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Ameya, trapped in Jenna's body, pushed open the creaking door of the hut. The interior was a nightmare rendered in wood and shadow. In the center, a massive iron cauldron sat over a flameless fire, a thick green solution bubbling and popping. The shelves were lined with hundreds of tiny glass jars, each filled with swirling mists and glowing liquids.
The Reflection of Souls
Driven by a desperate curiosity, Ameya stepped toward the boiling pot. As the steam hit her face, the surface of the green liquid shimmered. An image flickered into view: a young girl's face, followed by an old lady, then a blur of dozens of strangers.
Ameya gasped. "What is this? What's going on here?"
The liquid swirled one last time, and her own face—Ameya's true face—stared back at her from the depths. She recoiled, her heart racing. Suddenly, a cold, unnatural breeze tickled her ear. She spun around, but the room was empty.
"I know you're here!" she shouted into the shadows. "Show yourself! I need answers!"
She felt a sharp tug on her sleeve. Panic flared, and she turned to see her fabric snagged on a nail in a wooden pillar. She ripped it away, her breathing coming in ragged pants. "Is someone here?!"
A swarm of bats suddenly screeched from the rafters, diving past her head. Ameya ducked, shielding her face with her hands, trembling. As she tried to steady her breath, her sleeve was grabbed again. Thinking it was the same nail, she reached back to unhook it without looking.
Her fingers didn't touch cold metal. They touched skin.
She froze as she felt a long, sharp, yellowed nail brush against her wrist. She turned slowly. Standing inches away was the Witch. She wore a tattered purple gown, her hair a wild, silvered mess that obscured half of her face. Ameya screamed, falling backward onto the dusty floor.
"So... you're really here," Ameya stammered.
The Witch tilted her head, her eyes milky and piercing. "Who are you? No one can find this place. How did you get through?"
Ameya scrambled to her feet, trying to maintain some dignity in Jenna's body. The Witch snapped her fingers, and in a blur of magic, her tattered appearance shifted into that of an elegant, albeit stern, lady.
"I'm Ameya," she said firmly.
"Ameya? I don't know an Ameya," the Witch replied, turning back to her shelves to mix a new potion.
"How can you say that? You came to my dreams!" Ameya's fury rose. "You gave a green stone gold ring to my grandmother... Mary. Do you remember her?"
The Witch froze. The vial in her hand stayed suspended in mid-air. "Ring... Mary..." She turned sharply, her eyes glowing purple. In a flash, she was across the room, her hand clamping around Ameya's neck. "How do you know about that?"
Ameya struggled to breathe, clawing at the Witch's iron grip. "I'm her... granddaughter!"
The Witch hissed, her eyes gleaming with suspicion. "You are not! You don't even have her spirit!" She flung Ameya toward the door. Ameya didn't wait; she turned and bolted into the dark forest.
She ran until her lungs burned, but the Witch's voice echoed from the trees themselves: "You cannot leave until I let you go!"
Suddenly, the Witch teleported directly in front of her. Her hand found Ameya's neck again. "Tell me the truth, girl."
"I am!" Ameya choked out. "Because of that ring, my soul shifted into my friend's body! I'm not who I look like!"
The Witch's grip loosened. She grabbed Ameya's hand, closing her eyes. She remained silent for a long moment, sensing the displacement of the spirit. She let go, her expression turning from rage to a cold, judgmental sternness.
"Why did you misuse the ring?" the Witch demanded.
"I didn't!" Ameya protested.
"Follow me," the Witch commanded. Back in the hut, she turned to Ameya. "Where is the ring now?"
"It's... it's with my real body. I don't have it."
The Witch rolled her eyes. "How am I to know you are Mary's blood without my ring?"
"You used your magic to feel my soul!" Ameya argued. "How could a soul shift like this happen without the ring's power? Doesn't that prove it?"
The Witch sighed, a heavy, ancient sound. "Kid, listen. You may be right. But Mary... i was told her never to misuse that power. It was meant to make dreams come true, not to be a toy. Didn't she tell you that ?."
"I told you, I didn't misuse it!" Ameya yelled.
