Jimena wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to do now that False wasn't around. She wandered aimlessly around Cogsmeade, Ginny trailing her everywhere, feeling like she needed someone to tell her what she could do, she was that bored. Eventually she just plopped on a rock by the side of the mountain and watched the trees and plants sway in the breeze.
Maybe she shouldn't be procrastinating, but she couldn't remember what in the world she was supposed to be doing. It was calming, really, just sitting still and watching the world around her, not having to worry about anything. But the thing is, life is full of worries. And they will always come to bother you.
<⍑ᒷ∷𝙹⟍̅¦ᔑᓭ, ᔑ∷ᒷ ǁ𝙹⚍ ꖎ¦ᓭℸ ̣ᒷリ¦リ˧?!> A voice suddenly rang through the peaceful silence. Jimena froze, startled. "Who's there?" She asked, her voice shaky. She couldn't understand what the voice had said, but she felt the impression of pent up anger. Whoever was talking, it was furious.
As the echoes of her query died out, the silence resumed, though instead of being peaceful like it was before, this time it was eerie. Ginny looked at her oddly. Jimena got up and started walking. To where, she wasn't sure. She just wanted to get away from the voice. Unfortunately, it seemed like the voice didn't want her to leave.
<ꖎ¦ᓭℸ ̣ᒷリ ℸ ̣𝙹 ᒲᒷ!> Jimena looked all around her. She couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. It wasn't making her worry any less. Suddenly she didn't want to be outside any longer. Jimena picked up Ginny and walked indoors. However, the voice followed her inside. <⍑ᒷ∷𝙹⟍̅¦ᔑᓭ!> Jimena locked herself in her room, panting. Who was that? What are they saying? She couldn't make out the words, but she could tell that whatever was being said was important. If only I could understand...
<ꖎ¦ᓭℸ ̣ᒷリ ℸ ̣𝙹 ᒲᒷ!> Jimena held her head, shuddering at the noise and the strong emotions she picked up from it. The voice wanted to be answered, she could figure that much out. The lingering sense of anger she felt earlier was stronger now. Whoever was talking, it was also getting impatient.
"I can't understand you!" Jimena shouted. There was a sudden stillness, and Jimena felt the sensation of surprise. The odd thing was, she wasn't sure if it was her emotion that she was feeling. Is the voice surprised that I can't understand it?
The silence continued on for a lot longer than she expected, and Jimena started getting spooked by it. Feeling restless, she stood up. She wanted to do something. She felt like she had to. Jimena unlocked the door and cautiously stepped outside. No one appeared to be around. Maybe the voice had gone away. But even if it had, Jimena had a sickening feeling that told her that it was going to come back. And it did. A lot sooner than she expected it to.
Jimena tried to take a nap, where the strange voice couldn't bother her. She thought that she wouldn't be able to sleep, but she somehow managed to. She had no idea how long she'd slept when she was woken by the sound of raindrops beating noisily at everything under the sky. Jimena looked out the window.
It was raining heavily, the view of Cogsmeade blurred by a veil of rushing water and light fog. She was glad she was in her house, where it was safe and dry. Just then, a figure riding a broomstick landed clumsily on her doorstep, slipping on the puddles that had begun to accumulate from the dripping rainwater. She managed to not fall, though, and when she had steadied herself, she looked at Jimena.
"Hi," She said. Jimena waved back tentatively. The newcomer had long brown hair that was tucked untidily under a loose, floppy green witch hat with stitches and patches all over it. She had pale skin that looked like it hadn't seen daylight in a while, and her yellow eyes felt warm and out of place, like two suns shining on a rainy day. She wore a pale purple sweater with sleeves that were far too long for her arms, as well as short overalls that were the same shade of green as her hat.
Her boots were caked with thick black mud, and she had pink flower brooches that matched the hair pins that she'd clipped to the sides of her head. She smiled at Jimena. "I'm the Great Witch Shelby. Have you seen False around here? I'm come to trade." A large drop of rain splattered all over her nose, making her look up. "Sorry, I seem to have brought the rain with me. It happened in Dawn too."
"Dawn?" Jimena blinked. "Oh, that's an empire not too far from here." Shelby waved in a general direction. "That place is all about the sun and sells honey and beeswax and golden carrots too, I think." Just then, Shelby facepalmed. "Oh! What am I doing? I haven't even asked your name yet!" "I'm Jimena," Jimena said. Then she realized she had something important to do and she opened the door.
"Come on in, you're getting soaked out there." "Oh, this?" Shelby waved at the rain, which was drumming out a steady melody against the copper roof. "I live in the mangrove swamps of the Evermoore. I get rained on all the time." Well, that explains the mud. "Just come in," Jimena said. "False isn't going to be here for a while. She went to visit the sheriff." "Oh, okay," Shelby said, and stepped inside.
"So you're an emperor?" Jimena asked, just as Shelby took out a lime green wand and waved it around. All of a sudden, her waterlogged hat and soggy attire dried up like the water had been siphoned off of them. "Yeah, I'm an emperor, but I'm also a witch." Shelby explained. She waved her wand around to emphasize, but she accidentally shot a small ball of fire out the tip. Soon the curtains were ablaze.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Shelby exclaimed, waving her wand again, and soon the fire was put out. She turned to Jimena with a sheepish expression. "Sorry. I'm the witch with the worst grades in class, if you couldn't tell." Jimena actually could tell that, a little bit. Shelby seems like that klutzy nice person that most people are friends with.
