefully covered in blankets and supported with a mess of pillows
>... I feel like a prized stuffed animal
>but one that's being forced to listen to the fight happening in the next room over
>"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" 
>"Look, I said I'm sorry, alright?"
>"Sorry?" The white mage fumes. "'Sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it! I mean of all the people to abandon their studies, to abandon their duties? I never would've expected it to be a Hanussen's witch!"
>"... I was going to be back by the end of the night," Noita mumbles
>"St. Elmo's flame had almost gone out by the end of the night!"
>"I was busy."
>"DOING WHAT?" The white mage screams. "Conjuring a corona of shadow? Because the Void flare was big enough to see from the lighthouse! I FELT THE HEAT OF IT ON MY CHEEKS!"
>where just the memory of it is enough to shake the mage to her core
>which forces her to take a moment to recollect herself
>"Good lord…" she sighs. "I was terrified the afterlife itself had sprung a leak."
>"I-I just got in a fight is all."
>"With who?! Over what? What in the worl--"
>but then there's a sudden silence
>a clarity
>"No…" the white mage mutters in rising disbelief. "No. No. No. Don't tell me THAT was all over some fucking, fucking--"
>the witch's scowl can be felt through the wall
>just the sheer anger of it
>it makes me hide under the blankets
>"He has a name you know." Noita says defensively
>but the white mage stands her ground
>"Christ. That just confirms it then." She groans, frustrated
>"Excuse me?"
>"Oh, don't act like I don't know what you were doing out there. I had to talk to the locals in order to track you down."
>"Anything they said is BULLSHIT!"
>Noita's tone makes even the lighthouse shiver in fear
>I get up thinking I should probably go now
>but stop when I start to worry about what Noita will do when she finds I'm gone
>"Oh really? Because what they had to say about the local witch and her 'toy' is starting to sound pretty accurate."
>"Shut up." The witch threatens
>"Because from what I've heard? You're going to break him."
>"NO I'M NOT! SHUT UP!"
>Noita's fury blows out every candle in the lighthouse
>where even the houses outside shiver like an ethereal wind had blown through them
>the air cold as ice
>"THEN EXPLAIN THE MAGIC MARKS!" The white mage accuses. "Because it looks like you spent all day chewing on him! Please don't tell me you used a disarming spell on him every chance you got."
>"I ONLY USED IT ONCE!" Noita screams
>but the shame of her confession takes the wind out of her
>"I-I only used it once…" she admits quietly
>the white mage sighs and changes her tone in an effort to reason with Noita
>"Look, it just is that your… average person tends to be a little… 'squisher' than a witch."
>"I know." Noita growls
>"So then you know this sort of thing just isn't sustainable. That you have more important things to do."
>Noita bites her tongue
>"The locals…" the white mage pleads. "They told me how you practically had him hypnotized with your stare. And how you toyed with him like he was a lab rat, without any care for his well being."
>"I. Do. Care."
>"Then forget St. Elmo's flame, how long until his heart pops?"
>but the only thing the white mage gets in response is silence
>because I'm the one who gets the answer to her question in the form of a glowing trail of liquid leading up to my backpack
>which sits in the middle of a sad pool of red
>I open it to find that the healing potion I had hidden inside it had burst
>...
>was that because of Noita?
>I swallow nervously
>and mop up the mess with shaky hands
>too horrified to listen to the argument between the witch and mage anymore
>where the only thing on my mind
>is questioning that if in the end the mage will be right
>and Noita will be the end of me
>my skin and soul are woefully familiar with how her magic can burn and drain without care
>so what's left for her magic to "touch," but my heart itself?
>because lord knows she's tossed my body around enough already...
>the door to Noita's room opens
>which sends me scrambling under the blankets out of instinct
>the white mage lingers in the doorway, still talking with Noita
>"So it's a deal then," the mage says. "I'll watch the lighthouse while you take a day to clear your head."
>she points her finger threateningly
>"But remember this, you aren't the first nor will you be the last witch I've dealt with. One day is all you get."
>she turns to leave
>and seems to be content enough now that she's put Noita in her place
>that is until she passes by the couch
>"A Scuttler?" The white mage questions under her breath, "of all the people she chooses a Scuttler? Christ."
>I feel my face turn red
>did she expect a bonafide prince or something?
