Happiness and smiles

Your thoughts trail from the man who you imagine walking among a dark wood to those of the man haunting your dreams. How long has it been now? Almost a year?

Yes, a year since you had seen him. A beautiful, pure man. Kind, as soft as a song, or the petals of a flower, or a spring drizzle. One who loved you, and whom you loved in return. One winter ago this month, one horrible spring, one summer, and his favorite - one autumn.

You preferred the warmer seasons, the ones where the sun would shine brightly on him to improve his radiance. He preferred the cold, insisting it was to keep you closer to him for the warmth you provided. Regardless, the year without him had seemed all the same: cold, empty, dreary, sluggish.

A year without Prince Hwang the Youngest, your beloved Hyunjin. All days since had each felt like a thousand unbearable years, a solace full of questions.

No one ever knew what happened to the Prince, who seemed to be blooming in youth and health. He was not the first born of his brothers, so he was somewhat free of responsibility - but by far the most beloved of all. He was wealthy - almost as wealthy as you were after your inheritance, he loved life and joy, he was beautiful, and was so from within, and that radiated outwards to his features. Only someone truly pure and kind could exude his appeal… an unforgettable radiance.

You remember the last time he held you in his arms, kissed you. His touches were the softest. You remember them so faintly that you don’t know if mayhaps you dreamt them instead of the moment having happened. It was the first warm night after the cold season, and since your betrothal, the Prince often asked to visit you before returning to his home. You sat under an open sky, somewhere, maybe a balcony or the garden. It could have been a weekday or a saturday - never a sunday, but that didn't matter either. Maybe he wore a pale blue, and you a red, but the colors often change in your memory. What you recall, with certainty, is that you were in his arms and he smiled at you as he promised you things from his future; his love, his time, his thoughts, his loyalty, his respect.

Maybe he traced the curve of your nose with his finger, or cupped your cheek with his strong hands, and without a doubt, he must have kissed you at least ten times as that was the ritual. But you were there, with him, thinking of your future. He parted once it became dark, darker than usual, and you were certain you would see him the following night, as was custom.

A messenger from the next town came to your home in the morning, he took you to a road where he insisted that some merchants had found something along their route that was of your interest. You followed him, not having any mind to imagine what may have drawn such anxious features on his face.

+++

The Prince’s four guards were found lying in the middle of the road, their bodies torn from the inside out, butchered in a way you had not imagined possible. Their horses were found in a similar fashion, their heads nearly torn off, and their brown hairs and dark manes entangling with chunks of their minced flesh. Some of them had horrible, protruding teeth, frozen in expressions of horror.

And then there was a fifth horse - all red. Entirely red. It used to be white, it was after all, the Prince’s mare. The merchants that had encountered the scene recognized the sigil of the guards from the neighboring kingdom. They had stayed behind, waving their coats so as to keep away the crows that had begun to feast on the exposed flesh, who now circled above. The fluttering of their wings and the occasional caw seemed to be the only noise in the otherwise silent scene.

You vomited on the side of the road, crouching among the branches and leaves in the wet ground, soiling your plain skirts, and one of the young produce sellers from the market held you up after. You didn’t mind the embarrassment, as you suspected they had done the same - who could stomach such a scene, after all. Once your composure was regained to some extent, you began a manner of a walk, or crawl, among the corpses, identifying them, counting them. The smell - they were still fresh, they reminded you of some of the meateries in the town market and how they began to smell by the end of the day. Not yet the smell of rot, but certainly death. There was more blood in this smell than those of the bled animal carcasses hung in stalls, it was a metallic smell that you knew would cling to your clothes and nostrils for some time, as well as the smell of spilled bowels and entrails and organs. Maybe the cold of the night had kept them somewhat… preserved.

And you stood there in that smell, in that menagerie of butchered bodies, for some time. Thinking, just thinking, where your prince was.The smell grew worse - you did not notice in your stunned state. The men eventually pulled you away, forced you home. It was all a haze.

+++

There was no sign of the Prince. Not for days, and not for weeks. A ransom may have come eventually, or a body may have appeared, but there was nothing, not a thing at all.

Once the frenzy of the Prince’s disappearance melted into the ever warmining days, more revelations began to come forth which added to, instead of resolved, the mystery. In the same town and on the same night when Hyunjin vanished, three young beautiful girls went missing. A day later, more news from the next town over. A beautiful boy, and a handsome young man as well. In one of the more rural houses in the fields nearby, a precious baby had been taken from its crib without so much as a cry.

Beautiful individuals from every corner of the region, all gone in a night. Across different towns and fields, and lakes and creeks - all gone under the same night sky.

+++

The suspicions begin to grow regarding the missing beauties… yours grow as well. One of the towns near the border between your kingdom and the Prince’s holds a congress to discuss the matter of the disappearances. You are invited of course, in the company of one of the Prince’s brothers, both of you dressed in solemn colors to match your demeanors. He holds your hand the entire time - it is the slightest comfort, you think, that in Hyunjin’s absence his brothers still regard you as a sister. You and the elder prince are admired, for your beauty and regality, but it is nowhere near the radiance of he who would have been your husband.

Everyone has different suspicions, no one has answers.

On the way out you can overhear a child insisting something, rather urgently, to her mother.

“Mamma! Mamma! You must tell them of the witch!” The girl cries with haste, yanking at her mothers skirt. The mother hushes, and her dour disposition ignores the child's pleas of attention. The mother, you recall, had spoken as the mother of a beautiful missing boy.

The crowds disperse and you manage to follow the girl as she has gone to play with some children in a square near the hall. You buy a basket of sweet breads along the way, arriving at the square and its blooming bushes to be surrounded by children. They are too young to be scared, and for a moment you admire the beauty of their ignorance. For a moment, it seems as if the sun shines a little brighter than it had in days, but perhaps it's just the spring. It’s easy to lure the younger sister of the beautiful boy. You save the last, sweetest loaf for her, to speak with her just a moment.

You gesture for the children to come to you, and you muster a warm smile that nearly pains your cheeks. They bounce about, happily biting into the little loaves, and begin to disperse until there is just the little girl you have saved for last standing before you.

