[Content warning for: Implied abuse. Dubcon.]

Rose had heard tales of a witch, who would grant you any wish, in exchange for a price.

The young woman’s breaths were heavy as she ran through the woods, ignoring every branch that lashed out at her pale skin, which left deep gashes of red across her bare legs and arms.

Her cheap wedding dress was tainted by dirt, too, now, and Rose wondered if death would greet her first, before she would find herself able to escape her destiny.

She did not want to marry her neighbor. Especially not after she had overheard him badmouthing her toward his friends in a tavern one night.

“Yeah, she’s good looking, but that’s it. My parents keep on nagging me though, so I guess I’ll go through with the wedding. I mean, we can always call it off later. Or, I could sell her. She would be my wife, wouldn’t she? I could do whatever I want, yeah?”

Rose clutched at her chest. A wolf howled in the distance. Soon, the sun would set, and leave her alone in these dark, dark woods.

Her blood warmed. She kicked off her white heels, then picked up her pace. It had to be here somewhere! These were the deepest ends of the country, that no one ever dared wander to, unless they cared not for coming back alive. However, in Rose’s eyes, spending a good portion of her life with someone who cared not for her, and would likely even sell her off, given the right opportunity, seemed like a worse punishment, rather than being banished from life’s embrace for good.

Rose, was willing to risk it all.

When the young woman finally stopped, her knees gave out. She grasped at a pile of crinkling leaves, that lay abandoned, across the woodland’s damp soil. Above her, a myriad of stars appeared as the sky slowly faded from cyan, until it was violet—a shade the young woman usually adored; yet, it was now one that signalled nothing good was to come, since Rose had failed to discover the witch’s hideout before nightfall.

The air grew cooler as the thick, rich sound of crows singing all around the pine trees surrounded her pitiful, shaken figure.

Rose was on the verge of giving up, when she heard something other than the cries of birds, reaching out to her.

“You are close,” a woman’s voice said. “It will take you a few more steps, another hour, perhaps, but you will find me, if you carry on with your search.”

Rose concluded that she was hallucinating. But at this point, what did she have to lose?

She pushed up against the soles of her feet until she stood once more. This time, the young woman did not run, for somehow, Rose now knew where to go.

It took more than an hour—two, in fact—but the voice had not lied. The next time Rose found herself walking between two ancient trees, something was different; she had arrived in a place that was unfamiliar, and almost frightening.

The stars she so dearly loved were now her only view. Across a glittering field full of the universe’s wonders, a large mansion was risen. A cobblestone path led to its entrance. Rose wondered how this was possible. She could not fathom the logic behind the magnificent sights, that had appeared before her eyes.

Rose followed the river that flowed from behind the mansion. The peaceful sounds of trickling water did little to calm her nerves. This was obviously the place she had been looking for, yet, seeing it in person was much more intimidating than anything she could have ever imagined.

The young woman had assumed she would be met with a small cottage of some sort, hugged by a couple more trees—definitely not an entirely new dimension.

The ground seemed to fade behind her as time went on. Each time Rose took a step forward, across the stone path, silver rocks plunged to their dooms, and Rose was met with no other choice but to carry on, until she reached the mansion, that had somehow tripled in size since she had first arrived here. Or, was this just an impression?

Rose took a deep breath. She raised her fist and braced herself to knock on dark wood. Yet, before her knuckles could even do so much as to brush against the entrance, the mansion’s door creaked open on its own.

A brief thought flashed through her mind—Rose considered turning back. Yet, when she glanced over her shoulder, the path had completely disappeared. Venturing inside the witch’s abode, seemed like it would truly be the only way for Rose to leave this place alive. That is, if the woman she was searching for did not devour her, as some rumours claimed she enjoyed doing, to some of her nightly visitors, every now and then.

Against clean tiles, Rose’s steps clicked. There was no way to be quiet inside the mansion, nor was it an easy feat to make out what exactly surrounded her; every light was dimmed. Every candle, blown out; only smoke—the scent of a recent fire—remained.