>but thankfully the mage leaves quickly enough
>which gives me a chance to relax a little
>but the storm still lingers above my head
>so I try to weather it by focusing on the lighthouse
>something that's nice
>something that's familiar
>the familiar crackle and bubble of the cauldron
>the familiar mess of books and pillows strewn about
>the familiar half eaten cream pie on the dining table
>and the familiar smell of cigarette smoke…
>it must be some kind of magic tobacco that the witch smokes
>because instead of the smell being stale and wretched, it's sweet and playful
>a scent that teases your nose into giving it all of its attention
>I peek at the ashtray on sitting on the edge of the couch
>some of the ash in it is still relatively fresh
>does that mean…
>I sigh and try to think of something else
>but can't
>the lighthouse is calm and comfortable
>but maddeningly so
>doldrums
>it's like the very air is trying to suffocate you
>where the better question isn't what takes the life out of you, but what doesn't
>before I had only ever been a fleeting visitor to the lighthouse
>but spending the night has been invitation enough for it drop its mask
>and for it to finally make me another one of its unwilling victims
>the witch enters the room
>each footstep slow and heavy
>with a domineering presence that puts a violent chill in the air
>I curl up instinctively as Noita makes her way towards me
>but her gait is off
>it's less shambling
>and more falling over itself
>I hold my breath as Noita pulls a chair up
>she sighs as she plays her familiar melody of lighting a cigarette
>but it's practically falling over itself too
>she reaches out to touch my hair
>as if to make sure I'm not just a figment of her imagination
>but is so distracted that she forgets she has her cigarette between her fingers
>and comes dangerously close to burning me before she realizes what she's doing and snaps back
>now even more distressed than ever
>having been a hair's breadth away from branding me with yet another mark
>Noita throws her cigarette away and just puts her head in her hands for a good long while
>until eventually she can't bear to sit still
>she needs something to hold
>so she picks up my backpack and tries hugging it in place of me
>until she throws it aside too because it's not the same
>the witch returns to sulking with her head in her hands
>but then makes an observation
>an infuriating one
>"If you're going to pretend to be asleep?" She says ominously. "You should pretend to breathe too."
>I yelp quiet and curl up tighter than ever when the witch lays her hand on my shoulder
>"Come up to the light with me. I want to show you something."
>and judging by how tightly she's holding my shoulder?
>she won't be asking twice

>"Are we still going to see the shooting star?" I ask quietly
>but Noita doesn't answer
>she's too busy in climbing the stairs with me in tow
>my hand is shackled by her bony fingers
>all the witch does is give me a cursory peek when she crests the top of the lighthouse
>I stand by as the witch gets on her knees and pulls at a floorboard
>"Fucking white mages," she mumbles under her breath. "Fucking white witches. Always holier than thou. For thine must listen to thee's truths."
>Noita grunts as she pulls on the floorboard again
>the nails screeching in pain
>"Oh we're not like other witches. No, no, we're light witches, our magic is good, we're civilized. Unlike those 'other' witches. 'Evil' witches. 'Dark' witches. BUT NEVER WHITE WITCHES!" Noita exclaims
>her rage finally succeeds in pulling up the floorboard
>with the witch takes a satisfied breath as she picks over the spoils hidden beneath
>which is but a solitary wooden case
>the witch sets it on the floor and opens it to reveal an array of personal belongings
>family photos
>plaques
>sheet music
>a healing potion
>and a set of twin two handed swords
>ones that appear to be ceremonial
>yet just by looking at them I can tell how sharp they are
>so sharp that I recoil out of instinct as the witch pulls them from the case
>the witch takes one in her hand with great anticipation
>she moves with immense focus and grace as she practices some jabs and parrys
>which seems to be second nature to her
>very practiced
>her sleek blade moves with such speed, at times all I can make out is a silvery arc
>one that cuts with a presence more appropriate for a battle axe
>until finally the witch is satisfied
>she brings the flat of her sword to her chest with a sigh
>proudly standing like a knight before a fight
>and then turns to look at me, deadly serious
>murder building in her eyes
>I take a step back out of reflex
>with my stomach turning at the way the witch's resolute stare follows my feet
>probing for signs of weakness
>watching for openings
>cornering me
>it's fight or flight now
>because the witch stands with a poise that implies that she isn't playing around anymore
>"Tell me, Anon." Noita asks, as she runs a finger across her blade. "Have you ever heard of the Trusan Dance of Swords?"
