Ara couldn't stay stunned for long. 

Moments later she was hauled into another room, the witches looking at her with utmost fascination...worship even. But Ara knew she couldn't flinch away from this, as Mother Edith had told her as part of the agreement they had; Ara would play her role in the coven, and in return Edith would grant her what she wanted: Betrayal to Serafia. 

"You said the Corpsewitch was one of a kind, then how did Serafia become the replacement?" she had asked Mother Edith earlier. Now two of the witches were getting her prepped and ready in one of their dusty dressing rooms, one was brushing her hair down in careful while another fitted her in new clothes. 

"Serafia's situation is unique," Edith said, even if with some disdain. "Her mother was a coven witch, but she had eloped with fae scum and she fathered a child twice as powerful for rumour has it that he was a prince of the Unseelie Court, with gifts from both of her bloodlines. Serafia had become known in the Grimm Market, rumours had spread about her and her business. That she had bewitched a wealthy man and wrecked his home, his fortune. She's cruel, vile, she didn't spare them. It's not uncommon, rogue witches abandoning their oath and prey on poor, gullible men for their fortune," she laughed faintly, like it was a humorous joke. "She had claimed she could strengthen our bloodline, our last resort. She knew the stronghold it had on us," Ara had watched Edith's hands grip the edge of her shelf until her nails dug into the wood, she was near a rage.

"And in return? What had she asked of you?" she had asked. The dress she was fitted in resembled garments of the medieval era, dramatic sleeves that touched the ground, runes embroidered along the neckline, the skirts, hues of scarlet and sangria. They couldn't do much to her hair since it only reached her shoulders, and placed the circlet on her head. It looked like the most valuable thing they had her wear, it was thick gold with bloodred jewels embedded in it. 

"I was summoned to her home one night, for she refused to come to me. In the house she hid a boy, not far from your age. A beautiful boy, he was. Tall like a knight, skin white as snow, I guessed he was the son of the man Serafia had ruined," Edith said, with no particular emotion. 

Ara a breath, she knew that was Yunho. Even by description, she could picture him so clearly and her heart ached. Yunho, how long had he been trapped by her? How long had he been alive? How could she not know?

"She wanted me to cast a vex on him, one that would cloud his memory, alter his version of reality, warp it to her liking," 

Ara furrowed her brows, "You said she was powerful, why couldn't she do it herself?"

Edith's expression darkened, "Serafia is powerful, that is true. But she's spiteful and arrogant. Too proud to learn proper witchcraft, she sees us as the 'lower caste'," she spat. "She bewitched the man, now she wishes to do the same to his son, drown his mind until he can never be saved," and Edith laughed, like this was nothing but a cruel joke to her. "Funny how greed makes people cruel," then her eyes flickered towards Ara, inquisitive. "But what I'm curious about, is how does this all entail with you? Hmm, little witchling?" 

Ara straightened her back, and let out a breath. Revealing the reason wouldn't help her at all, "Let's just say...we've had a bit of a run-in, and she pissed me off," 

Edith raised a brow, "Is that truly all that you want?"

It wasn't just about Yunho, Ara knew that. When she closed her eyes, she could still see Hongjoong's frail state hanging on a thread, shallow breaths while Serafia had laughed in all her vileness. She hadn't cared, she was enjoying seeing them in pain, Ara clenched her fists, her fingernails digging into her skin but nothing could conceal what she truly felt. After all, she was never one for forgiveness. She didn't forget a debt, or when she was wronged. In the back of her mind, she vaguely remembered someone telling her ghosts lingered the earth because they had things they could never let go of, things as trivial as a lost wedding ring, or deeply rooted vengeance. 

Maybe that was her Achilles heel too.

"I want her to pay for what she did," she finally answered. "I want her to give her hell, is it too much to ask?" 

Edith's eyes sparkled, "I see the Corpsewitch in you, my dear. There is darkness in you after all,"

Now she stood on the platform, facing an entire hall of witch of the Elm, underneath what looked like a harmless little house. The walls were lined with bluish torch flames, all eyes gazing expectantly at her, waiting to see what she would do. Ara took a deep breath, she let the voices in, whisper their despairs to her, them begging her to give them power. 

She still wasn't very sure how she did it, time and time again shocking herself too. But Edith had promised she'd learn it all in due time, as long as she executed the grand performance first, underneath the moonlight; Dramatically she threw her hands in the air and murmured oh so softly that she was the only one who heard those words. 

I banish you all.

The screaming and shrieking ensued, so forceful and agonising it snuffed out the flames, the witches had to cover their ears. As for Ara, she could feel her pulse racing unusually fast, although what she did was remove several entities from the room, depsite it being against their wishes. It almost felt like a violation. 

In the crowd, she could see the Witch Mother smiling proudly when the spectacle was over, and the torches relit themselves. Ara felt her stomach twist, she didn't want Edith's admiration. This was wrong. In the Witch Mother's eyes it was clear: You have a vengeful heart, it's powerful.

But it wasn't all, Edith didn't know that. In Ara's mind, there was the face of a boy she loved and loved still and he was half the reason she was standing there. 

Hongjoong was dreaming for the first time in so long.