“And this one is just for you…” You say with a subtle smile, lowering yourself to her level, entrancing her with your eyes.

“Thank you my lady.”

“I’m not a lady, just a daughter of merchants.” you say, “So you may call me friend.”

“Momma says I shouldn’t be friends with strangers…”

“Oh, does she? I think I’m a rather nice stranger though.”

“You’re pretty… maybe nice too!”

“No! You’re prettier.” You playful taunt.

“No! I’m the ugly one in the family.” Ahh, the ugly daughter of a woman with a beautiful son. You could imagine the discourse in her home, as her mother treated her with so little attention.

“How so? I don’t believe it!” You say as lightly as possible, trying to distract the child of the cruel message she replays, certainly said to her by her parents.

“My brother Robin was the pretty one. Momma said everyone in town had never seen such beautiful curls on a person's head or such big eyes like a doll.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, but he’s gone now and momma is sad so I have to be extra pretty to make up for it!” The child flips her hair in a pretty manner with her free hand.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” the child looks around cautiously as if to make sure no one hears her. She leans up to your ear and says in the most urgent whisper,

“He left! He left with a witch!” You hold her little arms close to yours, trying to engross her in conversation as much as you can.

“What do you mean by that?” You question, confused by her statement.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me! No one does!”

“No!” You yelp out, fearing she might storm off, and say the following words as reassuringly as you can, “Of course I believe you! But I’d like to know more.”

“Hmm! Well ‘twas a witch I tell you!”

“Can you describe her?”

“She had big teeth! A big smile with big teeth and big hands with long fingers!”

“Aha…”

“Her face looked old and young! And the fingers and nails on her hands were black!” The little girl looks around once more. “And she spoke to my brother and took him with her! I tried calling him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“He… just went with her?”

“Yes! But he wasn’t normal, he was in a dream, all sleepy and slow.”

He just went with her...

+++

A witch… hmm.

How many years since a witch was sighted in these parts? Not in your lifetime at least, but perhaps during that of your parents.

The library in your home, as well as the one in town, offered no information. Nothing in local publications, nothing in any journals. Some old books on magic, but nothing of a witch. You ask your maids, nothing. You ask quietly in the stables, nothing. You go to the kitchens, seek out the oldest servant you can find.

Nothing.

But days after, a servant quietly drags you into the wine cellar. He brings a finger up to his lips to hush you. You’ve known him your entire life, his name is Harold, and you follow him quietly until you are in a dark crevice in some dark hall beneath the kitchens.

“Young Mistress! You must not continue to ask of the witch.” He says, gradually lowering his voice as he notices that even the lightest of whispers will cast an echo in this subterranean space. There is only a single candle here, somewhere beyond the racks of bottles, and the light filters through the glass in hues of red and brown and illuminates the old man's features in a devilish way. But his eyes don’t warn with malice, only concern.

“So you tell me there is one?”

“Do not say that! Do not say she exists, do not acknowledge it - it gives her power.” He groans at his reference to her. “I will tell you this, I will tell you once and you must never - ever repeat these words, nor think of her presence, o-or anything. Not near these lands you won’t, or there will be more gone!”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because she has done this before! Years ago when I was a child. My little cousin Nelly, one of the girls from the abbey… even your great uncle Eustace! She comes to collect those beautiful and innocent and feeds on their purity. She has done this before!” The things the old man says pierce you and fill you with horror, as if the very digging of his fingers into your arms is giving him ten holes with which to feed you with terror. Your eyes sting, and it’s not with tears, but exhaustion, frustration, anger. You are tired, and every word wears you out further.

“And my husband?”

“Not your husband, not yet! And certainly why she has come so quickly - to snatch him before he belongs to another, before he is impure.” He says pondering, “That, and the old man Loras, the butcher’s grandfather, he’s to do with it! The old man has gone mad with age, speaking of things that happen no longer. They tried to stick a sock in his mouth but his mind was already clouded with thoughts of the witch., and things of his past. Him and all the old folk in this town threatened us for years with their memories and now look!”

“I don’t understand!”

“She needs acknowledgement, she needs people to feed her with their thoughts…” The man sighs, loosening his grip just the slightest. “She’s satisfied with the ones she takes… she needs their attention, their fear! She wants people's attention, it's what gives her power. As her captives die out, and the people in the towns forget about her, her magic fades and she is weakened. Until she chooses to come for more...”

“So an old man has dementia and some century old witch took Hyu - my betrothed! It’s unbe -”

“Unbelievable, yes, yes. You and your fellow young folk who lived free of her thanks to us, and now you go asking around, making all of us think of her again!” He sighs, loosening his grip of your arms to give you a reassuring rub with both hands. “You must not speak of her again! Not within these mountains and rivers, she hears it all!”

And now you wept, “And Hyunjin? How do I get him back.”

“I’m afraid there is no way… she will keep him so long as he is pure and beautiful, so long as he fears her. And that may be the rest of his life.”

You weep for hours in the old man's arms in that dreary cellar. You weep for hours everyday, always in that cellar, away from all eyes, away from all ears… and away from her scope.

+++

You send letters to your mother and father’s old colleagues and partners, now your colleagues and partners in business. You request books from every corner of the known world, journals, pamphlets. Some come in your language, others from foregin places where magic is more common and you have to ask some of the nomadic friars who pass by town to visit your estate and help translate the texts. You manage to persuade the three of them to stay with your library of all things, and so they reside, reading, translating, researching, alongside you. It is for weeks at first.

You speak another language in common with one of them, a language from the far south where one of your childhood educators came from. The friar named Brother Ignatius, or “Iggy to those that open their homes and hearts to the men and women of my order” as he had introduced himself, recognizes a song you hum one day. It's pretty and airy and it reminds him of his home, and if you were not so despondent and wasted, he could close his eyes and imagine an almost happy woman sings it.

“My mother used to sing that song.” He says in the words of his people.

“My teacher used to sing this song.” You reply in tune.

+++

Days go by… the three Brothers continue their studies, and you your own. You are all alongside each other, each day, and the small company, even in the silence of your library, keeps you sane.

“Her magic will not work with words and thoughts she cannot understand.” Brother Iggy tells you one day.

“And how are you so sure?” you ask.

