Eunha was frozen in time; life completely stopped for her. She was caught at a standstill, in the painful state of indecision. Sungyeol was anticipating a response; his gaze transfixed her; she could not move. All of heaven may have rolled away in that moment.

  Eunha wanted to bind Sungyeol to her forest for all eternity, but she realized something. She realized she could not. She should not. That was not what Sungyeol wanted. He had a life to live outside her forest. He had a future ahead of him, and she found herself wanting to support him, even if that meant letting him go. After all, that was the only thing she could do for him.

  She was convinced Sungyeol could make it anywhere he wanted, even outside his epoch. Because, even if she desired it with all her might, she could not use magic to undo the hours spent in The Invisible Woods. Outside the forest, Time flung ever forward, to the point that years had passed since Sungyeol first stepped in, and there was no undoing that.

  Nevertheless, she was certain he was better off out there, where dreams were still possible, than inside her stagnant home, where he would live forever in the form of a shadow being. But it hurt to let go. It stung deeply to stand back and see him leave, although she knew she must.

  After nearly a thousand years, the witch finally thought of someone other than herself. But how could this be, unless she was more than a witch- unless she was human in all senses of the word, capable of feeling compassion and sympathy?

  In that fraction of an instant, in that blink of an eye, she let her guard down. Her magical forces slackened; her power completely vanished. Humans- ordinary humans- possess no power over necromancy, only witches, sorcerers, and demons do. It takes a strong will to engage in the dark arts, and she had lost hers. She, like all humans from time to time, was adrift in the current called ambivalence, with no anchor of soul: both willing and unwilling, and thus not really willing at all.

  With no will, her control over the trapped spirits inside The Invisible Woods, over the sorcerous canopy that slows Time, and over all her illusions was gone. For once since she had become a witch, she let her guard down- she completely doubted her convictions.

  All the lights went out: the fire, the sun, and everything in between- the dull embers in her eyes.

  It was intensely dark, a palpable darkness. Voices groaned, sighed, growled, and shouted. It seemed to Sungyeol like a nightmare, except that he was wide awake and had been for half an hour or so already. He felt an urge to panic. But a stronger impulse overcame him as he began to in the darkness.

  "Ma'am! Eunha's mother!" He failed to ask her name, or else he would have shouted that too. He continued to call out for the elderly woman and for her. He was afraid for her. She could have fallen, hit her head on something, or worse. Not on his watch. No, he had to do everything to find her.

  "Please! Ma'am, if you hear me!" He muttered something like a prayer in a low voice. "I'm here. Please, just stay where you are. I'll be right there!"

  It was no use, however. Eunha- the old woman he was looking for- was gone. Physically, she was there, but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, she was gone. Eunha was on a completely separate plane of thought, of existence even. Eunha was inside a more profound darkness.

  Having inadvertently freed the spirits of men, women, children, and demons trapped inside her haunt, they enacted their revenge. They assaulted her mind so that she felt all at once the agony they languished in while bound to The Invisible Woods. Her ears were filled with sneers, piercing shrieks, and booming laughter.

  Eunha was inside hell- a hell of her own making.

  The witch yelled, but no words came out. She mouthed the name, "Sungyeol." He did not answer. Grief, anger, despondency, longing, and absolute despair- Eunha finally felt for herself the cruel punishment she inflicted on all the miserable souls she trapped as pets- as playthings. The pain was overwhelming. She was intensely sorry and remorseful, to the point where she accepted full responsibility for her crimes. Her pleading was ignored. She swore to abandon sorcery for good, but was not heeded even then. The spirits refused to listen to the words she uttered in thought; they wanted her to drink the cup of retribution down to the dregs.

  The assault was unbearable; otherwise, if she had strength enough, she might have mustered a spell to halt the attack. Tears seeped out of her eyes, glistening in the pitch-black hut. Eunha had stopped all pleading; she had stopped all thoughts. She was at the point of death. But the torture continued: a sack of bones hammered by powerful blows over and over again. Her body, her empty shell, slipped down the rocking chair onto the floor.

  Then a miracle happened. A miniature sun began to dawn in the midst of the pitch-black gloom. A small, flickering light emanated from her, or, more precisely, from above her left . A feather rose out of her heart- the angel's feather that had lodged itself in her centuries ago, the object that granted her immortality.

  The darkness began to slowly recede, although it was much too difficult to see anything yet, save for the shining feather. It caught Sungyeol's attention, but he did not see the exact form of it; it appeared to him as a luminous object of sorts. He grasped it almost as soon as he laid eyes on it, sure that with it, whatever it might be, he would be able to find the old woman. A strong power surged through his body the moment he touched it. It was almost overwhelming, filling his being with a terrible sense of dread mingled with the purest joy. It was as though lightning had struck him in that instance.