>she takes my nervous silence as a "no"
>"It's a 'ceremony' of sorts," she explains delicately. "The story is that a Trusan lord had once invited his army's officers to dine with him for a night. But one officer partook in a little bit too much wine and got into a fight with the lord."
>the witch somberly hands me the other sword
>curiously watching the way I grip and balance it
>"Until eventually the lord declared that he was so sure the officer had only survived his battles by sheer, dumb luck, that if he defeated any one of his champions, he'd give the officer his eldest daughter's hand in marriage."
>"What happened after?"
>Noita cracks a distant, but coy, smile as she holds her sword under her arm
>so she can gently show me how to take up mine
>"The officer defeated the champion," she says as she unflinchingly points the tip of my sword towards her neck. "But he rejected the marriage, saying he'd rather take a woman who at least knew how to handle a sword. So to mock the lord, the other officers began courting their love interests out with a duel."
>"Oh?"
>is all I can gasp when the witch suddenly draws and points her sword down at me
>I shrink back and cover my face with my blade
>which makes the witch sigh curiously
>"But nowadays it has a bit of a stronger connotation to it."
>she presses her sword against her chest
>and then she bends down to whisper in my ear
>"Because it's not like people just have swords lying around," she jokes
>the witch meets the tip of my sword with her's and forces it down so we stand like fencers greeting each other before a duel
>"Plus it's not really a duel without two people."
>I yelp as the witch tentatively pushes her blade forward
>I try to placate her by letting my sword fall before things can escalate any further
>but the witch only takes it as an insult
>furious I had the nerve to give up so easily
>prompting her to charge me so that I have no choice but to keep my sword up in order to protect myself from her assault
>"And with the Dance of Swords?" Noita whispers as she presses my sword back with her's. "It's all about showing you know how to handle yourself in a duel."
>she watches me struggle with a curious but ultimately careless stare on her face
>offering no reaction at all even when my arms begin to shiver from exhaustion
>only interested in slowly pressing her blade ever closer towards my neck
>knowing full well that the slightest over application of force will result in it going clean through
>but the witch is so disturbingly calm about it, you'd think she was carving a fine ham
>so calm that she can practically taste the cold steel of her sword licking my skin
>which makes me flinch with terror
>and kick her in the knee
>she loses her balance which gives me a chance to stumble away
>and for a moment I feel exhilarated, like I had just fought off Goliath
>but then the witch slowly rises to her full, menacing height
>and begins violently whaling on me with all of her strength
>I frantically meet her every swing
>but her blows are so swift and cruel that I can hardly even keep my balance
>the witch meanwhile moves with poise and confidence
>because with how deftly she handles a two handed sword, it might as well be a fencing saber to her
>she just has so much reach
>"N-Noita stop!"
>"It's a duel, Anon." She growls frustratedly. "You're supposed to fight!"
>the witch raises her sword in an overhead strike
>where in the glint of its blade I can see my life flashing before my eyes
>with Noita looking ever so cold, distant, confident
>over confident
>I desperately jab the pommel of my sword into her bony chest
>which sends her stumbling back with the wind knocked out of her
>and which gives me a chance to finally catch my breath
>"What is wrong with you?" I gasp
>"It's a duel." Noita repeats heartlessly
>she pushes herself off the ground with her sword like an undead rising from a grave
>her shadow blankets me as her titanic frame blocks out the light
>she starts to expertly spin her sword in her hand
>the gory sound of it cutting the air makes my blood turn cold
>the witch approaches with the vicious intent of gutting me like a fish
>"In most contexts refusing a duel only makes you look weak, but with the Dance of Swords?"
>she tosses her sword up into the air and catches it by the flat of the blade as a flashy fake out
>"It's even worse."
>which distracts me enough for her to kick me square in the chest
>I fly across the room and hit the wall
>almost breaking like the pitiful Scuttler I am
>"Because someone rejecting a duel or even you at the end of it?" Noita hisses furiously. "It means that they don't just think you're incapable of defending your own life, but that if they wished to, they could be the one to take it from you."
