Not All Geese Are Geese
Not everything that looks like a goose is a goose.
Clink. Priscilla stirred the empty bowl that had been filled with herbal porridge, scraping the spoon against its sides.
"Anna, is your appetite coming back a bit?"
"Yes!"
It felt awkward. Like a spike driven into her liver, her whole body seemed ready to convulse. She couldn't bear the discomfort and just stared down at the empty bowl. A loving gaze full of affection, fixed on her beloved "daughter." The warmth in that look was unbearably ticklish.
She averted her eyes toward the ventilation window, but the dust motes dancing and sparkling in the sunlight only made her stomach churn more.
...Was I always this clumsy? I'm not some pubescent girl saying a gaze feels 'burdensome.' Good lord, the other witches would laugh if they knew.
Reflecting on her own pathetic state—like a drowned rat—brought a wry smile to her lips. She, who had prided herself as a great witch who completed a supreme spell mocking even the gods to grasp eternal life. Yet that spell was a defective mess producing grotesque side effects. And here she was, unable to even properly mimic a young girl, scheming to flee from that gaze.
It hadn't been like this before. The spells, the mimicry—all perfect. Now, wasn't she just another Struldbrug? Like the wretched, horrifying old folk from old tales who neither died nor stopped aging endlessly. Cursed with immortality, their plight felt no different from her own.
Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
— "STOP, Pris. Self-deprecation isn't healthy."
And then.
The culprit who had plunged her into all this misery shook his head with an uncharacteristically serious expression.
— "Change isn't a flaw. It's you adapting to life, step by step. You've adapted to life as a witch, and now you're adapting to this girl's life. One step at a time. Even uttering that one word shows you've already changed."
"……."
Gentle encouragement filled with goodwill toward Priscilla. A sentence meant purely to uplift, unlike the previous tough-love scoldings. Permission to cower like a coward if she wanted.
In that moment, Priscilla truly felt wretched. She'd tried to brush it off with a laugh. Mock her own plight heartily. But that damn Gigachad had comforted her. Exposed the part of her that craved comfort.
Now, she was a full-blown lunatic comforted by the hallucination she herself had created.
"Bullshit."
"Hm? What was that, Anna?"
The fact irked the great witch Priscilla. Her pride stung. She gritted her teeth, forced her lips into a smile, snapped her head up, and shouted vigorously.
"Thanks for the meal! Mom! I'll take care of the dishes!"
See! She wasn't wretched! She didn't need comfort from hallucinations! She'd show this fucking idiot hallucination what a great witch's acting was made of!
"No need. You're still not well—don't push yourself."
"I'm totally fine! Full of energy!"
"Hehe, is that so? Well then, shall I ask my daughter to help this time?"
"Yes!"
Priscilla sprang up, grabbed the bowl proudly, and headed to the kitchen. Gigachad let out a sigh laced with admiration.
— "Now I see it. A Fucking Lion right in front of me."
"Took you long enough, you dumb hallucination."
She had no intention of playing along with that dumb hallucination's tune... but she sure as hell wouldn't lose to a hallucination she'd created.
She'd act perfectly, witch-like, as family. And with this body, she'd cling to life tenaciously, research a way to fix the soul spell's side effects.
Back to square one. To that distant past when she'd become a witch pursuing eternal life. A path she'd walked once before—walking it twice would be far easier.
— "Good job. A fine goal worthy of a witch."
"Drop dead."
— "But anyone can talk big. You ready for the hard work?"
"Hah."
Priscilla glared at Gigachad with sharp eyes. Venom flickered in her pupils.
"I really hate you."
— "I'm proud of you, Pris."
— ("You're my pride, Pris.")
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Witches aren't friendly with people. Building a hut deep in the forest and living alone isn't just for easy herb gathering. Priscilla had seen dozens of heroes try to kill her simply for being a witch. Hundreds of serfs who feared her, thirteen wizards who despised her. For killing people, valuing life lightly, learning such spells—a foolish woman.
Witches can't live among people.
But now, she had to play the part of an ordinary girl living with people.
"Whoa! Anna! Heard you're better. Want some salt-cured jerky?"
"Thank you! Mister!"
So, grinning like an idiot at the village adults' kindness was just acting.
"Anna sis! Catch me!"
