#WitchcraftWednesday || ONC 2023 | ✔

Chapter 19: Tajikistan

When he has watched enough random videos and has somewhat awkwardly clicked the subscribe button (that's not weird, right? Is that weird?), Nathan gathers his courage and scrolls to find Jamie's latest upload, finally ready to confront the footage that spawned all those cursed curtain memes.

Only to find it isn't there anymore.

She took it down. Jamie took the video down. Nathan supposes this was inevitable, given their need to bring the book back to the safe place it belongs in, but confusion still conquers his brain. Especially when he sees a new video at the top of the page, one uploaded an hour ago at most, simply titled I'm sorry.

An apology video. Type, sigh, delete, the world needs answers. Nathan understands it now, understands what this whole script-writing business was all about, and while part of his heart rejoices, the rest of it sinks. If Jamie's going to say what he thinks she'll say, the Internet won't be kind.

He clicks the video, watches it whole, and it confirms his suspicions. It's such simple footage compared to the visuals he saw earlier, just Jamie sitting on her couch talking to the camera. She looks appropriately miserable—an emotion she likely doesn't have to feign, even if every word out of her mouth is a lie. I'm sorry, she says, my video about the book was a hoax, just a joke, nothing but special effects, and I let it get way out of hand and I should've spoken up about that sooner. I was stupid and I deceived you, and I abused your faith in me and you deserved better than that. I'm sorry.

This is a good thing. It should be a good thing; it'll keep the book safe from harm, will allow it to be returned to its Icelandic tomb without the eyes of the world fixed on it, without wannabe treasure hunters waiting to pounce and get their own taste of a magical adventure. But Nathan doesn't feel good about it, and when he goes to check Twitter, where #WitchcraftWednesday is trending once more, his apprehension only grows.

There's backlash. How could there not be backlash after a stunt like that, after so many people had their hopes and excitement crushed? When the tag was trending before, discourse and division reigned supreme alongside a respectable smattering of lighthearted jokes. Now, there are precious few memes to be found, the discourse replaced by an atmosphere of united hostility. Those who'd been sceptical from the start smugly chorus we told you so in a sea of fans and interested neutrals expressing anger, disappointment, sadness and disillusionment at best.

Words of forgiveness and tacit support seem rare, mere drops among vitriolic waves, drowned out by the majority's venom. It's all fuck you for screwing your fans over, I hope you rot in Hell and I always knew you were a fake bitch and it's unbelievable how far some people go just to get a little attention. Nathan doesn't know how many of these tweets he reads, but they infuriate him, almost prompt him to respond and tell these keyboard warriors the truth and just where they can stick their personal opinions. He resists the urge, though, knows he shouldn't compromise Jamie's solution to their problem, vaguely aware his own writing would simply be washed away in the chaos of it all, anyway.

He only stops his exploration when he receives a phone call he picks up. He doesn't even need to look at the caller ID to know who's trying to reach him.

"This is Nathan–"

"I didn't know who else to call," Jamie says, and there's something in her voice Nathan hasn't heard before—something fragile and breakable, like she's just a hair's breadth away from bursting into tears and coming completely undone. "Are you busy? If you don't have time, I'll just hang up–"

"I have time," Nathan quickly says, and if he didn't, he'd make some. He doesn't need to be a genius to figure out Jamie's been reading everything he himself has been scrolling through. Don't look at it, just don't look, he wants to tell her, but that's easy to say for someone who isn't being publicly shamed and dragged through the mud.