Something cold slithered up Rose’s thigh. The young woman froze.

The chilled feeling did not go away. In fact, it felt like a hand had been pressed up against her skin. “W-who are you?” Rose finally managed to get the words out, though, they lacked any bravado. She sounded like a lamb. Something harmless. Something weak.

“You know very well who I am,” the voice, that Rose had heard back in the forest, said. “Welcome to my home. I do apologise if it is not to your liking—it isn’t often that I receive guests, you see.”

The witch was much too close for what could be considered a friendly distance. Her husky voice fell against Rose’s ear. “Did they tell you about me?”

Rose shut her eyes. She took a deep breath. Had this been anyone else, Rose would have pushed them off. But she had heard witches were not considered to be part of such categories. They were not humans. They were odd entities, blessed by the Gods of birth, then shunned for the rest of their lives by their people.

They were used to taking, not asking.

But Rose did not mind. If this had to be the price for her wish to come true, then, so be it.

The young woman gulped. “I heard you grant wishes,” Rose bit her lip. “In exchange for… something,” she added, in a muttered whisper.

“Oh?” The witch hummed. She let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “And what is your wish?” The way the witch took her time in dragging out her syllables caused Rose’s face to warm.

“I—” Rose’s breaths caught in her throat. “I want you to break up my wedding.”

“In a peaceful”—the witch sighed—“or violent way?” she asked Rose.

“Peaceful,” Rose said; even though she hesitated for a mere second—from experience, the young woman could not say violence had ever been anything less than a double-edged sword. If possible, she would prefer to avoid any less than ideal consequences, that may come with such a bargain. All she wanted, was to be done with this, then never have to think of that oaf—who wanted to use her as a means to an end—again.

“Peaceful,” the young woman repeated, in case the witch had not heard her the first time.

As silence tore the room apart, Rose prepared herself for what was to come next.

Yet, the witch pulled away. Said, “You may call me Gwendolyn. And, if you are certain of your wish, dear, then follow me up to my quarters, and we will deal with your”—Gwendolyn’s dark eyes inspected Rose’s figure from the ground up—“problem, there.”

A large, candelabrum materialised itself between Gwendolyn’s fist. Now that there was a light shined between Rose and her, Rose could see that the woman was her exact opposite. Her hair was a beautiful onyx colour. The obsidian dress she donned was made of velvet, and seemed to only accentuate her features. It seemed that the only trace of colour present amongst her attire was her lips, which were the colour fresh blood.

Rose swallowed hard again. She hated herself, for being even more disappointed now, at the prospect that Gwendolyn was perhaps only testing her, and would not actually take her to bed.

The odd pair they made walked up a long, stone stairway together. The interior of this place was what Rose had imagined castles would look like, if she were to ever visit one.

It was quiet, however. Unsettlingly so.

Although Rose found herself itching to make conversation with her new acquaintance, she did not think it wise, and eventually settled against it.

Once they arrived—after striding through even longer hallways—Gwendolyn paused before the door which led to her quarters. She let out a curt huff. Laid the candelabrum to rest on a nearby table, before she turned Rose’s way, and crossed her arms. “I must know what I am working with, here,” she told Rose, ever so casually, before she pointed a finger at Rose’s tattered clothes. “Undress.”

Rose’s heart tightened from within her chest. “H-here?” her voice was a tiny, pitched cry. She could not help but cover herself up, with both her arms, on reflex. The witch did not seem impressed in the slightest.

With an exasperated role of her eyes, Gwendolyn tilted her head. She rested a gloved hand against her own waist. “No one wanders the halls of this estate, but myself, darling. And if you would like a more precise explanation—I will not let someone from the outside world enter my room, with clothes that could be covered in Gods only know what.”

Apparently, the witch caught on to Rose’s confusion—did Gwendolyn detest dirt that much?—for she soon added these final words to her phrase: “Hexes. They are terrible things. Very annoying to get rid of. A tragedy that they exist, really.”