The Witch stepped closer, her nose inches from Ameya's. "Did you not, even once, use it for your own selfishness? Think, child."
Ameya opened her mouth to deny it, but a memory hit her like a physical blow. She remembered the day she saw Alice dancing with Rico—the day they were to be engaged. She remembered the hot, stinging jealousy and the silent wish: I wish her heel would just break. And it had. Right in the middle of the dance.
"I..." Ameya whispered. "I did. But I didn't know! It was an accident!"
The Witch chuckled darkly. "A single time or a thousand... the ring does not care for your excuses. Your grandmother never used it for spite. That is why she thrived. But you... the ring gives happiness, but it takes it back just as fast. It turns the world upside down when the heart is impure."
Ameya began to tremble, the weight of her mistakes crashing down. "Please... everything is going wrong. My life is falling apart. Help me."
The Witch turned back to her cauldron, whispering incantations over a solution that wouldn't quite settle. "Something is missing," she muttered.
Ameya stepped forward, pleading. "Please, one last time. Change the souls back. My friend has a wedding soon... I can't let her live my life forever."
The Witch stopped and looked at her. "I can fix it," she said slowly. "But..."
"But what?" Ameya asked breathlessly.
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The Price of the Truth
The golden afternoon had long since bled into a cold, ink-blue twilight. Ameya (in Jenna's body) sat huddled on the cold metal bench of a remote bus stop, miles away from the city. The tattered diary lay heavy in her lap. She had escaped the witch's hut, but the forest's magic had spat her back out into a reality that felt just as haunting.
She checked her phone for the tenth time: No Signal. The last bus had roared past twenty minutes ago, leaving her in a cloud of dust and silence. She felt small, trapped in Jenna's delicate frame, her heart aching with the weight of the witch's ultimatum.
The silence of the country road was suddenly shattered by the aggressive hum of a high-performance engine. A pair of bright LED headlights sliced through the darkness, blinding her for a moment. A sleek car screeched to a halt, and Michael practically tumbled out of the driver's seat.
He looked wrecked. His hair was disheveled, and his expensive jacket was thrown on haphazardly.
"Jenna!" he roared, his voice thick with tension and relief. "Where did you go? Do you have any idea what you put me through? Finally... finally you called me and gave me your location!"
Ameya looked up at him, her eyes red and weary. Seeing his genuine terror made the guilt inside her double. She was Jenna to him—the woman he wanted to marry—but she was a stranger holding his heart hostage.
Michael didn't wait for an answer. He stormed over and sat beside her on the narrow bench, his shoulders shaking as he caught his breath. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softening into a gentle, broken whisper.
Without thinking, Ameya leaned her head against his shoulder. She was exhausted, terrified by the witch's warnings, and desperate for a familiar comfort. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I left in a hurry... I couldn't inform you. I went to meet an old friend... in my hometown."
The lie tasted like ash in her mouth.
Michael let out a long, shaky breath, letting his head rest against hers. "I was so worried. I thought... I thought you were running away from me."
Ameya sat up straight, pulling away from the warmth of his shoulder. She looked out into the dark road, her voice trembling. "Michael... if we did something wrong... if that mistake started to affect other people's lives... we have to fix it, right? At whatever cost?"
Michael's eyes narrowed, the tenderness in his expression replaced by a sharp, intuitive concern. "What do you mean, Jenna? What kind of mistake?"
A single, crystalline tear rolled down Ameya's cheek. She didn't wipe it away. She forced a small, sad smile and looked at him. "I mean... as a friend, you have to give me an honest opinion."
Michael froze. His brow furrowed as he stared at her, the word she used echoing in his mind like a dissonant note.
Friend? He reached out to touch her face, his heart sinking. Why did she call me 'friend' suddenly? he wondered, a cold dread pooling in his stomach. Yesterday she was my fiancée... today, I'm just a friend?
"Jenna," Michael said, his voice low and dangerous. "What is really going on? You're talking like you're already gone."
Ameya looked away, the witch's voice ringing in her ears: The ring gives, but it takes back just as fast.
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To be Continued.....
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