>I frantically search for my sword
>but each of the witch's thunderous footsteps scares me at a primal level
>and instead of her shadow growing smaller as she gets further from the light
>it only grows bigger
>my mind races with terror
>stuck in a very dark place
>this is exactly what I was worried about
>oh god
>the witch's sword drips with the red of St. Elmo's fire
>she taunts me by stomping like a giant and opening herself up to a strike with the sword I don't have
>mocking me
>"So someone refusing to perform the Dance of Swords with you?" She says. "It can be a little bit 'insulting' to say the least."
>Noita's eyes glow with the screams of the dead
>rife with a heartless, green madness
>where even in the warm, holy light
>her skin is still pale
>like an executioner's
>I finally find my sword but an all too familiar boot is stomped down on the blade
>and I am no King Arthur
>Noita mocks me with a sneer that's so snide it's almost angry
>if I had a pistol, I'd draw it
>but even then?
>she'd probably say something smug like "it's called the Dance of Swords, not the Galla of Guns" before she melted it with a spell
>so I do the stupidest thing possible
>I charge her
>I try to tackle Noita to the ground
>but the only thing it succeeds in doing is giving her a quick laugh
>she puts her sword under her arm again so that she can pat me on the back of my head as a consolation prize
>always so smug
>always so cocky
>she always makes me feel so… so…
>I yell angrily as I shove Noita back and steal her sword out from under her arm
>and it's no small feat to cut a witch's skin
>I catch her in the throat with the crossguard of her own sword
>then finally send her down by catching the flat of the blade in my hands like she did
>and cracking her jaw with the butt of the grip
>the witch hits the floor hard
>but I waste no time in straddling her in a desperate effort to keep her there
>and it's the strangest thing in the world
>to see Noita scared of me
>because here I am, a hair's breadth away from driving my sword through the pale of her neck
>with her watching my every movement like a scared, little jackrabbit
>entirely at my mercy for once
>because dark witch or not, she knows not to test me when she can see such a crazed desperation in my eyes
>a thousand yard stare that's brimming with tears
>because while most would probably enjoy such a position of power over someone like Noita
>it just makes me feel
>...
>dirty
>especially with the way she has her hands up in a total, terrified surrender
>"A-And that's the other thing about the Dance of Swords…" the witch stammers in a thinly veiled panic
>she tries to brush my sword away with a delicate hand
>but her touch just makes me flinch and force my sword down even further
>"YOU NEED TO KNOW WHEN TO STOP!" Noita shouts as her eyes widen in terror
>cold steel spiking her skin to remind her of her own mortality, witch or not
>"It's a ceremonial duel! Not a fight to the death!" She begs.
>"R-Really?"
>"YES. REALLY!"
>I let my sword clatter to the floor as regret begins to wash over me
>the witch pushes me off her chest like a ragdoll
>and withdraws with blood spilling from a cut on the back of her hand
>...
>so witches can bleed too
>she rummages through her sword case for the healing potion
>then uncorks it with her teeth and winces as she douses her wounded hand with it
>...
>so witches can feel pain too
>Noita sighs as she experiments with forming fists with her bleeding hand
>why do they make healing potions the same color as blood?
>"Trusans sure are weird people, aren't they?" Noita starts awkwardly
>desperate to break the ice
>"A little..." 
>"Yeah, a ritual like the Dance of Swords is kind of stupid isn't it?"
>"..."
>Noita kicks herself when all she gets is silence from me
>and takes a moment to watch the healing potion drip from her hand in big, teary drops before continuing
>"Did you really think I was going to hurt you?" She asks quietly
>"I thought you were going to kill me."
>"Like, metaphor--"
>"I saw my life flash before my eyes, Noita."
>"Oh…"
>she holds the healing potion close to her chest, but moves like she has half a mind to offer it to me
>as if that could somehow help me now
>"When you had your sword at my neck," she says, "y-you had this look in your eyes and it… it kind of scared me."
>"..."
>"Is that how you feel whenever I look at you?"
>"Yes." I confess in a hushed voice
>"..."
>"B-But that doesn't mean I don't like it!" I quickly clarify as I stir uncomfortably. "It's like flirting with danger."
>"Am I dangerous then?"