  He was compelled to let go, sure that holding onto it anymore would mean the end of him. When he did, the darkness vanished completely, and with it, the feather. The change was instant, as if a veil had been pulled away with the sudden jerk of a hand. It bewildered him, making him wonder for a moment whether it was all a dream, until he noticed something at his feet. It was the old woman, fallen in a heap with glazed eyes looking towards the ceiling.

  His immediate thought was that she had died; he lingered a second or two in shock, with his mouth agape and eyes opened wide in horror. Yet he quickly kneeled on one knee and cradled her in his arms, gently shaking her and calling for her to wake up. He held her hand in his; it was cold to the touch. She was not responding to any of his attempts, but he soon noticed a breath depart from her, which instilled hope in him. There was also a faint, weak heartbeat. Rousing to action, he lifted her light frame and set her in a bed in the corner of the room.

  Sungyeol was unsure what to do next. She was breathing, but in a very labored manner, as if in her dying breaths. Where was Eunha? His eyes darted in all directions, and he finally took in the sight of the home. It was different. His mind had been somewhere else before, occupied with care over the dying woman, but now it was clear. The change in the hut was clear. The hut had lost all its glittering splendor: the rich furniture, the riotous colors of the tapestries on the wall- the feeling of luxury was emptied out.

  A strange cold was in the air, not like that of winter's biting chill, but an entirely different sort of cold. An absolute silence turned the home into a stifling vacuum where he heard every rhythmic drumming pulse in his chest beat with thunderous strikes- he heard the quickening intake of his breaths intensifying.

  And a question remained that, too, demanded an answer: where had the shining object gone to? What was it? There was nothing like it in the hut. Was it all a mere dream after all? If so, when did it start? But was it really?

  His eyes glanced at the sickly woman, and he was instantly reminded of his duty. He had to do something, but what? Eunha. The name ran through his mind over and over again. Eunha had to be here. If her mother were to die while she was away, then surely she would regret it for the rest of her life. He had to look for her. At the same time, he felt compelled to stay by her side in case she needed him. He bit his lip and pulled up the rocking chair to the side of the bed.

  He sat with his hand on his chin, a bead of sweat rolling down his front. He desperately hoped Eunha would soon come. She needed to be by her mother in this grave time. This is what he wished above all. But he also hoped she could offer some explanation in regards to the change the home underwent. Had he seen wrong yesterday and this morning, and perhaps the home was always void of splendor? He did have a long day after all, and the anxiety of the times was always skulking in the shadows. For now, all he could do was wait, and the waiting felt as though it would never end.

  There was no denying he was late for work and that he had failed to turn in his painting at the appointed hour and would thus become destitute. But, though the thought occurred to him multiple times, ultimately it did not matter. Not when this woman was slowly dying in front of him.

  Sungyeol sighed and rubbed his face. He really wished he could do something, anything at all, to help the tiny, frail figure lying atop the bed. Already, he had made sure the covers wrapped comfortably around her, to secure her in place but not fetter her down; he had imitated her earlier actions and started another fire in the hearth; he had held her hand and rubbed it gently, lovingly, seeing some of his mother in her. He had whispered quick prayers, "Please God." "God help." "Your will be done, Lord." If there was anything else he could do for her, surely he would have done so already.

  She looked peaceful now, nowhere near as grave as when he first lifted her in his arms. This brought him some comfort. Still, he was certain she would not make it to the end of the day. Night would come, and with it, death.

  A black cauldron caught his eye. He had not seen it there before, and that gave credence to the possibility that his exhaustion did affect his perception of things in the hut earlier. At any rate, he approached it, hoping there would be food in it. He was hungry; he had not eaten since last morning and had wandered a lot before he reached the forest late yesterday afternoon. Inside the cauldron, he saw a black stew. There was a ladle hanging on the side of the cauldron, so he used it to move the contents around; mushrooms bobbed with the stirring, and floating flower petals swirled. A very strange smell arose, causing him to back away and question whether it was edible or not. His stomach growled; his hunger was seizing him and demanding that he eat. However, before he would eat it, he thought it best to reheat the contents using the fire he had earlier started.

  The reek of it was strong, and green smoke ascended in thin wisps. Almost like a witch's hut, he mused as he stirred the stew. He chuckled a little and shook his head at the notion. Yet as his vision lazily drifted around the room, he was reminded of the stark contrast it had taken from the night prior and the early morning- how it was all different until just a little while ago. He bit on the inside of his cheek. This homely place was what he first envisioned it would be, what he wanted- a place untouched by vanity, a humble, modest abode. However, he became conscious of a certain horror when regarding it- a feeling like that of gazing into an empty grave, where all life will meet its end and one is confronted with new ideas of loneliness. An overwhelming sense of desolation.

