Chapter 10
Chapter 10
The Witch of the Western End, Dorothy, who had been idly observing life from afar, felt a rare sense of joy when her apprentice Estelle contacted her for the first time through the witch’s mirror.
Images of the little girl who used to follow her around calling her “Witch-sama, Witch-sama” surfaced in her mind, only to be replaced by the troublesome brat who now called her “old lady” and got on her nerves. But to Dorothy, Estelle was still her only apprentice, and no different from a daughter.
She was intelligent in a way that didn’t feel childlike, and had a stubborn persistence that never gave up.
She didn’t demand attention, didn’t throw tantrums, and never crossed the line that an apprentice should not cross.
If anything, she was overly mature for her age. And if one wanted to be less generous, she lacked any real cuteness for a girl her age.
Meals would appear on Dorothy’s desk when she woke up, books would be neatly cleaned even though dust had already settled on them, and sometimes she would act as if she already understood Dorothy’s personality completely.
“I’ll do it!”
“Just teach me once and I won’t bother you!”
It had been centuries since Dorothy left the mundane world, but were children these days really this composed?
When she asked the witch of the south, known for taking many apprentices, she was told, “If such a child existed, I’d take them immediately—stop dreaming.” That answer only left Dorothy feeling more unsettled. The southern witch even added that if such a child existed, she should hand them over.
Still, Estelle was an ideal talent to take in as an apprentice.
She absorbed everything Dorothy taught her. Aside from basic mana control and understanding, she would study on her own just by being given books.
Dorothy believed Estelle would have turned out much the same even if she had gone to another witch.
When Estelle once answered, “I just thought you were the closest,” when asked why she chose her, Dorothy had nearly lost her temper.
At first, Dorothy had been annoyed. Then, she became curious.
She wanted to see how far this girl could go.
Compared to Dorothy, who was born with the fate of a witch, Estelle lacked that innate “witch’s burden,” yet she still moved forward.
If Dorothy was “I just do it and it works,” Estelle was “I work hard and it somehow works.”
Whenever Estelle fell asleep in the middle of studying among piles of grimoires, Dorothy would quietly clear away the witch-hunting books trying to “eat” her apprentice and drape a blanket over her.
When Estelle brought a crooked stick claiming it was a broom and insisted witches should fly with it, Dorothy would worry she might fall.
Before she knew it, Dorothy had opened her heart to her.
Then, when Estelle turned nineteen, she noticed something strange.
Estelle never revealed her inner thoughts.
Not what she liked to eat, not what colors she liked, not what kind of life she had lived before becoming a witch.
At first, Dorothy thought she was simply being considerate. But slowly, curiosity grew.
“Estelle, what color do you like? I like black.”
“…I’ve never thought about it.”
“Then how about food? This stew is good, isn’t it?”
“…I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about it.”
Never thought about it.
Then what did she think about?
Why did she want to become a witch?
And finally—
“Estelle… who are you?”
“….”
It was a question she should have asked from the beginning.
She never got an answer, but it was enough. Dorothy felt she had taken one step closer.
Then she thought: maybe she shouldn’t have asked at all.
After that, Estelle entered what felt like a delayed adolescence.
Sneaking into storage and drinking potions without permission, or modifying broomsticks until they had holes in them.
The once-polite apprentice who followed her around like a chick now called her “old lady” with a mischievous grin.
Dorothy found it hard to hate her.
They had simply spent too much time together.
Even when she stayed alert every day, unsure what trouble Estelle might cause, she felt far more alive than when the girl had been perfectly composed.
Witches who inherit the “witch’s fate” like Dorothy become immortal, unable to age or die, bound by a curse that turns them into its servant.
Some called it a blessing, but for witches it was a curse.
Dorothy didn’t want Estelle to become a witch.
She wanted her to live a normal life, meet someone she loved, and grow old.
But the girl who had once come to her saying she wanted to become a witch had already made up her mind.
Dorothy had never stopped her.
Because she couldn’t.
When Estelle said, “I have something important I need to do,” clinging to her, Dorothy gave in.
That day, Estelle became a witch and left her side.
Dorothy had known she would leave someday, but the absence felt heavier than expected.
She thought she would wake up to breakfast prepared as usual, or hear Estelle calling her “old lady” again.
She decided she would never take another apprentice.
Her beloved Estelle. That stubborn brat…
That foolish daughter-like girl…
Even if Estelle came back one day and resented her…
Dorothy thought it might not be so bad to keep living, bickering endlessly until the end of the world.
And with that thought, she finally fell asleep.
“So, why did you call me?”
“…I-I mean… Joshua…”
Dorothy sighed as she watched Estelle sob uncontrollably through the witch’s mirror.
Part of her wanted to smash the mirror and go back to sleep, but she couldn’t ignore her apprentice crying like a child.
“Estelle. Explain properly.”
“I-I don’t know… Joshua just…”
Dorothy’s patience was wearing thin.
At last, after ten minutes of incoherent crying, Estelle finally began to explain.
“So… Joshua got angry… and you don’t know why?”
“Yes…”
Dorothy saw herself in Estelle.
She, too, had once failed to understand Estelle.
Honestly, she still didn’t fully understand her.
“Did you talk to her properly?”
“…No. She just fell asleep after calming down from a fever.”
“Then go ask her directly.”
“I… I can’t…”
“You idiot.”
Dorothy clenched her hair in frustration.
“Do you even know that child? Do you know what she likes? What she eats? What makes her happy? Have you ever tried to learn?”
Estelle went silent.
Because she had no answer.
Those were questions Dorothy had once asked her long ago.
And Estelle had never answered them.
Dorothy cut the connection without another word.
“…What am I even doing…”
Estelle curled up, clutching her chest.
Joshua’s words echoed in her mind.
“If you had just let me die back then…”
And it hurt.