>the sadness in the witch's voice makes me choke up
>I try to find her eyes
>but only find that she's thrown their stare into the fire over her shoulder
>a sorrowful refusal that casts an ominous shadow under her sharp chin
>forget the pain in my hands, I want to hold it
>a pale sword that needs love…
>it can draw blood for all that I care
>"Only as dangerous as dancing with swords is." I mumble embarrassedly
>"Oh…"
>the witch stirs a little, encouraged by my response
>"It's a good thing then that you only ever do the Dance of Swords once. Becau--"
>she stops herself
>"Because why?" I ask, quietly curious
>"It's a sort of..." the witch says hesitantly. "I-It ends with taking your partner's hand."
>I snap to look at her
>"Wait, as in--"
>"As in, kissing it." Noita deflects hastily. "T-That's all, I swear."
>I breathe a conflicted sigh of relief
>"So does that complete the ceremony?"
>"The winner of the duel has to choose if they will take the loser or not first, but yes, it ends with the loser kissing the winner's hand."
>"So…" I start
>the witch stirs as she nervously lets me see her face again
>dead green eyes that pierce
>to make my heart flutter like tissue paper in the wind
>but I push on and muster all the confidence I can
>"S-Seeing as how this isn't a 'real' Dance of Swords." I say as I scooch a little closer to her. "Do you want me to kiss your hand better?" I suggest quietly
>"... yes, please."
>I do my best "prince at court" impression as I take Noita's hand 
>it drips with healing potion but is otherwise entirely healed now much to my relief
>I kiss it gently
>the taste of healing potion is bitter like medicine
>but the witch's skin makes it taste sweet
>and when I pull my lips back, I look up to see Noita looking at me with a stare as enigmatic as the Void itself
>all my confidence is blown away at once
>it… it makes me feel funny
>the witch cracks the tiniest of smirks
>she makes me feel funny…
>I yelp when she suddenly snatches me into a close hug
>one that feels disturbingly like the grapple a grade school bully puts you in before a harsh noogie
>but it's one that culminates in a quick, cool kiss
>which still messes with my head all the same
>Noita gently pats my head just like she had when I tried tackling her
>halfway between tender and teasing
>that confident "Eldritch destroyer of worlds" attitude of her's having returned in spades
>but tempered with love
>"You know, it was actually kind of cute when you tried to knock me down." Noita whispers encouragingly
>"W-Was it?"
>"It was an admirable effort," she sighs. "Adorable even. You even had me worried for a split second," she leads
>"Why?" I ask bashfully
>"Because someone as 'squishy' as you is apt to break when you're put up against something 'stronger.'" The witch sighs affectionately 
>she holds me close
>as if she knows that eclipsing the lighthouse's light has bestowed her head with a fiery crown
>which she wears with such an intimidating air, that trying to take it from her would mean war
>the witch pinches my cheek playfully
>perhaps over her "favorite, little prince?"
>because we both know that in truth, she only hunches because the head that wears the crown is heavy
>"Now with that in mind?"
>the witch gestures towards the Iron Coast outside, but the window just shows her posessively lingering with her chin on the top of my head
>it's a tiring responsibility
>"How about you take some time to cool off outside while I get the lantern ready?"
>"Lantern?"
>Noita rolls her eyes condescendingly
>"You know, the Siegnil lantern? The lantern that wards off the fog? The lantern that almost 'caused the afterlife to spring a leak?' The lantern that I almost got expelled over? That same lantern?" She pokes
>"Oh… right…"
>my head is still spinning from her kiss...
>she chuckles smugly as she flicks me on the forehead
>"Now go spend some time on the catwalk, while I run down and get it ready."
>but despite her soothing tone, I relent
>steadfast in my desire to stay with her
>and to burrow my head in her bony chest…
>"Could I come with you instead?"
>"It's not anything impressive, Anon."
>"But I… I like your magic."
>"Oh really?" Noita teases
>her voice hushed and coy
>"Both the dark and the 'disarming' kind?" She taunts threateningly
>it's enough to make me burrow even deeper into her chest out of instinct
>much to the witch's delight
>"Alright, alright, look I'll let you watch, on one condition."
>the witch soothingly cups my burning cheek with her cool hand
>"Just don't tell anyone we did the Dance of Swords together, okay?" She whispers lovingly
>"Why?"