“Now that we have studied, we are almost certain of her kind. She is not particularly powerful, because her magic depends on others. She is a feeder, magic is not innate to her. She is not of the cleverer kinds of witches. But… she may become influential” Iggy explains.

“And what about that can help me save my betrothed?”

“Nothing.” Iggy has seen you age considerably in the past month. As he and his brothers spend some time of the day helping you, other times helping themselves to your library for their own learning, it always seems to him that you are up first and out last. He feels the three of them have come to share your sorrow a bit, even if you yourself have not told them the story of your loss, since they have pieced it together between your pain, the town gossip, and the materials which you all read.

“Then it doesn’t matter what she understands.”

“Correct. But I have something you should understand. It may… help.” Your ears perk up. “There are orders who deal with these kinds of… individuals.” Iggy’s words fill you with a tiny glimmer of hope, a spark you had not felt within you for months now.

“Would they be able to save him and the others?” You ask, but you remember to not get carried away in foolish optimism.

“Yes… it’s in their ways. But they are not easy to find.” He warns. “We know of one of such orders.”

“Who are they?” You ask with more urgency.

“They are… like us. Brothers, as well… We are the ‘Good’ Brothers, and they are the ‘Other’ Brothers.”

“Other Brothers…” You muse. The name sounds familiar, from one of the many books you have read in hopes of finding something to help Hyunjin.

“Yes, you see, in our creed, my two brothers and those like us deal with the ‘good’... and they deal with the ‘other’?” He explains.

“Witches, you mean?”

“Witches, the occult, things beyond what we can do… thinks of ‘another’ nature…”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? How can I find them? What can I do?” You begin to question frantically, and Iggy hushes you by gently cupping your hand in his.

“They are not easy to find. They are not far, but they only reveal themselves when it's necessary. And you must make the request for them, and understand that they may deny it.”

“You just said they deal with these things! Why would they deny it?”

“Because dealing with these things is never easy, and there are few in their ranks. There are far less Other Brothers than Good Brothers, usually they have different gifts, where we are healers and scholars, they have foresight and magic. They are rare, and they expose themselves far too much each time they confront so much as a simple witch.”

You think over Iggy’s words, feeling exhausted at all you had to contemplate.

“It doesn’t seem so simple though, does it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

+++

Iggy’s explanation had been, although true, quite simplified.

The abode of the Other Brothers was indeed “not too far”. Simply the other side of a small sea, with some land to roam, and soon you’d be near. It was a region you had visited before, with your mother when she traveled on business. You remember it well.

The simplification in Iggy’s story, however, came when he failed to initially explain that the Other Brothers lived in a temple hidden in a Mountain. A snowy mountain, with no path or landmarks - a place made to be unfound and unbothered. Iggy simply sent you off with its name, and said,

“If you are meant to find it, you shall.” He was after all, a man of faith - albeit one foreign to you.

You left the three Good Brothers and your house staff, saying goodbye to them all with a familiar embrace. They will all remain there until you return. You only realized once you left how strongly you had felt the absence of physical affection.

The journey would take you from your town, to a port at the main river, where you would often depart when you’d travel for business, as your parents did. You traveled with some familiar faces, mainly others involved in commerce, until you docked at rivers mouth at the northmost limit of the sea. There you chartered a larger ship, along with some of the crew you frequently traveled with when on business, to take you directly to the port closest to the snowy mountain of the Other Brothers. In the two weeks this journey took, the air changed, the color of the sky became paler, and the shape of water became fiercer. You were glad when you stepped on land, but that brought you on another ordeal altogether.

Upon arrival you arranged to be taken to the foot of the mountain and not further - the locals would refuse to do so. As far as they’d take you was a stone gate at the foot of the mountain. A natural barrier, a gaping stone arch that filtered through the light on the other side and seemed too surreal to be natural. The weather itself shifted radically from each side, with the outward facing side being chilly, yet the interior immediately wrapped in a haze of white frost.

All you had were your clothes, thick wool pants and a sweater with a long tunic for another layer of warmth and a heavy cloak, the boots on your feet, two bags of supplies, and a stocky hinny draped in wool to protect him from the cold. You felt oddly attached to the creature as the local guides seemed eager to leave you.

“How long will it take me to go up?” You ask one of them.

“Can’t say, could be days, could be weeks, maybe even hours.” She replies.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?” You reply in confusion.

“Nothing - there’s too much magic up there. You will find what you need if you are meant too, and if not the mountain will either eat you up or spit you back out.”

So there was a chance of not returning. You looked at the hinny in sympathy, hoping both he and you would return unharmed. You weren’t too afraid, perhaps a little frustrated at the lack of information, but these journeys didn’t bother you after the travels you’d had before. What did concern you was the prospect of being lost up there, and not returning. You wouldn't be able to help Hyunjin… you wouldn’t see him again...

In all the months of agony over the loss of him, this was the first time it occurred to you - you may never see him again.

You had to return.

With this new determination you begin to climb towards the gate. A slither of a path had formed naturally as the two stone mounds of the mountain joined, and you led your steed on the way. It was bearably cold, chilly, yet there was no current of wind whatsoever. It was quiet too.

With the way the sunlight fell through the arch, the foggy mist of the mountain created a veil of sorts, almost blinding you until you were well within the arch itself. Yet beyond that, you could see the snow covered ground and not much else. It was an opaque mist of white, almost sparkling specks of snow that would glimmer in the sun and cut off your view lest you were particularly close to any object. Save for the occasional peek of black rock, everything was white and clouded. You could not see your surroundings.

Yet, the strangest thing of all was the fact that it was not cold, or at least, hardly so. It was the numbing effects of magic, and if this place was so permeated with the energy as the locals and Brother Iggy said, it would be dangerous. A strong environment of magic often caused a dream like trance, sluggishness, confusion… sometimes, people went mad with it. You could feel the magic in this place just as described in the books; a sensation of weightlessness, as if submerged in water, yet electrifying, as if surrounded by static.

All you could do was attempt to keep your sense of direction and lead the animal upwards.

And upwards...

And upwards...

