"Oh, we think we're special, do we?"

Hmm. “I think I’m going to build my base elsewhere; I love my tower but I want to be somewhere near water. You know, being the Water Witch and all. There’s just a small pond here, and that won’t do.” Prismarina rambled to herself, observing her tower from the path outside. It was gorgeous, but it didn’t quite feel right to her.

“I’m not sure where to build though. Where would be a good spot? I should just follow my heart, I guess.” Pris glanced around, gazing at the other towers. It didn’t appear that any of the other witches were living in their towers either, which meant she might run into them if she tried to find a place to live. She didn’t really want to live near someone else, but perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. Not if it was the right person.

Almost instantly after the words left her mouth, her quest was derailed by the sight of a grey witch hat. She moved closer, curious, catching a glimpse of pretty ginger hair. “I hear sounds! I see a witch hat; I see ginger hair! I should go talk to them; I’m a sociable person; I want friends!”

As she approached, she began to see the whole of the witch. She appeared to be a zombie—perhaps they were the Necromancy Witch?—and she had a lovely grey robe with a gold belt that matched her hat. Her eyes were a pretty green that reminded her of jade or some other precious gem.

“Hello, how are you doing?” The witch turned and spotted her, offering her a friendly if wary smile. She scanned Pris calculatingly, making her feel almost unsatisfactory.

“Hiiiiiiiii! I love your hat by the way! D’you like mine?” Pris burbled, smiling brightly. It was a stupid question—their hats looked exactly the same except for the color—but she’d run her mouth without thinking. She did that a lot, she’d found.

“Yes, it looks… very similar. I do appreciate a good hat,” The witch remarked, her mouth quirking into a smile. She looked almost amused with Pris, as if she was a new wand to play with—something new and interesting.

“I love the hair, love the outfit, it matches so well,” Pris added in a rush, trying to make her earlier comment seem less silly. She did love the witch’s outfit; the silvery color looked gorgeous against her green skin, and the gold made it pop that much more.

“Thank you, I made it myself. I see you’ve gone for the standard witch robe? Love a classic witch robe,” The witch commented, adding the last bit almost as a second thought. She didn’t seem to want to insult Pris’s robes, wanting to seem unjudgmental. It was more endearing than it probably should have been.

“Yes of course, it’s me. I love to be dramatic, and the swish this robe makes is perfect for that,” Pris explained, offering a dramatic twirl or the cloak for emphasis.

“What’s your power? I’m the Water Witch,” Pris added after a moment, curiosity spreading on her face. She was almost certain this was the Necromancy Witch she’d heard of, but she wasn’t quite sure—she didn’t want to assume, and the color scheme this witch had didn’t quite match the theme of death.

“My power? I’m a Time Witch; I’m a Time Witch, you see, I control time. Name’s Cleo.” The witch—Cleo—offered nonchalantly. Her smile widened, turning a bit more ominous and sharp. Pris hadn’t thought of Cleo as the Time Witch, but now she couldn’t think of anything else to fit her. She had that sense of inconceivable power and unmistakable confidence.

“Oh! My name’s Pris, Prismarina, that is! Y’know, time is such a weird concept,” Pris introduced herself, scrambling for a comment that made herself seem cool to this witch. She didn’t think she quite pulled it off, but at least the confidence in her tone made it sound at least somewhat striking.

“It must be, I suppose. And you only experience linear time, can you imagine what it’s like for me?” Cleo pointed out, accompanying the words with a condescending laugh. Pris didn’t consider the laugh, though, her brain already hurting trying to think of what that might be like.

“Oh, oh, how do you live?” Pris burst out, aghast.

“Very comfortably.” Cleo didn’t seem bothered by the question, if anything she seemed to find it entertaining. It made Prismarina feel small, the way Cleo looked at her as if she were nothing.

“Did you get your book and quill?” Pris asked suddenly, curious. This was one of the other witches, right? So she must have received the letter.

“You know, I haven’t yet. I’ve only just… Well.” A strange smile crossed Cleo’s face, as if she knew something she wasn’t telling Pris. Pris didn’t dwell on it for long—clearly she knew more, because she had read the book.

“You should, you should! You really should,” Pris encouraged her, excited to have met a contestant less knowledgeable than her. Perhaps she did have a chance of winning this. After a beat of silence, she added mischievously, “Maybe you didn’t get one; maybe it’s just me, because I’m so important.” She meant it as a joke; a teasing lilt to her voice and laughter in her tone.

“Oh, we think we’re special, do we?” Cleo’s voice took a more pointed turn, almost like a cat toying with its prey. Her expression turned analyzing, scanning Pris in a whole new way.

“Well—I—I mean—you see—we are special, we—” Pris tried to backtrack. She’d only meant—they all were special, they’d all gotten letters to compete to be the Head Witch because they were the best. Pris wanted to be better than them, sure, but she hadn’t meant to offend Cleo!