>Noita cracks a begrudging smile
>"Because If the other witches hear about it, I'll never hear the end of it."
>"Because I won?" I say, a little proud to have stood my ground
>"No." Noita snickers playfully
>she suddenly sweeps me off my feet and catches me in a bridal carry
>"It's because of the 'connotation' of it." She whispers as she gently pokes me in the chest
>"Oh."
>"Because not everyone has a pair of bonafide Trusan 'engagement' swords."
>the witch feasts her eyes on just how perfectly I fit in her arms
>hundreds of thoughts running through her head at once
>the romantic type…
>hopefully the pure hearted kind…

>the witch holds me firmly by the hand, happily humming to herself, as we stroll along the beach
>looking for a good place to light the lantern
>it's best to do it outside
>because according to Noita
>fumes are never good for the brain, no matter how holy
>but Noita savors the search
>for the ocean near the lighthouse is calm and quiet
>it knows to be timid around her
>and to not interrupt with frigid wind
>only pleasant, cool breezes are acceptable
>the kind that plays with the witch's silky black hair…
>even the lighthouse is polite enough to turn its shadow away, to offer us some privacy
>though I wonder if that's more under the duress of the witch's shadow than anything else
>Noita sets the lantern down in a little hole and kicks some sand over the base of it
>as if the pilfered oil from the lighthouse wasn't already enough to weigh it down
>"But don't you need some of St. Elmo's fire to light the lantern?" I ask
>the witch flashes her cigarette lighter and gives me a smug wink
>"Would you believe me if I told you that St. Elmo's fire makes tobacco taste just that much sweeter?" She gloats mischievously
>I never would have taken her for the rebellious kind
>but...
>"How long does the oil last in there though?"
>Noita scoffs as she bends down to light the lantern
>"Not nearly as long as it will in here."
>she hops back just as the lantern starts to spit sparks and oil across the beach like a frying pan that's been splashed with water
>starting many little magic grease fires across the beach that she has to put out with her jacket
>but eventually the lantern calms down to burn more like an unruly sparkler
>Noita sits down on the beach and tiredly beckons for me to join her
>"It'll take a while for the lantern to purify itself to equilibrium so we might as well get comfortable."
>the witch lets me settle in between her legs before draping her jacket over her shoulders like a wooly blanket
>she opens her pack of cigarettes and sighs when she sees she's down to her last one
>but instead of cursing her luck
>she thoughtfully rests her chin upon my head
>knowing exactly how to spend it
>she wraps her lanky arms around me to keep me in place
>as she gently slips the cigarette in between my lips
>and lovingly lights to let me have the first drag
>it tastes sweet
>but is even sweeter after we settle into sharing the cigarette
>the witch taking long, contemplative puffs compared to my short, bashful ones
>with her bony hand wordlessly passing it between our mouths
>and only ever breaking the cycle to play with my hair or to readjust her jacket to make sure I'm as warm as possible
>making me feel safe, small, and secure
>the witch as calm and unwavering as the sturdiest of lighthouses 
>with us just watching the lantern sparkle away all the while
>where by the time it's finished purifying, the cigarette has burned down to nothing
>and I'm disappointed it couldn't have lasted longer 
>the witch playfully acts the tall and chivalrous knight helping their beloved up when she helps me up onto her broom
>even snickering when I still hold it as tight as ever
>we soar into the sky with her steering us down along a scenic route
>she hugs the coastline so that we can watch the morning convoys as they depart
>playfully weaving us between their belching smoke stacks with ease
>before guiding us back over the warehouses on the dock to buzz any of the workers unlucky enough to be out in the moment
>then it's onto open fields of snow covered in wisps of fog as we head to where the shooting star fell
>the witch starts to hum again
>reminding me of the first time I ever flew with her
>"Somewhere… beyond the sea…" Noita starts quietly. "Somewhere… waiting for me…"
>her chest rumbles gently against my back with each husky note
>"My lover stands on golden sands…" she leads
>"And watches the ships that go sailing…" I follow bashfully
>Noita chuckles. "Somewhere… beyond the sea…"
>"She's there watching for me… if I could fly like birds on high… then straight to her arms…"
>the witch keeps me close to her heart
>"I'd go sailing…"