The silence somehow became even more apparent. It smelled stale as if she were in a long-forgotten attic rather than outside. She should be able to smell grass and leaves and moss, but all she could smell was dust.

Riyah took a deep unsatisfying breath and walked slowly toward the tent. It looked to be made of pieces of canvas varying in size and color. It looked poorly built, only held up by sticks and twine. The opening flap fluttered in wind that Riyah herself could not feel. It didn’t look like anyone was inside. She stepped in and gasped. The inside looked nothing like the shabbiness of the outside. Thick plush carpet covered the ground. Drapes and ornate screens separated the living spaces. To the left were pots and pans, a stove oven and fire pit, and a seemingly endless amount of jars filled with lord knows what. To the right were a table and chairs. The table was laden with thick old books. One glance and Riyah knew that none of those books were in a language she could read. She wandered in deeper. Further back there was a sitting area with luxurious pillows and a bed with a warm-looking down blanket. But Riyah walked right past the sitting area. The back of the tent glimmered and shined. There were piles of riches. Gold and jewels were scattered about like confetti. Did this tent really belong to a witch?

Riyah turned to examine the tent again. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. She turned back to the treasure before her. Which one of these did the witch favor the most? She skimmed her hands over a pearl necklace and then traced over a pair of emerald earrings. She picked up a tiara adorned with rubies and diamonds. It was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. She placed it on her head and walked over to the dirty looking-glass by the bed. She suppressed a smile as she gazed at herself. She looked like a princess. What did a witch need with such things?

Something sparkling in the glass caught Riyah’s attention. It was coming from behind her. She turned. There was a small glass box sitting on a vanity table amongst several beauty supplies that seemed strange for a witch to use. She wandered over to the table after abandoning the tiara on the bed absent-mindedly. Ribbons and powders and glosses were scattered about. Riyah wondered what the witch looked like. Her vanity table looked much like her aunt’s. She lifted the glass box’s lid. Inside was a rusted silver chain with a dull sapphire bauble attached. Riyah lifted it and held it in front of her face for better inspection. It looked like only costume jewelry. She glanced back at the pile of treasure. It was important enough to keep separate. Some place where she would see it every day. It was clearly beloved. Was this the witch’s prized possession? Had she found it?

Riyah set it back in the box and closed the lid. It was time for her to leave. She felt guilty for rifling through someone’s things. She would go back through the split in the boulder where hopefully her cousins were still waiting and tell them there was nothing there. She quickly retraced her steps and left the tent. Uneasiness quickly settled in her stomach as she breathed in the stale air again. Suddenly the boulder seemed farther away than it was when she entered the tent. She had the urge to run, but fear kept her at a brisk walk.

Wind suddenly howled through the trees, breaking the deafening silence and causing Riyah to yelp in fright. Her legs were moving, but she was getting no closer to the boulder. Finally, she lifted her skirts and ran. She threw any sense of bravery to the wind and let animalistic fear take over. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as if someone were chasing her. Was someone chasing her? She was too scared to look over her shoulder to be sure. Instead, she pushed herself to run faster, vowing that should she make it to the boulder unharmed then she would be a good girl and never complain about her situation again.

Riyah reached the boulder after what seemed like several minutes of running even though it could only have possibly been a few seconds She touched the boulder to reassure herself, it’s rough texture easing her nerves a bit. She chanced a look behind herself. The wind had died and it was silent again. Even the tent stood still only a few feet away.

“You touched my things,” someone whispered in her ear. A scream ripped out of Riyah’s throat as she turned to see a woman standing where she wasn’t before. Riyah scrambled up the boulder to reach its opening, but the woman grabbed the back of her dress and wrenched her down. She fell flat on her back. Before she could get up a heavy hand gripped her throat. The witch hovered above. Her body was completely parallel to her own.

Riyah squeezed her eyes shut as she trembled.

“Look at me,” the witch said. Riyah obeyed her demands. The witch wasn’t quite what she expected. She wasn’t ugly with leathery skin and warts like how witches were often portrayed in her storybooks. This witch had smooth unblemished skin with only the slightest of wrinkles around her ruby-red eyes. Her lashes and eyebrows were as black as obsidian, but her hair which was loose and billowing around her face and shoulders had streaks of grey. She had a soft yet stern look on her face almost as if she were disappointed in a naughty child.

“What were you doing in my home?” she questioned. Even her voice sounded more matronly rather than demonic.

“I’m sorry,” Riyah shouted despite the hand gripping her throat, “Please let me go.”

“Did you take anything?” the witch asked.

“I took nothing, I promise,” Riyah begged. She clawed at the witch’s wrist to no avail.

“Why not?” the witch looked at her curiously.

“S-stealing is w-wrong,” Riyah stuttered. The witch touched a finger to her lip as if to ponder something. She floated back, taking Riyah with her so both stood vertically. She let Riyah go but gave her a pointed look to warn her not to move. The witch wore pure white robes that billowed just like her hair as if she were falling rather than standing completely still.

“Please, let me go,” Riyah begged.

“You seemed to enjoy the tiara,” the witch mused.

“It was very p-pretty, but it is not mine,” Riyah said, though she suspected the tiara didn’t belong to the witch either. She fisted her hands into her skirt as the witch started to circle her like a wolf its prey.

“You are the smallest person I have encountered trying to steal from me,” she stated.

“I didn’t steal-” Riyah started to protest, but she quickly cut herself off when the witch raised her hand.

“The last person was small too, but not as small as you. He stole a ring from me, but I caught him.” A ring? Julias always wore a ring on a chain around his neck. Arthur and Oliver asked him about it, but Julias always told them that he found it in the woods one day and that the rest was a secret. Had the story Julias told them really been true? Had he stolen the witch’s prized possession?

“Do you know what I did to him?” the witch asked with a teasing smile. Riyah shook her head.

“I let him keep the ring, but in return, I took something from him,” she answered.

“What did you take?” Riyah found herself asking.

“His love and compassion,” the witch shrugged, “I cursed him to never feel such things for another living thing for the rest of his days. Though he didn’t have much within his heart to begin with.” It couldn’t be Julias. Julias was the kindest soul in Rembrooke manor.

“I’m sure you know the boy,” the witch said, “The gate to my home can only be accessed on Rembrooke grounds. He was the young lord.” The blood in Riyah’s veins went icy.

“Word of warning dear, stay away from that boy. I’m sure he must be a young man now. He’s probably grown to become a very good actor. He’d have to be, to hide his cruelty. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Please let me go,” Riyah whimpered.

“You know the rules,” the witch said, “I caught you.” She held up her hand in a fist. Riyah flinched away almost expecting the witch to punch her, but instead, she opened her hand and something fell out. A sapphire bauble hung by it’s chain in front of her face.