Twilight had painted her room in a hazy, warm glow when Joe returned to it much later, tired but overwhelmed. She had reluctantly agreed to Nero and Lucia, but somewhere there was a tiny sliver of excitement bubbling through her heart. How far westward would they ride tonight? What did the forest of Sandora look like from up close? Would she finally get to see the real Witch of the West? The unabashed curiosity she had stifled down for so long was beginning to rear its head again.

Joe paced in her room and went over the plan inside her head. Nero was ridiculously meticulous and efficient for an innocent-looking middle aged man. She sent a silent apology to all middle-aged men that she’d ever unwittingly underestimated in her last life.

According to Nero, they’d have to sneak out of the manor sharp at midnight. It was a long ride to the forest of Sandora, and Joe suspected that it wouldn’t exactly be a cheerful picnic trip. She’d had her reservations about the guards and watchdogs of the Winsten manor, because a teenage girl slipping out into the garden with a giant man wasn’t something you’d miss, even in the darkness of the night. Nero had all but smiled at her mysteriously and told her to leave it to him.

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes that had stopped her from questioning him any further.

“Ah, young lady Joanna…” the man stopped in his tracks and peered at her. “Nero almost forgot to tell you this.” Joe raised an eyebrow when he leaned in closer to whisper in her ears. “You’d better prepare a nifty little gift for that woman. The witch of the west doesn’t like wayward visitors in the middle of the season. But really, what’s an innocent traveller to do? So she’s willing to forgive you if you happen to bring her a gift or two ~!”

Joe was tempted to tell him that she wasn’t exactly a wayward visitor, but kept her words to herself. She was going to meet the witch for her own purpose, so bringing a gift would be a wiser (read safer) choice. Heck, she should have thought of it before. Wait, why hadn’t she thought of it before?

But the dilemma remained. This was the witch of the west one was talking about. What would constitute a good ‘gift’ for her? What would a witch living in the middle of a bizarre forest need? Joe hadn’t got the slightest clue. Detergent? Toilet paper? A room-freshener for the corpses? Silverware for her gothic tea-party? A comfy pillow for the times when she feels like sleeping in the hay?

Joe realized that all she knew about the woman was from the indirect, unreliable rumors, not the woman herself. But if Joe wanted her help, she would have to start treating her like a person first, and a shady witch second. No one really liked to be judged by outsiders, anyway.

In the end, she decided on small, humble gifts. The witch wouldn’t care for her wealth anyway (would she? Joe didn’t know what introverted witches wanted). She packed a batch of freshly baked chocolate cookies from Tabitha, and a brand new, beautifully crafted hairbrush that she’d picked up from a trinket shop back in Riseindell, and then resolutely made her way to the blooming rose garden near the courtyard. Mr Rowell was hunched over near one of the bushes, carefully clipping a branch with his nifty fingers.

The gardener straightened up and gave her a quick bow as he saw her approach. He looked thoroughly unamused at being interrupted from his work, but Joe went straight to the point. “I want a small bouquet of pixie roses, Mr Rowell. Can you make one for me?”

The man squinted at her like she had grown a second head over her shoulder. Joe supposed that it was the first time that she’d addressed him directly since coming to this world, but she really didn’t know how to approach this man. It didn’t help that he seemed to have some pre-conceived prejudices about her (the handiwork of the original Joanna, no doubt) and that he wasn’t as trusting as Lucia or as easygoing as Nero.

Mr Rowell grumbled about it for a grand total of twenty seconds, and finally faced her with a frown. “What’re you gonna do with ‘em, young lady? They are difficult to grow, and Lord Winsten’s favourite ones to boot.”

He wasn’t lying of course. The pixie roses, which bloomed in clear, moonlit nights, were another peculiarity of this world, much like the bubblebirds. They were warm purple-coloured flowers, with curious golden specks sprinkled over their tear-shaped petals. The commonfolk called it ‘pixie-dust’, and hailed the unsuspecting little flower as a gift from the pixies and fairies of the old.

While the ‘roses’ smelt absolutely heavenly, they were just as difficult to grow. They bloomed in pairs and quadruplets in the early spring, and stayed all through the summer if cultivated with back-breaking care and constant vigilance. But on silent, full-moon summers, when the watchful guardians felt the first wave of drowsiness in the witching hours of the night, mysterious beings would fly over the roses and shroud them in a translucent cloud of mist, invisible to the naked eye. By the next morning, the golden ‘pixie dust’ would disappear from the petals and the prized flowers went back to being ordinary roses in the span of a day.

Add to it the fact that these pixie roses, by some inane sense of humor of the nature, were the absolute favourite dishes of the pesky bubblebirds. No, they weren’t easy to grow at all.