You tried to keep track of the sun and its movements, but at some point it didn't make sense, it seemed to be moving too rapidly for the amount of time that had lapsed. At one moment it should have been to your right, but then it appeared in front of you. At other moments it hid behind tall and jagged peaks of rock that cast startling silhouettes in the foggy air.

At some point it became absolute disorientation, and the sky had begun to darken. No lanter would help you here, in this mist, so you assumed you would have to tread in the dark, and perch yourself somewhere and sleep against the tranquil beast beneath you.

But you didn’t, you couldn’t stop. You did not feel tired, or as upset with your loss of bearings as you should have been, you just continued on. Purposelessly, aimlessly, thoughtlessly, but as if you were following some direction or… something. When the sky began to lose the orange and red hues of its twilight, purple and bluish lights took over in the dusk. It was not complete darkness, and everything had a blue glow, as if the snow reflected even the smallest of glimmers. You kept on… and on, and on… leading the hinny forward and upward…

You start looking around, and it occurs to you that you should feel some concern. Everything around you is lined with indistinct landmarks; one boulder here looks just like one over there, that lump of snow is kind of like this other one. Everything seems to be identical in every direction and it leads to something else beyond that you can’t make out due to the snowy haze. The fog does not stir or swirl with any wind, and any disturbance of your surroundings is due to your intervention.

It’s quiet, too quiet… and you can only hear the sound of your heart pounding in your ears and the huffs coming from your steed. The occasional click and clack of his hooves set a building percussion that's rhythm unsettles you in the silence. Everything is pale blue, dark blue, or black. You are lost, and you remain this way for some time, but you can’t make out how long.

And then you see it.

A little orange glimmer, and then another, four or so specks glowing beyond the fog. Is it fire?

You dismount and grab the beast by its reins, the ground is easy to walk on here, the snow not too deep nor the rocks too jagged. You’d rather lead the way than potentially lose sight of the light while riding, and so you walk towards it. It takes focus, you are tempted to look around again, to circle the snowy paths once more, but you focus.

The orange light begins to glisten in your features, you see it reflected in the hinny’s eyes - you are closer - and you feel yourself regaining your focus. You also regain senses, and begin to notice the stinging cold on your cheeks and hands, it almost burns. You make out a shape along the lights as you are closer, they are four stone beacons that line another gate of sorts. But this one is carved, it is a rectangular hole in the mountain stone.

You enter, and the ground here is flat, carved, and the hoovesteps sound even sharper and echo in the chamber you enter. It is… a temple of sorts. With a tall ceiling and pillars, dim but lit by the same blue radiance of the night sky. You now notice your body aches, and you both continue onward. In this new silence, the click and clack is even sharper, it makes you jolt at every snap. You bring him to a halt in the middle of the room. And then, even in this silence, you hear someone near you.

“Who goes there?” Asks a man with a deep voice. You turn to see him, but he is just a dark silhouette in these stone walls. His voice is stern, but it doesn't cause you any fear beyond the initial surprise.

“I’ve come looking for the Other Brothers.” When you open your mouth to speak, it burns, you feel an unbelievable strain to raise your voice, and as you begin to approach the man your feet lag, as if carrying the weight of your body were impossible. It’s exhaustion - why hadn’t you felt it until now? “I’ve come… all the way…”

The man is closer to you, and you can just make out the gleam in his eyes and the pale color of his hair, but that is all you make out until you are surrounded in darkness.

+++

You are in his home this time, in his room. It reminds you of that night when his family invited you over for his birthday, very early into your relationship. And much like then, the two of you have run off, away from prying eyes, to find the privacy you both linger for.

You can't keep your hands off of one another, roaming all over the other's clothed body. He grips at the firm bodice of your dress, you slop your hands beneath his coat, where only a layer of silk separates you from his flesh. He’s kissing you all over, and you dig your fingers into his dark locks, as soft as the fabric he wears, as soft as his fair skin…

The touch of him intoxicates you, as does the scent of his hair and skin, but none more than the flavor of his mouth. This is as far as either of you allow yourselves to go, these desperate kisses, and touches without removing a sliver of fabric. You want more, so does he, you’ve both spoken of it but you’ll wait. For now, it’s the warm breaths that leave his mouth and blow into yours that fill the hole within you, or the taste of his tongue and the texture of his lips. The noises he makes, the little pants and whimpers, tickle your ear and send a shiver down your entire body.

He lays you on a couch, and it's a game of tugging and turning as you take turns laying atop each other. He cups the side of your chest, his thumbs digging into the center of your breasts as firmly as the fingers can, and when he takes his mouth from yours it’s only to kiss along your neck and bosom, cracking with desire to tear the neckline down and expose your body. The lines of his neck suffer a similar treatment from you.

At some point the two of you stop to breathe, and once you cool off he will pull you against him just to hold you, chastely enjoying the feel of you against him. He looks up at the ceiling as you trace a finger over his shirt, occasionally glimpsing at his profile. The rise and fall of his chest lulls you, and you nudge your face into his warmth.

“Stay with me.” You whisper, “Stay with me forever.”

“I can’t.” He replies, his voice sounds pained.

“Yes you can. Stay with me.” You insist with more force.

“I can’t stay… I’m not here.” He says. A tear falls from beyond his lashes, it falls along his cheek and leaves a trail of little diamonds in its stead. “I’m not with you.”

“Of course you are… we’re right here.” You reason.

“No, we’re not. I’m somewhere else, and so are you.”

“I - Hyunjin, what do you mean?”

You feel like you are separating from him, like the couch beneath you is growing and stretching, pulling you two apart on opposite ends. You slide off his chest and grip his arm until your hand slopes to find his and you grip each other’s fingers. He holds on to you with as much force as he can muster, you can feel it crushing your hand as your bodies continue to pull away, everything else fading around you.

“I will always love you… even if I’m somewhere else.” He says, as his face continues to slip away, but his grip grows stronger.

“Hyunjin!” You shout as you sit up and open your eyes, closing them immediately after due to the sting of the light. You feel your heart pounding as you adjust to your surroundings, but you still feel the force of his grip on your hand.

You’re on a bed... somewhere. A room with a fire to the side, and a wide open window that lets you see the snowy day beyond. You are weighed down by a pile of furs and quilts, and along your body you feel a dull ache.

