They were doomed to fail. They had done it before, they were going to do it again. The words stuck with Autumn, clung to her chest like a plague. Pax had not necessarily said they were going to die, but with Magic and The Enemy, what else would failure be? Autumn wondered, then. Did Jeremiah know? Did any of them? Because if so… how the hell were they so calm? She wasn’t ready to die. Not when she’d just started making friends and making a life for herself. Try as she might, entropy felt like it was swallowing her whole.

Double, double, toil and trouble-

The witches in Hamlet had been prophets. Harbingers. First to Hamlet’s ascent to kinghood, then to his death. Always foreboding, always warning. Malicious and intent on the downfall of mortal men. But why? It was never explained why the witches hated men, beyond the idea they were agents of Satan.

Fire burn and cauldron boil-

Why, why, why? What if the witches weren’t evil? What if there had been a different plan? So Autumn had read, read anything she could get her hands on, about witches. Salem. Europe. They were always women and they always died. Horrible deaths. Vaguely, Autumn wondered-

Maybe, just maybe, they hadn’t been evil. Maybe time and time again they had tried, doing everything they could, to stop the enemy. And maybe, every time, they were burned for it. Hung for it. The Enemy twisted their images, made them horrible countenances of themselves-

For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.

Why was it always women?! Why were they always evil?! No matter where she read, where she looked, history always made them the worst. Even in Salem, the deeper she dug, the darker it became. Not even their faults, but the working of some fungus on the bread-

Would history remember her the same way? If she fought, and she failed, would she just be another demonized witch? Someone trying to damn them all to failure?

No. Not if she worked hard enough.

At first, she had made another salve. The first had gone to Jeremiah, for protection. But she could make more. Pax’s calming hands were not here to guide her, but she worked through it- sobbed through the pain which threatened to burn her alive. It was harder without Pax, more wrenchingly gruesome on her own. Several times Autumn thought she was going to throw up from the pain. But eventually, finally, she’d fought her way and made another salve.

So it was time to make another.

Betony and Lavender brought peace to the home.
Lavender, Marjoram, and Clary Sage for sleeping.
Water, honey, mugwort, peppermint, chamomile, lavender, red rose petals and rosemary to enhance the healing rest.

It went on.

Page after page of notes spread around the apartment, slowly filling to every corner of the page. Every surface was covered in paper, and it wasn’t enough. She was going to work harder. She was going to make sure they didn’t fail this time.

Rosalinde said nothing in her frenzy, but watched silently. Judgingly. She gave the flowers as needed, as Pax had said to be safe, and there was no stopping the girl. Only watching her grind the ingredients mindlessly, try everything she could in a manic frenzy.

On the third day, she had neither eaten nor slept. Water as was appropriate, bathroom only when necessary. She was going to save them. Her makeup had long set into the tear lines down her face, countless hours spent sobbing over her fate.

you are going to fail.

But she had more. More ideas, more plans. Autumn shakily grabbed another sheet of paper, another set of flowers, another potion to test. They were all bottled safe, safe in her fridge, safe like her friends were going to be.

She just had to work harder.

Unseen in Autumn’s frenzy, Rosalinde unlocked the front door and slipped outside, desperate to find the man who had adopted her sweet princess.

It was time to put a stop to this.