  Sungyeol had an ominous premonition, too: perhaps this oneiric lifestyle he envisioned Eunha and her mother having was a farce, a great disappointment. He groaned.

  He heard a noise coming from the bed. Quickly, he hung the ladle on the rim of the cauldron and ran to the old woman. She was awake. Her eyes were barely opened, and next to no light was in them.

  She reached out her hand to caress his cheek. "Sungyeol."  There was a hint of relief in the thin voice, as if she were happy to see him there.

  "You'll be okay," he said softly as he gently squeezed her hand. It was cold and, oh, so fragile. The fingers felt like thin reeds in his grasp, her palm like a wafer. He measured the force he exerted while grasping her hand because it felt like it could break if he held it too tightly.

  "Eunha isn't here yet. But I'm sure she'll be here at any moment. I could almost hear her passing through the door right now."

  He said the words with the best intentions, to increase her sense of comfort. However, the old woman brought her brows together, and opened a little, as if on the verge of speaking.

  Finally, she answered, "But" -she paused and took a breath- "I am right here, Sungyeol."

  The painter felt a tremendous weight in her words; they seemed spoken out of true assurance. His heart was in his throat- he was perturbed over the frightening imaginations that arose as her response echoed in his head.

  His eyes lingered on hers for a while before he spoke. "Ma'am, Eunha is your daughter." The cold atmosphere of the hut seemed to wrap around him. The distinct loneliness he had earlier felt gnawed at him. He was feeling very weak, and he became aware of a growing urge to run, to flee. But he could not. He was much too lightheaded, and moreover, he hoped he was wrong. He hoped his suspicion, his secret, silly fear, was wrong- that she was a witch.

  "What do you mean, Sungyeol? What daughter?" Her voice was incredibly weak, barely audible, and she spoke with gasps in between every utterance. "It is I, Eunha, here with you."

  He leaned closer to her so that she would not exert great effort in speaking loudly enough for him to hear. He hesitated. "Yes, ma'am. And I'm right here."

  "I know. And I am Eunha. Look at me. Could I be any other than the Eunha you met yesterday?"

  The close proximity between the two- the close distance between their eyes- allowed Sungyeol to more carefully study her as she spoke. She was not lying. Perhaps they shared the same name? No, it was something entirely else. He dipped his head so that their faces nearly touched each other's. There was the young, beautiful woman he discovered sleeping in the woods just yesterday- there inside those two dying embers. Eunha.

  He immediately backed away, causing the chair to start rocking loudly. The sound was so vexing to him in that moment that he felt forced to stop the chair with an abrupt hand. He eyed the cauldron, the walls, and the looming poplars outside the window.

  "Sungyeol- are you alright?" She attempted to lift herself up in order to personally check on the painter, but, finding herself too weak, quit. It was then that she asked, "Sungyeol? Have you reheated my stew? Give me some, please."

  Her words pierced his heart. They were uttered in such a pitiful manner, without any strength at all. She was absolutely helpless and now depended on him. Again, "Please, Sungyeol."

  He heard her, but even so, he turned his back on her. Fear had begun to overpower his finer qualities of compassion and sympathy. He took a step and then two more to the door.

  "Sungyeol?" She had drawn out his name as she called out.

  The desperation in her voice was quite clear, but he chose to take another step forward. He was at the door now. He was frustrated at himself; he was deeply affected and troubled by his qualms. Part of him was accusing him of abandoning the old, helpless woman, while part of him was urging him to leave. A sunbeam poked through the window and shone on his face, momentarily blinding him. At that instant, he wheeled and went to the cauldron, picked up a bowl from a table to the left, and filled the bowl with the pungent stew.

  "Oh, Sungyeol." Her eyes lit up. Gone was the notion of untold suffering, replaced instead by unspeakable joy and gratitude.

  She took a sip from the bowl, and her face was instantly changed. Life flowed through her, and he could tell. Eunha, who after waking had confused who she was so that she thought herself the young woman she took the guise of, finally assumed her true self. She remembered she was old- hundreds of years old. She came to herself.

  "Eunha." He found it hard to believe what he heard himself say: "You're Eunha. The girl I met reclined against a tree yesterday. You're that same Eunha."

  "Sungyeol," she spoke with a sorry tone. She nodded slowly.

  The painter sighed and nodded in turn. "I had this feeling, remember, Eunha? That you were somehow supernatural... When I first saw you yesterday, I thought you were a ghost, but I was wrong. You're a witch. Just now, the thought had occurred to me. But I hoped I was wrong. You're a witch... "