Suddenly, the voice returned. <⍑ᒷ∷𝙹⟍̅¦ᔑᓭ?> Jimena froze. Not again! There was something different about the voice this time, however. It didn't feel as angry as before, but still impatient. She still didn't want to hear it, though. Jimena felt a hand on her shoulder and jerked away before she realized it was just Shelby.
"Are you okay?" Shelby asked, her yellow eyes widened in concern. Jimena shook her off. "You didn't hear it?" She asked. "Hear what?" Then there was a flicker of recognition in the witch's eyes. "Oh! Are you being haunted too?" "Well, that's one of my theories," Jimena admitted. "It was either that or I'm going crazy." Shelby laughed unhumorously. "Yeah, those are my ideas too. In the Evermoore, I get haunted by the voices in the fog all the time."
"What do your voices tell you?" Jimena asked curiously. Shelby paused. "I can't really hear them distinctly enough to tell," Shelby confessed. "How about you?" "Same with you." That wasn't entirely the truth. It wasn't hearing it distinctly enough that was the problem. The voice seemed to be talking in another language; a language that Jimena felt like she should understand, but for some reason didn't. I probably forgot how to speak it or understand it when I lost my memories.
"I think I can help with your haunting problem," Shelby said. She fished around in her baggy pockets and pulled out a white candle. Jimena looked at it curiously. It was a tall candle sitting in a silver base, with a white flame that was constantly burning out an ethereal light and had somehow not set Shelby on fire while it was in her pocket.
"It's an anti-ghost candle," The witch explained. "Sausage gave it to me. Oh, and Sausage is this emperor-" "I met Sausage," Jimena interrupted. Shelby sighed with relief. "Oh, that's good. It's really hard to explain him. But anyway, you keep this candle with you, it should stop you from being haunted. Emphasis on 'should'. I'm not entirely sure it's working." Jimena took it anyway. It couldn't hurt, right?
Then Jimena heard eerie laughter coming from somewhere, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably. She whirled around and looked around the room, but she already knew. It was the voice laughing at her. Why is it laughing?
Jimena used to wonder why people considered laughter, a sound made from joy and humor, to be creepy sometimes, but experiencing it herself, now she knew why. There was something terrifying about twisting an innocent thing you thought you knew into something that you didn't.
Then there came the sound of footsteps coming from outside, avoiding the puddles of water that had been left even after the rain had stopped, and for a split second Jimena thought that it was whoever was haunting her, finally going to meet her face to face. But then she realized that she recognized those footsteps. She'd only met one person who walked so silently and slowly, so cautious was she about where she stepped.
"False! You've got a witch here come to trade!" Jimena called out. The door opened and False stepped in, looking utterly drenched. Shelby apologetically dried her with her wand. "I'm trading for iron," She said. False nodded. "Okay, just come with me to my iron farm." The tinkerer turned to go, but stopped when she saw the windows. "Um, why are the curtains scorched?"
---
The witch, who introduced herself as Shelby, traded several potions of healing and regeneration as well as a stack of mud for a stack of iron. False wasn't entirely sure what she would do with mud, but she figured that if her farms had harvested enough wheat, she could mix the excess with the mud and bake some bricks for a future build. She was more pleased with the potions as payment; you couldn't be too safe. Healing and regeneration were never a bad thing, unless it was in the hands of an enemy.
"Thanks for the iron, False!" Shelby said, trying to carry the metal she'd purchased all by herself. Just then, one of the ingots she carried fell from the stack, and when the witch moved to grab it before it hit the floor, her wand slipped from her hand and rolled away. But not before it spat fire at the bridge that ran from the zeppelin iron farm to the Cogsmeade clocktower.
The bridge that was made of wood. The little ball of fire lit up the bridge like a supernova; the flames licking up the wood planks and consuming it. Soon there was a whole wall of fire between the blimp and the clocktower, the whole bridge ablaze. And all False saw was the onslaught of memories that it triggered.
She was holding flint and steel in her hands. Hands that were scorched and painful. False didn't care about that. All she wanted to do was make it all burn. She walked to a building. It was tall and stately, with walls of white brick and a roof of dark oak, and a long trail of ivy vines running down one side.
What a nice flammable roof you've got there. False grasped at the plant matter and climbed up the ivy like it was a ladder, her flint and steel nestled securely in her pocket. Then the vines stopped growing upward. She had nothing left to climb on. So she sat on a nearby windowsill and took out her arson tools. False scratched the little metal hook against the flint, dragging it across the rough black surface.
There. A lone spark. She scratched it again. There was another spark. And another. False held the flint and steel to the wooden eaves and struck again. A large spark flew and touched the wood. At first nothing happened, it just clung on. Then the spark grew and became a tiny flame. The tiny flame licked the eaves, blackening the wood wherever it touched it.
It spread. Bright, glowing orange fought brown, and orange won. False grinned and looked down. She didn't even bother climbing the ivy again, she just jumped. Did she register the pain in her ankles? Yes. Did she care about it? No. All she cared about were the beautiful streaks of fire that moved across the roof, consuming it. Like False would be if she didn't snap out of her flashback in time to move out of the way.