Abigail's POV
It's been a week since the tower.
A whole week of pretending I didn't see the photo. Of pretending that my world didn't tilt sideways when I found it tucked into the back of that old dusty journal — my infant self curled up in Caroline's arms... standing next to the town's infamous Wizard. Not Pierre. Not my "father." The Wizard.
It's been seven nights of choking on questions I'm too scared to ask. I thought I could keep it buried, but every time Pierre gives me that quiet, searching look — the one he probably thinks I don't notice — it digs a little deeper. Like he knows something's wrong but doesn't know what, or maybe he's known all along and just... didn't want to face it.
And Caroline? She's been chirping like normal. Making jam. Dusting off the sunroom. Talking about the summer crops like the ground didn't just open beneath our feet.
Tonight, I can't do it anymore.
She's in the kitchen, washing herbs in the sink, humming softly — some old tune that used to soothe me when I was little. Now it feels sharp.
I sit down at the table, trying to act casual. Trying to breathe through what feels like the biggest confrontation of my life. My heart's doing gymnastics, and I think it's actually trying to punch its way out of my chest.
"So..." I start, peeling at a scratch on the wooden table. "When did you and Pierre decide you wanted kids?"
She pauses at the sink. Just for a second. Barely a second. But I catch it.
"Oh, well," she says, turning with a soft smile, "we didn't really plan it, sweetie. You were a surprise. A happy one."
"Right," I nod. "Just... wondering. Like, when was I conceived? Winter? Fall? During that solstice dance?"
Her hands still in the dish towel. "Why are you asking?"
I shrug. "Just curious about the details of my life. Who doesn't want to know where they came from?"
She lets out a tight little laugh. "Well, you were definitely ours. That's all that matters."
The word ours rings hollow.
I lean forward, pressing a little more. "Pierre ever wonder where my hair came from?"
Her expression doesn't change, but I can see it in her eyes. That flicker of panic she's trying to stuff into the corners.
"You dye it now, don't you?"
"I do," I say. "But it was always purple. Since I was born. He doesn't have it. You don't. And I remember once when I was ten, he asked if we had any 'weird cousins' with eggplant hair."
Caroline swallows. "Abigail, I really don't think—"
"Just tell me the truth," I say, the words sharper than I meant. "Please."
She's silent. The ticking of the wall clock suddenly feels like it's screaming.
Then: "What did you find?"
That's all it takes.
I stand, pull the photo from my back pocket. Set it gently on the table between us like it's a bomb. Her eyes drop to it — and this time, she doesn't try to fake it. Doesn't pretend it's nothing.
"You went to his tower." Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"I did," I reply. "And he didn't lie. He didn't try to spin it. He knew who I was. So why didn't I?"
Her eyes are glassy. "Because I was trying to protect you."
"From what? From the truth?"
"No." She pulls out the chair and sits down across from me, voice trembling. "From her."
"Who?"
His ex-wife. The witch. The one people whisper about like she's an urban legend. The one who once cursed the Mayor's dog into a frog for peeing on her herb garden.
"She... she's dangerous," Caroline says, hands clasped tight. "She told him if he ever claimed you, if he ever so much as spoke your name in relation to hers, she'd find you. And she'd curse you."
I blink. "That sounds dramatic even for this town."
Caroline's voice is quiet. "You don't know what she's capable of, Abigail. I've seen what she can do. And I wasn't willing to risk you — not your future, not your happiness — for the sake of... honesty."
I sit back. Everything feels surreal. Like I'm watching someone else's life unravel in real time.
"So you lied to me. My whole life. To protect me."
"Yes."
"And Pierre?"
She hesitates. "He doesn't know."
Of course he doesn't. And that explains everything. The quiet distance. The way he's always tried so hard but never really landed. I used to think he was just weird about fatherhood. Turns out, he was just guessing.
"I can't look at either of you the same now," I say, not even trying to keep the shake out of my voice. "You kept this from me. Like I was some... ticking time bomb."
"You are," she says gently. "You just don't know it yet."
The silence stretches.
Then I stand. Tuck the photo back into my pocket. "I'm going to the tower."
She blanches. "Abigail, please—"
"I'm not going for him," I say. "I'm going for me."
Because I deserve answers. And if I'm cursed, I'd like to know what kind of fireworks are set to go off before the fuse gets too short.
Caroline doesn't stop me as I head for the door. I think part of her knows it's too late. You can only keep someone in the dark for so long before they grow eyes that see in it.