“You’re awake.” Says a voice beside you, the same voice that came from the silhouetted figure in the night… but what night?

“Where -” You begin to speak as you try to sit up once more. You look around the room you are in, and there is a woman leaning against a doorway, looking down at you, and a man sitting beside the bed.

“Shh…” He hushes, as he presses a hand on your shoulder to ease you back down onto the bed. “You should rest, you spent a long time on the mountain and forgot to eat.”

As you are free from your haze you look at him. His eyes glimmer in a strange color that you can’t make out, it’s an amber of sorts, and they contrast sharply against his dark skin, as does the long, purplish hair that falls from his head. The woman beside him has similar eyes, but fairer skin and unnaturally black hair. They are both dressed in plain clothes, unusual for the climate, but you don’t attempt to understand why.

“You are in the House of the Other Brothers… we expect you’ve spent a few days on the mountain.” The woman explains, coming near you, sitting at the corner of the bed. The man presses his hand to your forehead to measure your temperature and hums in approval.

“It… it wasn’t days.” You mumble, feeling tired and confused.

“Four days, to be precise. To many it feels like less, or more.” The man explains. “I am Ansel.”

“And I am Elda.” The woman continues. Her voice is smooth and soothing, you could fall asleep to it.

“I am -”

“Y/n, we know.” Ansel replies. “We’ve been watching you.”

You would have opened your mouth to ask something, but they continue before you can.

“We know who you are, I saw you in a dream.” Elda explains. “And we know what you have come to ask.”

“Please…” You begin.

“Do not fret, we will help you.” Ansel answers. “But you must help us in return.”

“There are few of us, we do not have many resources and we rely on the donations received during the few calls we attend to.” Elda says, “I saw you were a wealthy woman, and you have many books that may interest us also.”

“Whatever you need.” You reply with a hoarse voice.

“We thank you.” Elba replies.

“Once you feel better, we may leave.” Ansel says. “I will go with you.”

The following days are spent roaming the temple of the Other Brothers, exploring mostly empty halls, running into neat little rooms made cozy within small carved entryways. Some of them are young, some are old, although none seem as young as you, and they explain that they have not had new recruits in many years. Their hair seems to vary from one unnatural color to another, “a product of so much magic, it changes a person!” one of the older Brothers explains, and all their eyes share the same amber color, albeit some brighter than others depending on their seniority.

Your hinny survived the trip, and he grazes in a giant hall that the Other Brothers have enchanted in order to grow their food. It is lined with green from wall to ceiling, and all kinds of vines hang with ripe fruit. Occasionally, they come to lounge in the plush grass to take repose from the ice. In several other halls they keep other animals, and even horses.

Their books and accounts are kept by a resident Good Brother, who dresses in the same earthy colors as Iggy and his brothers. He walks you through their House, explaining to you all the things they need in order to upkeep the place, asking you what you can and can’t provide for them. You agree to it all, it will be easy for you to send wares their way in one of your trade ships, so long as they receive them at the foot of the mountain. They live quite humbly, but the imposing structure they inhabit is homely and cozy, and they have cast spells that allow them to view the snow and sky through vast arches and open walls, yet that prohibit the cold from entering.

One day comes, when Ansel tells you that he is ready, and similarly, you have recuperated your strength. You dress in your clothes, returning a simple dress they had lent you, and you prepare your hinny. Ansel rides a massive black horse that is lined with bulging muscles and shining hair.

“The journey will not be long, but make sure you do not leave my side.” He instructs, looking down at you from his tall horse. His hair is braided away from his face in an intricate pattern, and you contemplate how ethereal he looks.

“How many days?” You ask innocently.

He laughs, although it is a kind laugh, “More like hours, four at the most.” The context of that answer infuriates you because it reveals that you spent days going in circles.

The trip down the mountain is far less daunting then the one up, and you expect that it is Ansel shielding you from the effects of the magic that are to do with it.

“Why do you live here? Why all this trouble?” You ask him.

“Because just as the mountain makes the trip difficult for you, it does so even more for anyone who is unwelcome. Only the good and the deserving make it to our house.” Still, it seems daunting to you, and the dizzying effects of the magic give you nausea on the way down, so you cling even more firmly to your hinny, and latch his saddle to Ansel’s.

The arrival at the mountain gate gives you a level of unparalleled relief, and for the first time in days you feel like you can breathe somewhat freely. Ansel knows the way back to the port, and it's only a few more hours on the road.

Your crew waits for you at the port, where they had been conducting business for you in the meantime. The ship's captain blanches when you meet him in the inn where they rested.

“Mistress Y/n, you were gone for weeks!” He exclaims, “We thought you dead!” In his relief, the stocky and red-faced man brings you into his giant arms but sets you down in fear of having violated propriety. You don’t mind and you pat his arm reassuringly.

“Well, I'm not… how soon can we leave?” You say. The rest of the crew in the mess hall eye you, and the strange man beside you, with awe and curiosity.

“We would need to get some provisions, but the weather is alright, we can sail today.”

“Then please, lets.” You insist.

“Is that wizard coming with us?” A crew mate asks, the cook. “Is it true they eat witches?”

You leave with the captain and let Ansel answer the rest of their questions.

+++

The return was unsettling. It was a shorter journey, since you took the same ship directly up river. Along the way, Ansel would ask questions to all of the crew who resided near you, to see what observations they had on the witch. Some of the older men answered, but most of his information came from you. He would hold the sides of your head or touch your temples often, sometimes for up to an hour.

“Are you reading my mind?” You ask.

“Not precisely, but your mind does have things that interest me.” He replies, kindly, but with the same sternness as usual.

“Such as?”

“You have an attachment to the witch, through the connection with your lover. If I explore your mind enough, I might be able to learn something about him, learn to recognize his energies so I can track him down.”

“I see…” You ponder, “Any luck?”

“Well… yes. But I must confess something.” His words make your heart stop, and you think the rocking of the boat will make you vomit. You prepare for the worst, news of Hyunjin, a vision of his death or something awful of the sort.

“She knows we’re coming. She can feel you.”

“Feel… me?”

“Yes, you aren’t afraid of her. But she can feel your anger.”

