Who was my brother.
Who kept me trapped for millennia because he was afraid of my power.
Bile is all that comes up as I retch off the side of my porch. I’m somewhat thankful. Puking blood would suck.
It’s sundown, and I feel my skin tightening in the fading rays.
This home is cursed.
Outside the fairy circle, with Hans and Gerrit by my side, the sun did not hurt me.
Another thing I have lost.
The wolf howls again, closer than before, and something familiar tugs in my chest.
I know that howl.
“Flint!” I scream, running towards the tree line. “Gerrit! Hans!”
I scream their names so many times my throat goes sore.
I throw myself on the circle’s boundary, summon any magic I can find within myself, and try to bring it down.
But I am depleted from killing my brother.
And though my throat is sore, though it feels fucking pointless because it may not even be Flint, and they wouldn’t remember me anyways, I scream their names still.
I fall into the dirt, tears wetting the ground around me, as I wail their names at the top of my lungs.
Cracking branches and a howl draw my attention to the other side of my clearing, and I take off running. As the two brothers and the familiar enter the clearing, I hit the boundary and fall to my knees.
“Witch!” Gerrit shouts. “I come requesting assistance.” He’s supporting Hans with his arm as he stumbles towards me. Hans looks terrible, blood caked around his lips, his eyes fogged over. His hair is slick with sweat, and his pallor is sickly.
Something is wrong with my mage.
“Anything! Anything you need. Come, Gerrit, cross the boundary and come into my home. No harm will come to you.” I’m on my feet, trying but failing to reach through the boundary to them.
Gerrit looks distrustful, taking a step backward. “How do you know my name, witch?”
It breaks my heart to no longer have his trust, but maybe I can restore his memories now that the Banisher is gone. There has to be a way.
But first, I have to help Hans.
“Your brother is sick. Let me heal Hans. Come through the circle.” I swing my gaze toward the wolf. “Flint, please. You may not remember me, but you know me. You know me.” Tears crack my voice, and I am begging, desperation removing every ounce of shame I have within my cursed body. “Let me save him.”
Something I say reaches Hans. His head lolls over as he looks at me. Weakly, he says, “Let her try,” and my heart breaks in two.
If he dies, I fear I’ll go with him.
Gerrit and Flint pass over the boundary, the former dragging Hans, and I beckon for them to follow me to the house.
Where the dead Banisher lays in the middle of my floor.
“What the fuck?” Gerrit shouts, stumbling backward.
“I know this looks bad, but there is an explanation. Let me save Hans, and I’ll answer all your questions.” I reach out and grab one of Gerrit’s hands. His eyes flash with something akin to remembrance, but it fades quickly. Still, he lays Hans down on the couch and kneels beside him.
A part of him still trusts me.
