"Are you familiar with the way this works? In order for my cauldron to give you a memory, you have to provide one of your own." The old woman rasps out.

"Kind of like my— friend Kilian's portals." I compare, nodding my head. "I can do that." I say, looking to the woman for guidance. She looks over at me in approval and grins.

"Yes your friend Kilian. See anything interesting in them?" She inquired, brown eyes searching my soul as I glance down at the cauldron. My heart aches at the mention of him and his cruel memories, and a longing that I feel almost every day to comfort him appears yet again. Those are his secrets that he's trusted you with.

"Darkness. Some embarrassing memories of mine, nothing much." I say nonchalantly, mentally begging her to move forward with the cauldron process.

"Don't mind me darling." She cackles to herself. "It's a witches nature to poke our broomsticks where they don't belong." She flicks a finger onto her nose with humor, and puts her interest back onto her old bubbling cauldron.

With a clap of her hands, she starts to speak to it.

"

" The old witch rasps out, her voice of iron and truth. I feel compelled to watch the process as her brown eyes start to turn into inky black pools; the venomous color spreading throughout the whites of her eye.

The contents of the cauldron start to turn on their own, no ladle in sight— I almost feel frightened; but instead, the sense of something's presence greater and wiser— something old and powerful fills the room. I bite my lip in intrigue as the woman continues her chant.

" She finishes, just as the veins her arms start to turn that same inky black color.

Am I messing with demonic magic? Wouldn't be the first time. I feel sick to my stomach as she starts to rasp words in an ancient language, none of which I could understand.

It doesn't escape me that she mentions her name to be Mahtu, or that she's put her blood on the line of the deal. Not mine. She will owe the darker forces, whereas I will owe her.

Slowly, her head turns to me, and I feel the air sucked out of me.

That isn't her.

Instead, something dark and demonic stares me in my eyes, taking possession of her body.

"" It's voice, voices of children,men and women— anguish and happiness, old and new; I swallow slowly, my bravery fleeing in a heartbeats notice. What would Kilian do? Don't show fear. Do what it says. Stay alive.

So my next step, which takes about all of the strength within me, is to turn my head away from it's prying eyes and turn my sights inside of the cauldron.

Fire swirls at the rim, heat tickling my fingers and provoking my ice to come out and play. At the center of the swirling steam is a black inky blotch. One look at it, and suddenly I feel my life sucked out of me. My spirit is sucked out and sent spiraling into the black whole— transporting me elsewhere.

I gasp and shoot my hands out to grasp something— anything. I'm sent into a free fall, heart pummeling as it feels like I was just pushed off of a skyscraper. I try to scream but nothing comes out of my mouth, my hair whipping around my face frantically in this darkness. What have I just signed up for?

As I'm falling, I see a glimpse of something light— I recognize it as what is supposed to be a memory. I look further into it, realizing that it's one of my memories.

A truck door closes somewhere in the distance as a ten year old version of me trails out of our home. I'm clutching a small blue blanket and am barefoot as I behold the sight in front of me.

My dads eyes are trimmed with red, exhausted from only sleeping a couple of hours and having eaten nothing for breakfast. It must be like four in the morning, the sun hasn't even risen yet.

"Baby go back to sleep." He calls out from the truck." He gives me a tight lipped smile, disguising how tired he really was.

"I'm going to work, don't open the door to anybody, okay?" He says as I nod slowly, an ache forming in my chest, slowly consuming me whole. How could I help? I'm not an adult.

"I love you." My ten year old self calls out, but he's already started the loud engine of the truck, and doesn't hear me.

Nonetheless, before he drives away he blows a kiss to me.

"I love you." He shouts out, which makes me grin.

He doesn't realize I said it first— but it doesn't matter. I didn't mind saying it to him twice.

As I watch the back of his truck drive away, I realize something. I realize that I'm lonely— and yet I'm in a house full of books and toys and warmth. I wonder what he was feeling driving those lonely hours, all day long.

Ten year old me frowns, scratching at my brown bangs.

"Don't leave me." I whisper, looking down at my bare feet.

"I don't want to dream about him again. He's scary." My younger self finishes, just as the memory starts to sizzle out, darkness enveloping me yet again as I grew fall.

But not without a hint of recognition at the mention of a dream.

I used to dream about someone scary? Why does that seem so familiar?

I no longer fear the fall as I see another glimpse of light, because I know this time— the memory that's coming is not mine.

It's Mahtu's.

And it should reveal a hell of a lot of answers for me. Even if I'd just created another question for myself. Who were those dreams about?

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