Although she had no way of verifying whether or not this was true, Rose did as she was told. She dropped the pale gown to her knees.

For once, the witch’s expression wasn’t as stoic.

*

Gwendolyn led Rose into her quarters.

With a single click of her fingers, the witch illuminated what was once a room claimed by the eternal night of this strange, otherworldly universe.

The ceiling of this roof was not what one could call typical. It was covered in stars—the view Rose loved the most—and although Gwendolyn did not mention it, Rose wondered if the witch had a way of using her magic to accommodate her rare clients.

As Rose glanced up to find the little, glittering things that owned her heart, Gwendolyn urged Rose to lay across quite a comfortable mattress, that Rose could only describe as made for Kings and Queens.

A tiny vial, that kept a deep purple solution, appeared in the witch’s hand. She popped open the top of the glass, made a small motion with her fingers before the modest, cylindrical cork that had kept the potion from melding in with the air. The cork soon disappeared inside an embrace of flickering, burning flames.

It occurred to Rose that she should have been afraid—but every single bit of Gwendolyn’s power was beautiful, in the way that the moon is when it replaces the sun after dawn.

The witch hushed her with a kiss. She caressed the side of Rose’s cheek with her thumb. “Do not worry,” she said. “It is part of the ritual. It is all right. You are okay.”

The young woman wrapped her arms around Gwendolyn’s shoulders. As Gwendolyn whispered words of reassurance into Rose’s skin, Rose shut her eyes.

It seemed the witch was intent on devouring her indeed, yet, this was not the type of hunger Rose had initially imagined.

Rose looked up to the stars. She gave in to forces that she did not, and would likely never understand. The young woman allowed Gwendolyn to bite deeply into her waist. As skin broke inside the witch’s mouth, Rose could have sworn, in this moment, that the witch had grown fangs, as the scent of iron joined the other strong scents surrounding them.

When Rose glanced downward, to check if this was true, Gwendolyn had disappeared. Rose, was now back in her bedroom.

The young woman blinked. Her face was soaked in sweat. But she was not naked anymore. And her wedding dress was nowhere to be found.

Rose’s heart pounded in her ears.

Everything felt so fresh in her mind, it was hard to believe this had been a dream.

Rose rushed into the bathroom. She took a shower, then dressed herself in hopes of looking at least moderately presentable for the day. It was odd, for during the brief glimpse Rose caught of herself in her bedroom mirror, the young woman could not help but feel she looked a tad younger.

The answer to Rose’s unspoken question came when Rose slid into her favourite skirt. The young woman froze.

Something was definitely different.

Gwendolyn’s mark—where she had bitten into Rose’s hip—was still there. And as Rose joined her parents in the kitchen, then questioned her mother about today’s wedding, Rose’s parent could only reply with a confused, and slightly embarrassed laugh. “Honey!” she said, “What are you talking about? You’re barely nineteen! What kind of parents would we be if we sent you off to be wed, when you haven’t even finished your education yet?”

Rose’s mother brushed a stray strand of hair out of Rose’s face. “Is everything all right? Did you have a bad dream?”

Rose shook her head. She did her best to calm her trembling hands. “It’s nothing, mother, thank you,” she said, before she ran off outside again, in order to check the date on the village’s large, announcement board.

A group of children ran past Rose. The markets were quite lively today.

The young woman’s eyes widened once she finally found today’s date. Her mother was not lying. None of this was a joke. Rose had indeed gone back in time, thanks to Gwendolyn’s help. Now, she had two years to escape this place, before being wed to that terrible, monster of a man.

As Rose returned to join her family for breakfast, she stared at her cat that had not died yet. The pink flowers she remembered buying years ago. And at her father’s beard, which would only catch aflame in two weeks’ time, during an awkward incident, that would singe it all off.

For the first moment in months, Rose enjoyed a peaceful meal with the people she loved—freed of the looming fear of a wedding, that likely will not ever exist anymore.

It seemed the witch everyone had been afraid of, was not so scary, after all.