“I want to give them to Prince Emmanuel as a present.” Joe told the man. If she was indeed meeting the bastard, might as well make most of the opportunity. She twirled around the garden shyly. “Since I shall be meeting him for the first time in a long while, I want to give him something special.”

Mr Rowell blinked at her like she was a particularly fascinating specimen of idiot. She supposed he wasn’t very far from the truth.

“Mr Rowell, can make one for me or not?” Joe tried again. She wanted a nice bouquet of aromatic pixie-roses for the witch, in case those rumors of foul-smelling brewings were true. If not, well, the witch could very well use them for her weekly tea-party. She stared at the gardener hopefully.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Came the frosty reply.

In the end, he carefully chose some rather large flowers for a neat looking bouquet and tied them over with a red ribbon. She thanked him with a smile; he was a pretty nice person after, all you had to do was be nice in return, see? Mr Rowell gave her another strange look and went back to his work with a mumbled welcome.

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Joe had later learnt from Nero that they would take an indirect route to the forest. It wasn’t the unsuspecting straight path from the from the Winsten manor that she’d imagined, oh no. The direct road was a treacherous route, filled with hunting traps and bottomless pits, and an unpredictable terrain that was frequented by mountain bandits all through the year.

“We would take the longer, but safer route via the King’s Highway, right through the royal capital Riseindell.” Nero had told her when she asked him. “It’s a long journey, and we have to make at least three stops before we can reach the western border of Triciella. You should take a few hours’ rest before we head out, my Lady.”

‘…So he says.’ Joe thought as she paced her room. ‘But right now I’m too curious to sleep, dammit! I feel like a child stupidly excited for a trip to the amusement park!’

What in the world would happen tonight?!

“Take a deep breath, my child.” Joe imagined a tiny, white thing on her right shoulder, complete with a glowing halo and tiny wings. “Oh, you poor little, innocent lamb. This is what happens when you let the worldly riches get to your head!”

Joe blinked in rapid succession, and finally managed to ask. “And who would you be?”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies!” The white thing had the gall to smile. “I’m you guardian angel, dearie. Or maybe a figment of your imagination ~! Who knows?”

Sweet baby Jesus. First the vengeful villainess, now a guardian angel?! Joe was now almost certain that she was somehow a pretty comfortable perch for otherworldly beings. What next, a devil?

“Feh, innocent lamb my ass! Yer way more cunning than ya look, girly!” Another voice, rough and grouchy, came from her other shoulder. Sure enough, an angry, red little thing sat there cross-legged, with two tiny horns and a pointy tail that left little to the imagination. Joe looked heavenwards and silently prayed for strength.

“Good evening.” She said with a conviction that she didn’t quite feel. “I’m assuming that you are the devil?”

“Guardian devil.” The red little thing corrected without missing a beat. His face was marred with a surly frown. “Ye have got balls trying to act as if ya don’t know squat, girly.”

The ‘girly’ felt her eyes twitch in irritation, and wondered what she’d done to deserve this situation. Here she was, going mad over the possibilities of meeting a real witch in a video game, and now suddenly there were two – supernatural beings? Figments of imagination? Mascots? Cosplayers? Weirdos? – yep, weirdos casually squatting down on her unsuspecting shoulders out of the blue. How did things come to this?

“Ahem.” She started, suddenly feeling a sense of déjà vu. “I am Joe, not ‘girly’, thank you very much. And what can I do for you, Mister – ah! Guardian Devil?”

“Not us, girly.” The devil shot back, and Joe scowled; there went all her hard-earned politeness. “Ya gotta think what can ya do for yerself!”

“Oh, yes, yes!” The angel piped up, and sent the devil a stink eye. “Normally it would disgust me to the core to admit this, but I agree with the devil here! Oh, you silly child, you! We didn’t appear on our own! We are truly a figment of your imagination!”

Joe blinked again. Say what now?

“We are the manifestation of your own dilemma, dearie. You, who were suddenly dropped into a hostile world without any help, have endless possibilities before you! One small ripple, one tiny cogwheel that gains self-awareness, gets the whole system – no, the whole world tumbling down towards an unknown future!”

“We’re two sides of the same coin, girly.” The devil spat from his side. “Two roads endlessly in conflict. Some part of you must be scared even after all this preparation. Some other part of you might wanna use the witch’s power for yer own selfish deeds. ‘Tis upto you to choose.”

Joe gaped at his speech, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. She was getting strangely embarrassed. Was this how all the heroes and heroines felt when the oracles proclaimed them as the chosen ones? Gee, this was mortifying!

“We can be the hidden questions in your mind.” The angel smiled indulgently. “And we can also be the answers that you know, but would not bring yourself to acknowledge. So tell me child, what do you choose?”

The angel and devil spoke in tandem, their words harmoniously ringing out in her mind. “What do you want to do, Joanna Stuart?”