The Witch and Her Assistant (10)
Dorothy, the witch who had spent centuries idly watching the world from the westernmost edge of the continent, felt a rush of warmth when her disciple Estelle reached out to her for the first time through the Witch’s Mirror.
She remembered the little girl who used to toddle after her calling out “Witch lady, witch lady,” and then the rotten brat who would later call her “auntie, auntie” while driving her up the wall. But to Dorothy, Estelle was her one and only disciple and, at the same time, like a daughter.
Her unnaturally sharp mind, her stubbornness that refused to give up on anything. She never demanded attention, never threw tantrums over food, and never crossed the line a disciple should observe. In a good way, she was mature beyond her years. In a bad way, she had none of the cuteness one would expect from a child her age.
When Dorothy woke up, breakfast would already be waiting neatly on the desk. Dusty tomes would be spotless. The girl often acted as if she had memorized Dorothy’s every habit. “I’ll do it!” “Just teach me once and I won’t bother you again!”
Even though hundreds of years had passed since Dorothy left the mortal world, were children these days really that mature? She had asked the Southern Witch, who was famous for taking on many disciples, but the woman had snapped that only an idiot would think such a thing even in her dreams. Dorothy had felt strangely unsettled. The Southern Witch had even added, with obvious jealousy, that if such a child existed she would raise her as her favorite and that Dorothy should hand her over.
From Dorothy’s perspective, once she had decided to take Estelle as her disciple, the girl was the perfect pupil. Aside from the basics of mana manipulation and theory, all Dorothy had to do was toss her a book and she would study it on her own. Even if Estelle had gone to another witch instead, the result would probably have been much the same.
Before Estelle left, Dorothy had asked why she had chosen her over the others. The ridiculous answer—“Because you were the closest”—had made her blood boil at first. But over time, it began to intrigue her. She grew curious about how far this child could follow her. Compared to Dorothy, who had been born with the witch’s burden, Estelle fell a little short of her expectations, but still…
If Dorothy’s answer had been “It just works when I do it,” Estelle’s was “It works when I try hard enough.”
When the girl stayed up late studying and fell asleep among the grimoires, Dorothy would tidy up the books that were trying to devour her and gently lay a blanket over her. When Estelle declared that a witch must fly on a broom and brought a clumsy bundle of branches to practice, Dorothy would watch with her heart in her throat, terrified the girl might fall.
That was how Dorothy slowly opened her heart to Estelle.
It was the year Estelle turned nineteen that Dorothy first felt a sense of unease watching her follow along so perfectly in everything.
Aside from her initial declaration that she wanted to become a witch, Estelle had never once revealed what lay in her heart. What kind of life she had lived before. Why she wanted to become a witch. What food she liked. What color she preferred.
At first Dorothy thought the girl was simply being considerate and hiding her own tastes. She wanted to know more about Estelle.
“What color do you like? I prefer black.”
“My favorite color? Um… I’ve never really thought about it.”
“This stew is quite delicious. The savory one from last time was good too, but I like the sweet flavor better.”
“Um… I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about it.”
Never thought about it? Then what on earth did she think about while living? Why did she want to become a witch?
In the end, the question she should have asked from the beginning came too late.
“Estelle, who are you?”
“……”
Was it all right to ask now? She never received an answer, but that was fine. Dorothy believed that with that question, she had taken one step closer to Estelle.
She should have just kept her mouth shut.
After that, the girl who had seemed permanently mature suddenly began acting like she was going through puberty. She would sneak into the storage room and drink potions without permission. She would modify her broom and end up carving a massive hole in it. The child who used to follow her around like an adorable baby chick calling her “witch lady” suddenly started calling her “auntie” with a mischievous little grin on her face…
By then, Dorothy had already spent too much time with Estelle to hate her. Even though she lived every day on edge wondering what trouble the girl would cause next, it was far more enjoyable than the overly mature days before.
Unlike Dorothy, who had been born with the witch’s burden, those who were not born with it would be cursed if they tried to shoulder it anyway. A witch bound by that curse would live with a body that neither aged nor died, forever a slave to the curse.
Immortality. Some might call it a blessing, but for those who became witches, it was a curse they had to bear.
Dorothy had not wanted Estelle to become a witch. She had hoped the girl would meet a man she loved, build a family, and live an ordinary life.