You think about it for days, but you don’t know if it is good or bad. You leave those thoughts at sea - it doesn’t matter what you think, only what you’ll do.

+++

“Mistress Y/n!” Brother Iggy yells from the entrance of your estate as you and Ansel ride in, exhausted, worn. You are both burnt from the ice and now from the sun, with your skin flaking and irritated. You have lost weight, as your clothes fit looser. The staff are somewhat alarmed, but you have come back from your travels in a similar state on other occasions.

“Is that Ansel the Great?” Iggy shouts, much more loudly than before. “Ansel!”

“Oh goodness.” Ansel says, only loud enough for you to hear. “You failed to mention it was those three.” Finally, you see his brows furrow in some sort of dread, and you can’t understand why.

“Do you know each other?” You ask.

“This is some cruel joke, Elda didn’t say anything either.” He says with worry.

“Ansel! Anseeeel!!! Look! It’s really him!” Iggy continues to shout along with the other two Brothers. When you are close enough, the two of you dismount and you are greeted by Harold and the rest of the staff who are quick to inquire about your wellbeing.

“Ignatius, Ambrose, Elias…” Ansel greets sternly.

“Oh goodness, we have heard so much about all of your adventures from Brother Giles. He told us all about what you did since we last saw you…” Brother Elias goes on fawning over Ansel, and you turn to Harold once you’ve greeted everyone.

“Did you find what you needed? Will this man help?” He whispers in your ear, and you nod. “Good, good.” He replies with a comforting smile.

“Mistress, what kind of horse is this?” Asks the stablehand that grabs the reins of your mount.

“It’s a hinny.” You reply, giving the animal a rub along its head before parting with it.

+++

You took a few days to rest, and as soon as you and Ansel were replenished, you returned to the three Good Brothers. Again, you spoke in Iggy’s language, which Ansel also knew. He took his time studying the information that you and the three Good Brothers had put together, as well as new accounts that they had compiled from books they managed to obtain during your absence.

“I have heard of this witch before…” Ansel says one day. “Now that I read all this I am certain, she has been around for centuries. There is a log in the House of the Other Brothers where we keep the names of these witches, what they do, what their weaknesses are. She has eluded us for centuries.”

“What is her name?” You ask.

“We must not say it!” Brother Ambrose insists.

“But there is one name we may use… they call her the collector of dolls.”

“What?” Iggy exclaimed with a shudder.

“It is what she does, she keeps people like dolls. She sets a house, makes them pose along in it. There are stories of an Other Brother who confronted her once, and though she managed to flee, she left her ‘dolls’ behind. She kept them dressed well, and painted their faces.” Ansel explained, “And there is another text in that one book Brother Elias saw… another region, hundreds of years ago, plagued by a demoness to whom all the most beautiful people flocked, entranced, they willingly went with her… just as was described with that one missing boy.”

“There is a description there, too!” Brother Elias says, as he begins to rummage through a pile of books and takes out one with a worn cover, and it’s pages scribbled in an alphabet you had not ever seen. “Grey skin, like stone... fingers black… her mouth opens, from one side of her face to the other, revealing more teeth than other women should possess... She quietly dictates orders, and so her dolls follow…” he translates.

“So people listen to her? Ansel could simply arrive and tell him what to do.” You say hopelessly.

“Not quite.” Elias continues, “Acknowledgement gives her power. Its very… tricky… but so long as you do not fear her, so long as you do not acknowledge her influence, she is powerless.”

“Too subjective.” Ambrose says. “But our great Brother Ansel fears no witch!”

You don’t sleep that night thinking of it all. Ansel decides to depart in the morning.

+++

It's a cold morning, but it never snows in your town. Still, you feel it’s colder than you’ve ever known it to be in these parts.

You are awake when the sun comes up, before the roosters begin to cry, before the halls begin to bustle with movement. You sit under a large open arch at the end of one hall that allows for wind to pass through the entire wing - it's useful in the summer, but the cold doesn't bother you now. If anything, this burn, this sting of the almost icy air against your fingers, is the one thing that keeps you alert and feeling.

It takes an hour or so for Ansel to walk out of his room. He is the largest man in the estate, his footsteps are unmistakable, along with the slight jingle of the metallic trinkets and charms that line his clothing.

“I should be going now.” He says.

“How do you feel?” You ask, although the words can’t carry the concern you wish to convey, you don’t have the energy for that. He doesn’t answer your question, but he says the following.

“The location that Iggy and I have traced can’t be more than hours away. Suppose I spend a half day on the journey, and a day stalking the witch. It would be two days, three as a contingency.”

“Only three days?”

“I should return by the third dawn. If it is longer than that you should assume I have failed. I ask you to send word to the Other Brothers if so.” Your heart does drop.

“I understand.” Is all you say. You watch Ansel depart on his large black stede. The sky is grey and the earth is veiled by mist, and soon he is only a shadow that disappears in the fog.

+++

Hyunjin. All you do is think of him, day and night. You think of Hyunjin, the shape of his nose, the softness of his skin, the texture of his lips. His eyes, the way that he looked at you, the way you never wanted to be looked at again - if not by him, then by no one else.

There’s the sound of his voice. Sometimes, when you close your eyes, it feels as if you’ve heard him call you. It’s only an impression though, he’s not here. Every time you close your eyes, when sleep threatens to take you, you see him. It only brings you pain, you are perfectly aware in every dream that he’s not here. That beautiful man who loved you, who maybe still loves you, fills every thought in your mind.

You don’t think of him fondly though, every thought, every memory brings tears to your eyes. You think of him as though you were saying goodbye.

Everything gets colder, and greyer. You become more numb. The Good Brothers have taken to making spirits in your home, teaching some methods to the workers in the kitchen. It’s stronger than anything you keep in the cellar and it's what fills your stomach the following days.

On the second night, Brother Elias finds you crying in the cellar. He convinces you to return above ground and the two of you fall asleep in front of a fire after drinking the bottle together and sharing stories of all the lands you’ve visited.

Brothers Iggy and Ambrose join you in the morning. It is the final day, and Ansel is to return on the following morning. The four of you are too tense to eat, you hardly speak. You simply sit together, by a fire, and do not sleep in the night.