“Oh, I see,” Cleo began, stepping closer to Pris almost threateningly.

“Erm—Listen—” Pris tried to take a step back, opening her mouth to defend herself before she was cut off.

“That seems like a challenge at this point!” Cleo spoke over her, sounding almost gleeful. She sounded as if she’d destroy Pris, and have fun doing it.

“Um, I don't think I meant it that way; but now that you've implied it… Y’know yeah. It is a challenge. What are you gonna do about it?” Pris spluttered indignantly, taking a step forward. She continued until she stood right in front of Cleo’s face until they were only a few inches apart. If Cleo wanted to fight, they could fight. Prismarina would win. Hopefully.

“Not so much right now.” Cleo shrugged, leaning back just enough to give them both room to breathe. Somehow, the Time Witch had made defeat sound both threatening and superior. Because that was what it was, right? If she wasn’t going to do anything—if she wasn’t going to fight her—then the witch had lost.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Save it for the games, eh?” Pris challenged, lifting her head smugly. She was the better witch, and she’d prove it. And when she was the headmistress, Cleo would have to serve her.

The thought sent a shiver up her spine—she knew, even if she would never admit it, that Cleo was more powerful than her. And so to be in charge of that… of the Witch of Time herself… The idea both fascinated and horrified her.

“Maybe. As the weeks progress… Well, we’ll see.” Cleo turned with a spin, her pretty dress swishing around her legs with a dramatic flare that Pris could never hope to achieve. She walked away with her back to Pris, disappearing in a shower of silver sparks.

“Woah,” Pris couldn’t help letting out a gasp of awe. She wanted to disappear like a cool witch! When would she learn to do that? Maybe Cleo could teach her?

Then again, she’s pretty sure she just made Cleo her enemy. A powerful Time Witch.

Perhaps she was in over her head. That was fine.

Cleo disliked the Water Witch.

The way she twisted her words until they had a totally different meaning, the way she thought herself as so much better than all the other witches, the way she dragged everyone under her spell with promises and lies.

Cleo didn’t see the point in lying. In her years of being a witch—she’d long lost count—she’d never known one to stay hidden. They were always revealed for what they were, ugly and hurtful and so much worse than they had begun.

The Water Witch was like that. Sweet in appearance but nasty in nature. Like a clear pool full of sickness and disease. It looks perfect and tastes syrupy sweet, but turns bitter in your throat and spreads plague through your city.

The Water Witch seemed to have fun poisoning others. Drawing them in on her words and lies, twisting the truth until it seemed false, making alliances and already planning to break them. So many were under her spell—so many thought she was exactly as she seemed—so many were foolish.

But Cleo was not. Cleo, in her lifetimes and lifetimes of experience, knew better.

She knew what the Water Witch—what Prismarina was.

“Water Witch. Hello. What brings you here?” Cleo’s tone was ice cold and suspicious. She didn’t know why the Water Wi—why Prismarina was here, and she didn’t trust it.

“I thought I’d offer you one of those spell tomes! I found one that fit you, and I thought you’d like it as a gift,” Prismarina explained with her sickeningly sweet tone, the one that sounded so deceitful it almost made Cleo throw up.

“Oh! Fantastic, lovely. That’s… helpful. I appreciate it. Let me get something to trade for it,” Cleo agreed loftily, trying hard to keep her voice neutral. She didn’t trust Pris, but it wasn’t wise to antagonize her.

“Oh, you don’t need to pay for it! It’s just a friendly gesture, one witch to another.” Pris used her extra-sweet and extra-innocent voice, the one that said I’m just a small little witch! You can trust me. I will won’t stab you in the back!

Cleo didn’t trust it one bit.

“No, I insist.” Cleo’s tone was sharp, leaving no room for argument. She didn’t trust the Water Witch to not come back and use the gift as a receipt to get something out of her—something to give her the higher ground. She didn’t trust the Water Witch to do something out of the goodness of her heart—she knew that the Water Witch could be cruel; she could be more bitter than she could be sweet.

A flash caught her eye, and she was the Water Witch’s expression twist into an angry snarl, something furious and ghastly and not quite right. Something totally different than the front she usually used.

She knew. And the Water Witch knew she knew.

She knew. And Pris knew she knew.

And Cleo wasn’t sure if they were the same, or if they were different, or if she cared, or why she cared.

It was dangerous, it was. They say time flows like a river—fast and deadly and disorienting. Cleo knew she was. Cleo also knew that Pris—the Water Witch—she—was the same. But it drew her in anyway, the sweet words alluring despite being false, and the hand soft despite ready to stab her in the back.

If she had to be honest, that made it more tempting.

The Water Witch showed up more often, now. She never left without a threat, of course, but Cleo could see her in the corner of her vision, watching her. Cleo wondered if she thought of Cleo the same way Cleo thought of her.

Cleo liked the Water Witch. She was intriguing. Perhaps one day this aspect would make her dislike the Water Witch, but for now, it was just that.