It still wasn’t too late. The child had come to her saying she wanted to become a witch, yet here Dorothy was, standing in her way. Unlike Estelle, who had long since prepared herself, Dorothy was not ready at all.
She unconsciously grabbed a fistful of her wavy black hair. It was a habit that surfaced whenever irritation surged through her.
What if Estelle asked why she hadn’t stopped her back then? What if she said becoming a witch was wrong? What if she resented her?
Dorothy was afraid. She must have looked so pathetic in Estelle’s eyes.
“I have something I really want to do after becoming a witch. It’s incredibly important to me.”
When Estelle had hugged her tightly, Dorothy hadn’t been able to refuse. She admitted it. No parent can overcome their child.
That day, Estelle became a witch and left Dorothy’s arms. She had known the girl would leave someday, but that night the emptiness Estelle left behind felt especially large.
When she opened her eyes in the morning, she kept thinking breakfast would be waiting as usual. She kept wondering how she should scold the girl who called her “auntie” and poked at her nerves. She told herself she would never take another disciple again.
My beloved Estelle. You rotten brat… You heartless child who doesn’t even know her mother’s heart…
Even if Estelle returned one day and resented her… living together, bickering and squabbling until the world ended didn’t seem so bad.
Thinking that way finally let her fall asleep with a lighter heart.
“So, why did you call me?”
“Th-that’s… Joshua…”
Dorothy could only feel frustrated watching Estelle repeat the same words while shedding tears as big as chicken droppings. Seeing those endless tears through the Witch’s Mirror made her want to fly over right this instant and smack some sense into her, but she held back.
Of course. This was her disciple reaching out after so long. This was the time for an elder’s patience.
“Hic… Joshua, Joshua…”
“Could you please explain properly?”
Yes, fine. It was okay that she was crying when she had never shown tears before she left. It was okay that she hadn’t contacted her once in nearly a hundred years. But at the very least, she should tell her who this Joshua person was so Dorothy could offer sympathy, advice, or something. Pouring out nothing but tears like this was pushing even Dorothy’s patience to its limit.
“Joshuaaaaa…!!”
Snap. The string of reason broke.
“You damn rotten brat!!!!”
“I’m sorry!!!! I’m sorry for being a rotten brat!!!!!!!”
It took another ten minutes or so before Estelle’s tears finally began to subside. Dorothy briefly considered smashing the mirror so she would never have to deal with this again and just going back to sleep, but she couldn’t ignore a child sobbing like that.
After taking a deep breath—huuu, haaa—Estelle slowly explained the situation. She looked like a child confessing her wrongdoing.
“So… you don’t even know why Joshua got angry, and you have no idea how you should treat her from now on?”
“Yes…”
In Estelle’s current appearance, Dorothy saw her past self. There had been a time when Dorothy couldn’t understand Estelle either. Honestly, she still didn’t fully understand her even now. But the current situation felt like a daughter who had slapped her rebellious child for the first time and was now running to her own mother for help. It left a bad taste in her mouth.
This makes me feel like a grandmother, damn it.
“Have you talked with the child?”
“No… Her fever only just broke, so she’s sleeping right now.”
“Then you should ask her directly.”
“That’s… a bit difficult…”
Estelle twisted her body and blushed. Dorothy yanked at her own hair.
“You idiot.”
At Dorothy’s words, Estelle flinched on the other side of the mirror.
“It’s a huge mistake to think you know everything about that child. You don’t know why she got angry? If you did, would you have slapped her? Do you even talk with her regularly? What’s her favorite color? Her favorite animal? What food makes her the happiest when she eats it? Have you even tried to find out?”
Dorothy poured out all the dissatisfaction she had accumulated over the years. She had thought something had changed after seeing Estelle cry, but that had been a colossal misunderstanding.
“……”
Estelle could only stay silent. There was nothing she could say in response. More than that, those questions were the very ones Dorothy used to ask her back when they lived together—questions Estelle would avoid with an embarrassed look.
How hard Dorothy had tried. How meaningless all that effort must have felt.
“Whether you apologize or get angry, do whatever you want.”
“Wait—”
The communication cut off one-sidedly, leaving Estelle speechless and lost. Witch this, original story that, pure love this… What the hell am I even doing? What do I even want?
Every time Joshua’s words echoed in her ears—“If only you had just let me die back then…!”—her chest ached. Even when she curled up, the pain refused to go away.