The four of you wait for dawn in the same arch from which you watched Ansel depart.

It is midday now.

Ansel did not return.

+++

“Maybe if we wait another day.” Elias reassures the three of you. Ambrose has taken to silence, Iggy weeps, you seem catatonic.

“Our Brother is dead!” Iggy sobs.

“Ignatius…” Ambrose calls, “We don’t know that.”

“He said he would return by this dawn! He is dead! They are all dead!” He continues to cry - you want to cry along to, but it seems you have wilted from within. None of you bother to speak any foreign languages in defeat.

“There must be something we can do, we just need to think.” Elias proposes, but Ambrose, the wiser of the three speaks up.

“There is only one thing that can be done.” He says. Your eyes meet his, and you both know the same thought courses through your minds.

“We must go.” You say.

“What?” Iggy cries, almost choking from the shock.

“You and Ansel marked the spot on the map, we know what her weaknesses are - I’ll go.”

“So will I.” Ambrose says, looking at Elias and Iggy.

“We - you can’t expect us to go.” Elias says.

“I don’t, you can stay.” He replies.

“No… we must go to our brother together, and help Mistress Y/n save her love and the others. It is our duty as Good Brothers; To do good.” Iggy says, now firm in his tone.

“To do good.” Ambrose and Elias answer back in unison.

+++

You left at dawn. It seemed fitting to ride there on the hinny that had taken you along in so much of the journey, and you allotted a horse to each of the brothers. Ambrose rode alongside you, Iggy and Elias understandably hesitant.

“When we get there, I suggest the Mistress Y/n and myself enter. You two should stay outside in case you must leave.”

“Why would you two go in alone?” Elias asks.

“Because we aren’t afraid.” You reply.

“That is mad.” Elias replies, “You’re pretending.”

“Then pretend you don’t fear her, too. You should be fine.” Ambrose insists.

“I understand the Mistress Y/n… she fears nothing. She is a woman who’s gone cold, but you?!” Iggy says.

“You forget I come from a place where witches are far more common, and my kin didn’t need to wait for an Other Brother to come deal with them for us.” He says smugly.

“Pfftt… we’ve been to your home, we saw no witches there.”

“Precisely.” Ambrose muses.

The journey takes some four hours, you were familiar with the land to an extent but Iggy had marked the location that Ansel had gone in. Beyond the main roads, the forest became a mix of only three colors; the red leaves, burnt dry from the coal, strewn on the ground, the black, tall trees, and the bleak grey fog that glowed from the morning sun. It was cold, and wind would howl in the forest, sending the leaves into a chiming cascade.

“Are we there yet?” Elias asks.

“I’m guessing two hours.” You say, it should be noon by then.

While by that time, the sky should have cleared and become bluer, the four of you found yourselves drawn into a drearier corner of the world. The forest itself changed, the trees becoming thicker with curling roots and branches, the fallen leaves were now a dark hue of brown, and the misty air became duller. It seemed as if you were in another place altogether.

“We should be near.” Ambrose says. You nod.

The horses begin to shift uneasily, but the four of you manage to keep them calm. You notice caved and cut stones strewn about, ruins of huts. You knew that centuries ago, this corner of the land was once a thriving town, displaced by one of the larger settlements further north. These must be the ruins.

If you weren’t mistaken, there should be a castle nearby, towards the lake. It seems like the right place - you can feel it.

“Follow me.” You whisper. It takes only a whisper for them to hear you in this silence.

No one would have come to this place in decades. It was dangerous. When the rains came in the spring the lake would grow and flood all the surrounding land, as intended by a dam built in the aftermath of the town's abandonment. Still, while the effect of time was noticeable, you could make out sturdier structures towards the center of the town, and your horses’ hooves soon stepped on cobbled roads.

You could make out a path to the castle from here, and you saw the silhouette of its tall structure beyond the haze. You reach a certain point and stop.

“Ambrose, I think we should get off here.” You say. “And you two stay with the horses. If you hear or see anything other than us, you should leave.” Elias and Iggy nod.

You give your hinny one last pat, and you turn to look at Elias and Iggy. There are no goodbyes exchanged - Iggy insisted it wasn’t necessary.

You and Ambrose walk together algon what seems to be the only path toward the castle, and the shape of it looms, with hazy edges, as a large and dark mass among the midst. The ground becomes wetter, and soon the two of you are standing in a few inches of water. It’s freezing, but you both continue.

The water reaches your knees by the time you reach a courtyard, and at its other end, there is a massive main entrance, with both wooden doors blown open and torn at the hinges. Ambrose inspects it, the damage seems recent.

“It must have been Ansel.” He whispers. You climb the steps of the front door, and at that level there is only an inch of water left to cover the ground.

It is absolutely silent as the two of you stand still. You are in a wide hall, the floor shines with a layer of clear water, but the only source of light is from the doorway behind you. Within, the castle seems to be in little decay, everything is sparse but somewhat free of the usual signs of abandonment. There is no furniture here, only the tiles of the floor, the patterns of the carved stone walls and large stone pillars decorate the room. It would be a brighter place if some of the windows were freed of the foliage growing beyond them.

You take a careful step forward, and freeze as soon as you hear a droplet of water fall from your shoe to the surface of the water. You look at Ambrose, who is following as quietly as he can.

There is a large staircase that winds upward, to another section of the castle, or else the other option is to continue down the hall. You decide to continue until you see…

A pool of red, beyond a pillar, staining the clear water. You look at Ambrose.

“Witch's blood is black.” He whispers in your ear.

That answer makes nothing better. He takes your hand and guides you forward, until you are near the red puddle and walk along it, making the water stir and mix.

It’s Ansel. The two of you gasp at his body, resting against the stone, eyes closed. He lies there limp.

And then he gasps in air and his eyes are blown open with alertness, shaking his whole body away. You open your mouth to scream and manage to swallow it, and even Ambrose lets out a yelp and digs his fingers into your arm.

“What are you doing here?” Ansel whispers frantically.

“We came for you - and the others.” you say, kneeling before him in his own blood, it reeks all over and soaks your clothes. You see it is his leg, the bone split open and protruding from the skin and a tear in his clothes.

“She has injured me, but I have injured her worse.” Ansel says, resting his weight against you with one arm.