Hannah's POV
I finally found the last of the jade the Wizard asked for — took me two whole days, a chipped nail, and an aggressive squirrel to track it down. Honestly, I still don't know why he needs it. He's not exactly the explain-my-intentions type. Just hands me a list, vague as a fortune cookie, and disappears into mist like it's part of the drama.
But I need his help. The scrolls I found hidden in the community center are written in a language that may as well be ancient alien to me. They're everywhere — one tucked behind a broken heater, one inside an old beehive exhibit, another literally glued to the ceiling like some magical prank.
No one else knows. I struck a quiet deal with Mayor Lewis — I'd help restore the place as a side project. Not just for the town's sake, but because the building means something to my family. My grandfather loved that community center. My dad used to play in it during council meetings, back when the world felt smaller and magic didn't feel like a literal possibility.
As I cut through the trail behind my house, jade tucked safely in my satchel, I see someone slumped under the old walnut tree near the fence. It's dark, but the moon's high enough that I catch a shimmer — two eyes, red and glossy, staring straight at me.
Abigail.
She looks... wrecked. The kind of wrecked you don't get from a stubbed toe or even a breakup. Her eyes are puffy, cheeks streaked with tears that glisten under moonlight. I freeze, unsure if I should approach — but then she speaks.
"Hey, Abigail... are you okay?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle.
She wipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie and manages to choke out, "Can I ask you something?"
My heart drops a little. The last time someone said that to me, they accused me of stealing eggs from their coop. (I didn't. That chicken was asking to be let out.)
But this feels different. Serious.
"Sure," I nod, even though it's so dark I'm not sure she can see it.
"What are you helping the Wizard with?" she asks.
Of all the questions in the entire universe, that's the one I did not expect. Not one bit. For a moment I just blink, unsure if this is a trap or a test or if I should've packed a backup excuse with the jade.
"It's... complicated," I sigh. I don't want to lie, but I also don't even know how to explain it all without sounding like I've been breathing too much pesticide on the farm.
"Please," she whispers, and it's the kind of 'please' that hits you right in the chest. We've barely talked before — not deeply — but something in her voice feels... real. Vulnerable. Desperate.
So I sit down next to her in the damp grass. Her purple hair catches the moonlight, glowing faintly like stained glass in a church. Her makeup's smeared, but somehow it just makes her look even more human.
"I moved here after my grandfather passed. Took over his farm. Thought I'd be dealing with weeds and weather patterns — not scrolls and teleporting men with cowboy hats," I start, twirling the ring on my index finger like a nervous tic. "But ever since I arrived, weird things have been happening. I hear noises at night. Things that don't sound like animals. Like... whispers, almost."
Abigail nods. "I hear them too. No one else ever seems to notice."
A small wave of relief crashes into me. I'm not alone in this.
"So," I continue, "Mayor Lewis offered me a side job — helping repair the community center. I said yes, for my grandfather. But inside, I started finding things. Scrolls. Strange symbols. Stuff that shouldn't exist in a place with broken vending machines and dusty couches."
I glance at her. She's focused on every word, like she's memorizing it.
"One day, about two weeks before spring ended, I got a letter from the Wizard. No name. Just... him. Said he knew what I'd found. Said he could help me decipher it — if I brought him materials." I gesture toward the jade in my bag. "That's what I've been doing. Helping him so he can help me."
Abigail goes quiet for a moment, just watching the ground like it's going to reveal some secret.
Then, softly: "Take me with you."
I blink. "What?"
"Please," she repeats, eyes still glued to the dirt. "If you're going to see him... take me."
I hesitate. "Look, I just got here. The last thing I need is Pierre and Caroline throwing pitchforks at my house because I dragged their daughter into wizard business."
But she shakes her head hard. "Pierre and Caroline don't control what I do. Especially not now."
There's something sharp in the way she says especially. It lands like a stone in my stomach.
I furrow my brows. "What happened?"
She doesn't answer. Just looks up at me with those watery, intense eyes and says, "I need to see him, Hannah. You don't have to understand why. But please... don't shut me out of this."
I stare at her for a long moment.
I don't know what she's running from — or toward. But I know that look in her eyes. The kind of look people wear when they're one secret away from breaking open. The kind I wore when I left everything behind and came here.
So I sigh, pressing my fingers to my temple. "Fine. But you're bringing your own jade."
Abigail lets out a shaky laugh. "Deal."
And just like that, the path ahead gets a little more complicated — and a whole lot more interesting.
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