Sun Down

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It was something of a miracle that the shack stood at all- there were a surprising amount of holes in the walls. The sheets of wood that served as a roof seemed to lean more on the surrounding trees than on the structure itself. To the average observer, it was just a bit of luck that the wrong breeze hadn't blown by that was holding the shack together. The truth was that there was magic here.

Magic.

It was a wonderful thing, the witch thought to herself. Hard to trace. Or detect. It was magic that had kept her hidden from the only other magic users in the country. Xalia had yet to hear of any others that had survived using it. Not that that was particularly shocking, though- she didn't exactly leave her hut much. Or get much in the way of visitors. No, it was just the three of them. Xalia herself sat on a hovering lump of hey that had been shoved into a cloth to serve as a bed. There was another blanket, and a similarly made pillow, that lay atop it. Not much else was in the hut; a chest that served as a table, two limp figures in the corner, and a pot. It sat in another corner now, currently unused, but sometimes it would spring to life.

At the moment, Xalia had been sleeping. She woke at a knock- whoever this guest was had at least the manners to stay outside of her home. She woman sat up, and groped the air for her dress. In these warm summer months, she slept without it, but slipped it on for the sake of company. One of the figures in the corner, the smaller one, stirred, roused itself, and silently made its way to the door. It was stiff in walking, but seemed to have the hang of movements by the time it reached the door.

Xalia looked at it, before it continued. The door opened towards Xalia, which offered her enough protection in the likely scenario that this was a follower of Solaris. The thing at the door resembled a young girl, no older than 8 or 9 years. It had vacant brown eyes, straight blonde hair that reached where breasts would have formed in coming years, and clear skin. Despite wearing just a simple white dress, there wasn't so much as a speck of dirt on the girl, which gave her an eerie look.

"Junedith, would you see what our guest wants?" Xalia murmured. The mockery of a girl complied, and opened the door. While it didn't speak, it looked out at the approaching figure, awaiting explanation. Had its eyes not been so dead, there might have been a look of expectancy, but as it were, there were only unblinking eyes and lifeless pupils pointed out.

 

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Yasmin Shirazi

Name: Yasmin Shirazi
Age: turned in the 3rd century BC
Height: 5'4"
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The first chirps of early risen birds made her circle the pinpoint of a shack faster. Tall rural grass had folded to mark a perimeter of about a mile wide. Yasmin stayed her frustrated pacing on the trodden line where beyond it, a ward of foreboding power prickled her skin. One step into the witch's territory and a nauseating sickness would follow; more meant illusions and haemorrhage as she had suffered tonight. Yasmin clenched her fist around a rock and threw it at the shack. It flew a great distance but fell short of the faraway target and landed near other similar rocks.

"If you can hear me, please let me in!" she shouted. The vast countryside swallowed the sound of her voice.

More birds had awoken and louder choruses rang across the summer sky. The stars were disappearing in her eyes, their twinkling shine absorbed by the rising brilliance of the sun. The verdant land on the horizon was slowly consumed by fiery rays to become blinding and painful to behold. Yasmin was retreating into a grove nearby, wherein she could bury herself and hide from the increasingly uncomfortable heat and light, when noise of horseshoes trotting on the dirt road caught her attention.

She watched the draft horse pull a cart full of produce; its way guided by a sphere of lamplight working through the last vestiges of the night. The farmer held the reins loosely in his hands, wrinkles had started to age his face and sleep had not fully left him. He was unaware of the fast approaching figure that rustled through the grass like a strong breeze. The horse felt her sudden presence first: it neighed in a panic and careened away from the predator matching its sprint. Yasmin grabbed the man off the cart who crumpled onto the ground. Fangs bared with an excitement rushing through her, she rammed her hand into his chest to rip out his beating heart and ate it. Fresh, sweet, gamey liquid exploded in her mouth for the first time in months and warmed her throat down into her belly. The revitalising energy surged through her and overcame the morning discomfort. Yasmin tore apart his chest and limbs and neck to drench herself in blood from head to toe.

Relishing the sense of invincibility, she ran towards the witch's shack with only a dull headache that tried to deter her past the line. She slowed to a stop in front of the shabby door. It would be in poor taste to demand help using aggression and violence first, so Yasmin knocked - it rattled - steeling herself to play nice and negotiate with someone of the ilk she wanted to destroy. Her appearance might terrify the common folk, but there should be little issue if the witch was as powerful as she was led to believe. Yasmin could clearly hear the goings-on within the shack but she couldn't feel any life within against a cocoon of strong magic that protected the inhabitants.

Blood dripped and pooled on the spot where she stood, fading away as a shield on her skin. The glare of the sun had begun to sting her and the curse was worsening her headache into a throbbing pain. If she had to stand outside, Yasmin had only a few minutes to convince the witch of her intentions.

The door creaked open to reveal a porcelain doll-like girl wearing a simple white dress. She raised her head up in an uncannily fluid motion to stare at Yasmin like a taxidermied animal that had been fitted with glass orbs. Puppeted by magic, the girl emanated no vitality. Yasmin didn't bother to hide her grimace of disgust at the familiar, which cared for nothing but their mistresses' wishes, and knew from experience that where a witch created one, there would be more surrounding her. It was a piece of information Yasmin's victim did not know about but with the dire situation at hand, she had no other choice than to push forward in her path.

"I'd like to speak to Xalia the witch," Yasmin told the girl.

 

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Junedith looked at Yasmine for a hard moment, not moving, or speaking. Xalia considered the situation. There was only the one, she could see, looking through the doll's eyes. A moment later, she blinked back to her own vision. Looking through them was painful, and felt invasive, at that. And the girl at her door was covered in blood. She hardly looked like any follower of Solaris. It was rare enough for the witch to get any visitors at all, let alone one in the state that this one was. It didn't mean that this was a safe situation, though- perhaps the others were hiding themselves from her. It wasn't inconceivable, even as powerful as Xalia was. Or rather, once was. Did she still have that power? She had assumed so for a long time, but perhaps magic was a muscle that needed to be stretched out again.

"Why?" croaked Junedith, at the door. Her voice was rough and dry, but the word come across clearly enough. Another microheadache for Xalia, gone in a few moments. Sure, the dolls were merely her own puppets, but acting directly through them- speaking, looking, hearing, those sorts of things- required much more effort, and had always gave the witch some pain. Still, there was no reason to let her guest know that she was here. If she was a danger, then she could be cut down while unaware that there was anything there but the little girl at the door. And if she wasn't- well, who could blame Xalia for taking such precautions?