"Oh, Ryud! Running like that, you'll get hurt!"
Playing along with the mischievous neighborhood kid's pranks was acting.
"My Butterfly's gone! Anna, seen a cat with yellow fur and black stripes?"
"Think I saw one near the hall earlier! I'll find her!"
Finding Mayril's cat—who sometimes gifted her bread—was acting.
"Anna?! You okay? You're covered in scratches!"
"Haha... Butterfly was pretty wild."
...No, witches are naturally close to cats. She was just worried about the cat.
"Be careful next time... Butterfly's precious family, but so are you. Your mom has only you."
"...Yeah! Hehe."
......Right. All acting.
People's goodwill was only for "Anna" the girl. Not the witch Priscilla.
So, her responses to that goodwill had to be acting too.
— "You're the best actress. Have confidence, Pris."
"Gigachad, you have a talent for stating the obvious like an idiot."
That obvious fact somehow felt unpleasant. Surely that grotesque musclebound macho man's fault.
Priscilla thought so.
"...Cough. Ah, Anna's here. Whoa? What happened! Your skin's all scraped."
"I was playing with the cat and fell a bit."
"Oh dear... Cough. You should've been careful."
"But Mom, are you okay? You've been coughing..."
"I'm fine. Just... cough, a bit of a cold. Nothing to worry about."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The next day, Priscilla headed to the forest early with a basket. The root of witchcraft was pharmacology using the "witch's cauldron." To stabilize her soul, she needed various herbs.
No good herbs in sight.
Five hemostatic herbs, three for tonics, one rare spirit herb, ten for blood-boosting when boiled. All common ones.
She hadn't expected great results from the start, but it was woefully insufficient for spell research.
— "Every great journey starts with a rusty, chipped dagger. Start small, one by one, for yourself. Our goal's huge—rushing will tire you out."
"I know that much."
Ignoring Gigachad's clichéd advice, Priscilla searched the forest. Between bushes, she found a few small berries that, with minor processing, could make cold medicine.
At that moment, the image of her "mother" coughing flashed in Priscilla's mind.
"……."
Glancing at Gigachad, Priscilla slyly added a few berries to her basket.
Of course, Gigachad noticed.
— "Good job."
"Shut up. It's all for me. Mom's cooking might get spit in it."
— "Whatever the reason, you thought of someone else's plight and chose to help. That was your choice."
"……."
Gigachad grinned widely, teeth flashing, at Priscilla. Her cheeks trembled faintly.
======================
Watching Priscilla blush in embarrassment, Canaria marveled.
"Impressive, Your Grace. I didn't know you could distort someone's mind so subtly."
"Saying it like that makes me sound like I'm puppeteering their thoughts."
"Aren't you?"
"I'm just guiding the situations."
Over the past few days, I'd favorably warped things around Priscilla. Made Mayril think she'd locked the latch, letting the cat escape. Lured the kid Ryud to Priscilla with illusions of butterflies and dragonflies.
Thus, Priscilla met as many people as possible. In situations where she could leave good impressions, one by one.
"The part where you projected the 'mother' image into the witch's mind was especially impressive. You have no heart, Your Grace."
"Your mouth's getting ruder by the day?"
"Proof I'm becoming a Fucking Lion."
"Oh? Then a Fucking Lion won't need this gold coin—better give it to the neighborhood mutt."
"Whine. Pant."
"...Khk."
Ah, I laughed. An unexpected talent. She really sounded like a dog whining—caught me off guard.
"Here. Gold coin."
"Thank you."
Canaria pocketed the coin, tilted her head, and asked.
"But if you can manipulate thoughts like this, why not use more aggressive methods?"
"It's not that convenient. I projected the coughing mother's image... but she chose to pick those berries."
In that sense, Priscilla adding the berries was a good sign. It meant a bond was forming between her and her family.
That she valued her mother, even a little.
"The more she values her mother, the more dramatically she'll react when she's in danger. Nothing motivates like the fear of losing someone precious."
"Hostage drama. I like it."
"Canaria, your personality's filthy...?"
"A mutt needs loyalty, not personality. I'll trust and follow only Your Grace."
"So brazen."
"No reason not to be proud when saving the world."
I hope that resolve doesn't change.