He didn't really remember the details of what had happened, all he was aware was that he was now lying on soft sheets, eyes closed. In the dream, he saw towers of silver and gold, over his head were fluttering butterflies, their wings leaving traces of glitter as they flew away, the air smelt of flowers, honey, a constant ringing of music in his ears he couldn't quite put a finger on and it reminded him of home for whatever reason.

Then he woke up, and he realized he hadn't been dreaming everything after all.

Hongjoong peeled away the covers with some effort, wincing as he did and he recalled the events prior: Him trapped and tortured by that woman, half-dazed somehow he had been saved. He remembered hearing Ara's voice, the shrill to it whenever she was panicking, he knew her well enough to know that and he had wanted reach out and ruffle her hair, to tell her that it was okay ( even though he had doubted it too, he had technically been bleeding dry). The whip wounds on his back were still there, he could feel the stinging pain, but it was definitely less than before, covered by bandages and a salve that smelled like maple tree sap. 

He stood up and walked over to the open balcony of this grand and yet foreign room, where the slither of dawn was peeking through the glass doors. The sky a hue of dark blue fading to light. As for the view, he a breath, almost forgetting that he had no idea where he was. In front of him was a clear forest scape, where colourful little lights twinkled at a distance as if they were dancing, It took him a few seconds to realize the 'lights' were actually little people, dancing as they laughed the sounds of bells.

Exactly like how their mother had told him.

"I'm glad to see you're awake,"

Hongjoong spun around, and in front of him was a boy who reminded him of a fairytale prince. He probably was. It took a moment for him to take in what he was seeing, the boy couldn't have been any older than him, he had an infectious grin despite the oddity of the situation, his strawberry blonde hair looked bronze under the dim orange light of the room; eyes a deep, startling blue; He was wearing simple white shirtsleeves, but Hongjoong could definitely picture him in a doublet jacket and sword. Exactly like how a prince would look like in story books.

"I'm sorry for intruding, I assumed you were asleep," the other boy spoke first, and pondered for a second on what to say. "You must be terribly confused right now, I understand. But please I assure you, you are safe here, your sister-"

"Ara," Hongjoong replied, and he remembered. "Where's my sister? I need to see her," he glanced around.

"Your sister and my cousin left early in the morning and they have not returned yet. Well, no one expected you to wake up so soon," and he walked forward when he saw that Hongjoong wasn't listening anymore. 

"Your cousin?"

"You might know him as...Jongho?" the boy guessed and eyed him wearily. "Also, I advise you sit down, you're not fully healed yet,"

Hongjoong frowned, but not before sitting down as instructed, "I see, may I know when will they be back? I mean, how long have I been unconscious?" For some reason, the boy had glided over to the counter near a basket of freshly folded linens and proceeded to pour a goblet of water; Much to Hongjoong's surprise, the red-haired boy offered it to him. "Thank you," he mumbled meekly. 

The other boy sat opposite him on another mattress, and swung his legs in the manner of a child. Hongjoong then noticed he had been barefoot the entire time. "They, your sister and my cousin called you...Hongjoong, is that correct?" he asked, but when he spoke Hongjoong's name, it sounded like he had practiced on pronouncing it before. 

"Yeah, that's me," he answered. "And what about—how should I address you?" he replied in the same formal manner.

The other boy's eyes sparkled, "Septimus," he said eargerly. "Call me Septimus,"

Hongjoong chuckled despite himself, "That's quite a mouthful, are you sure you don't want me to add your 'Prince' title as well? Would I risk getting beheaded?" and he finished the last drop of water, it had an aftertaste of roses and lemons, the type people had in fancy restaurants. He noticed Septimus was still looking at him, and he felt rather in nothing but a loose shirt that had been cut so that his bandaged back was exposed, his hair was definitely sticking out in all directions. "What?" he asked.

"You seem rather calm given the situation," Septimus noted. "Are you not worried for your sister?"

"Of course I am, but you said she'll be back so must know that I'll be safe here. Though give it another two hours, then I'll probably start to look anxious," he grinned faintly and settled the goblet on the nightstand where the oil lamp burned steadily. 

"Do you...know where you are?" Septimus raised his eyebrows.

"Well judging by what I'm seeing, I think I'm in Faerieland," he noted nonchalantly. "And you didn't deny it when I said you were a prince, so I think I'm right about that too," he looked Septimus directly in the eye. "Thank you for saving my life by the way,"

"You were conscious throughout...?"

Hongjoong shrugged, "I remember bits and pieces, the flying horses—pegasi—and the voices but I couldn't open my eyes," he wasn't sure why he was this willing to tell this faerie prince he barely knew about it all. 

Septimus was silent for a moment, Hongjoong watched him purse his lips, a very human thing to do. 

"You must have suffered a great deal of pain before that—"

But before he could finish his sentence, hurried footsteps came barging into the room, and it was one of the head castle servants, his hat slightly lopsided to the left. Septimus stood up, his expression turning more and more concerned. "Luthier, has Lady Auraline returned from the High Court?" Hongjoong watched him ask the servant. 

Luthier shook his head, as did his pupils. "No Your Highness, it is far graver news I've come to deliver,"

Hongjoong had a gut feeling this couldn't have been good, he stood up as well. 

Ara, please no.

"A human girl and boy arrived, the boy was here days ago. They've brought Prince Joyeuse, he's unwell."