“Elias is with us, he may help you.” Ambrose says, dropping beside you.

“Don’t tell me you brought the second fool also…” Ansel groans, and when he studies both of your expressions he rolls his eyes, annoyed that you had brought the two other Good Brothers. “Terrible idea.”

“He may just save your life.” Ambrose insisted.

“For now we need to save everyone else’s life.” The bleeding man replies. You take a hand to his forehead, it's cold and slick with moisture.

“How long have you been like this?” You ask.

“We’ve been playing cat and mouse for days, but I am close to getting her.” He groans as he shuffles about. “I may be able to bind my leg with magic for some time, but I need Ambrose to help me corner her one last time.”

“Are you sure that's all you need?”

“Yes… and you… you need to go find all the others. Wake them, and guide them out.” Ansel gestures toward the stairs. “Trust me! To go upstairs she must pass through here. It is your best chance to get everyone out. If anything happens, I can stop her before she reaches you and her captives.”

You gulp and begin to stand, he grips the fabric of your shirt once before saying “May you do good.” and Ambrose nods along with him. You part from them, reluctantly, and rush back to the stairs.

Once you are gone, Ambrose speaks plainly to Ansel.

“You can’t fix your leg, can you?” He asks. Ansel shakes his head. “Then there is only one thing left to do.”

Ansel hands Ambrose a dagger. He knows what he must do.

+++

You don’t know where you’re standing, but you follow a feeling in your gut as best as you can. Once you climb the stairs there only seem to be more halls and doorways that you sprint along. You pass by one room, and peek inside. There are three young girls laying in one large bed - completely unconscious yet breathing. They are dressed in flowing, frilly dresses. Their hair is styled with ribbons and their faces are painted. They are too close to the exit, you decide to return to them along the way - something tells you it's not the time.

Next you find a little boy, neatly perched in a window. There is a book in his hand, and he is positioned as if he were reading it, but he is in the same sleep-like state as the other girls. Not now, not yet. You run into others along the way, but something tells you to keep going, and going and going, until…

There is a doorway. It’s open and you step inside.

The room was clean, yet the open windows had let a bustle of dry autumn leaves blow in, with a chilling wind that howled past you into the hall. It was bright, delicately decorated. Smooth stone floors and ornate furniture in subtle colors, tinted windows that gleamed in rainbow hues giving everything rich color where it was not already lit by the season's cold light. A large bed layered in plush white blankets and furs, and plump pillows, and a canopy of translucent curtains stood at the head of the room - and he lay at the center of it all.

His body rested quite peacefully over the covers, his arms gently crossed over his midsection. As you approached and peeled the curtains back you saw his beautiful features, soft lips, soft lids, soft cheeks. He had paled, he had lost weight, there was a slight sadness in his expression that you imagined would grow in his waking hours. He was dressed in black, simple yet fine clothing, and his hair had grown past his shoulders and framed his face which had tints of pink on his nose and cheeks from the cold, almost as pink as his lips would become when you kissed him.

You crawled over the bed, climbed onto his body and pried his arms apart so you could bury yourself in his embrace. He was warm in this little soft corner of this horrible place, and he retained his scent as you remembered it.

You call his name and he does not reply, you shake him by his hands and arms and shoulders and he does not shift, you cup his face and it does not flinch. He is a soft statue beneath you, and you suppose there is only one thing left to do.

You kiss him.

His entire body jolts, in fear, surprise, stimulation. He shudders in a sharp breath and squints his eyes closed as soon as he opens them since the light stings him in a way he did not anticipate. But he feels you, he smells you, he tastes you on his lips and he knows it's you. He pulls you against him so hard it crushes the breath out of you.

As he regains his sight he kisses you again, and again, tears fall from your eyes and his, and you wet eachothers faces, and he kisses you again. His hands roam your body, grasp at your clothes and hair - he’s making sure you’re real and not just another dream.

“Are you here?” He asks, his voice breaking among the sobs.

“I’m here.” You reply.

+++

“You know… we’re invited to the wedding.” Iggy says, munching on an apple as he rides his horse, leading the party along the road, away from the town where they have just survived a great adventure. “It’s three months away, I’m sure we have time to report back to our Elder Good Brothers and return in time.”

Elias rolls his eyes, “Can’t the Elders wait a few more months, I want to visit home before I come back here.” Iggy snorts at the comment, “We just survived hunting a witch and saving a prince, and several children, from her captivity. It’s only natural that I want to see my mother.” Elias argues.

“Fine… I suppose I’ll go on my own then, since mister Ambrose here has insisted on taking ‘time off’ as well.” Iggy turns to look at Ambrose bitterly, and he smirks in return while chuckling.

“What about you, Brother Ansel, what do you plan on doing?” Elias asks.

“I will return home… the Mistress Y/n has been rather generous with her donation to the Other Brothers, and I will see that it arrives well.”

The four of them ride out until the road parts, one end toward the North, the other toward the river port, only a few miles away.

“I guess this is where we say goodbye, Brothers.” Iggy says to Ambrose and Ansel. “Elias and I head North from here.”

“I bid you farewell, Brothers, and I hope to see you both soon.” Says the Other Brother.

“May you do good.” Says Ambrose, and so he and Ansel continue toward the river.

“Do tell me, what do you plan to do until the wedding?” Ansel asks him.

“I’ll go wherever I feel like going.” Ambrose muses.

Beside him, Brother Ansel comes to a rough halt, and Ambrose stops beside him.

“You’re eyes, they used to be darker… they are now brown.” Ambrose says, studying the younger Brothers face.

“Is that so…” Ambrose ponders knowingly.

“I must also ask… that was not your first time killing a witch, was it?”

“It wasn’t.”

“May I ask one final question, Brother…”

“You may.”

“Before you took your vows and chose the name Ambrose, what did they call you?”

Brother Ambrose chuckles… he had not thought of that name in years.

“Minho.”

[Note] Hello darlings! I have been working on this for quite some time, and I really put a lot of effort into this. Please let me know what you think, and feedback is appreciated unless you are an ass, and constructive criticism is welcome too! I do hope you enjoy, I had a lot of fun thinking this up.

- XoXo,