"bedtime, sweetie~"
The old witch leaned on the doorway, her eyes slipping past the dark, breathing swamp out beyond the forest.
"Coming, Grandma Moira!"
Splash. Splash. Splash.
"Shall we ?"cheerfully called the voice.
"Splash. Splash. Splash.
Those dirty wet squelchy feet running toward me out of the mud.
Then a little girl came barreling out of the mud. Her red hair was wet and disheveled.
Two small horns sticking out of her head. Fur on her arms.
Instead of feet, she had hooves, and looked more like a goat.
She was coming out of the swamp, completely covered in mud.
Moira stared at her, scowled.
"Haven't you been playing somewhere? You're covered in swamp water again."
Mud oozed down the hooves and squished over the floor.
Moira frowns, pulls up a sleeve to reveal the withered hand underneath.
Gently, a great orb of water was materialised in mid air, sparkling faintly in the dim glow.
It formed around the little girl before she could even do anything.
"Hey-!"
She tried to stop Moria.
But it was too late.
The sphere lifted, turned once, and held her there.
"Just a shower. Stay freeze." Moira ordered.
"I am!"
It floated ahead of her, took the girl completely in its grip and carried her back to the doorway.
"You know what? I was playing hide-and-seek with Mr. Treetis!" the girl said with her bright smile.
"He was cheating, always moving his roots." she added. "But I can still find him. Humph!"
"Well, well," Moira raised her eyebrows: "Well, that's impressive."
The water dropped her down to the ground. Not a speck of mud was left on her.
She rapped herself once, like a wet animal, and dash into the house.
"Grandma Moira, what story will you tell me tonight?"
Shaking off the last of the water, the girl with the small horns joyfully skipped.
Then, without waiting, she leaped into the house and got into the bed.
"Let me think..."
Moira said as she slowly sat down. Her favorite place to tell Mahayer stories was the rocking chair by the bed.
She wrapped the girl in the blanket.
"Recently, the forest's young trees have been growing healthily. Maybe I should tell you a tale about the magnificent trees that watch over the forest.That one, you had already told!"
Like a spring bouncing back and forth, the girl gave a forceful shake of her head. "I want something new and different!"
"Then… let me see. The Festival of Blossoms is coming soon. Maybe a story about flower spirits——"
Moira's eyes narrowed slightly behind the veil.
"I don't want that either, Grandma."
This time quieter. But firm.
The girl's eyes sparkled with anticipation, as if she had already made up her mind.
She was just waiting, waiting for Moria told the answer her wanted.
Moira rested her head against her sleeve, her half-closed eyes gazing at the girl through the veil—gentle, yet faintly amused.
"Then what would you like to hear, my little Mahayel?"
The name landed softly.
The girl didn't hesitate.
"Your story! I want to hear Moria's story!"
Mahayel almost shouted it.
"I was already informed today by Mr. Treetis! "You used to be a very powerful witch, and you left behind many famous stories," he said.
"But you've never told me any of them," she said, puffing up her cheeks and frowning in protest. Grandma, that isn't fair. You are aware of my preference for adventure stories.
Little Mahayer's discontent was evident in every tiny expression on her face.
But to Moira, the girl appeared to be pouting more than complaining.
"You've been asking these tree-man about me."
Moira nearly grinned for a second before finally saying.
"Okay.My sweetheart, Mahayel. if that's your desire."
Moira got to her feet and slowly moved.
With a simple flick of her finger. She drew forth an old, dust-covered book from the bottom shelf behind her. It floated gently into her hand.
It was heavier than it looked.
She brushed the cover once. Dust rose, then settled again.
"Fuu…"
She lifted her veil, revealing a face soft and textured like a sponge, her features faintly wrinkled. Pursing her lips, she blew the dust from the cover.
Yes—Moira was also not a ordinary human.
She was a spore-being, something closer to a mushroom than to mankind.
Perhaps that is why she lived with Mahayer.
"What is that, Grandma Moira?"Mahayel leaned forward.
"This?" Moira smiled softly, brushing the worn cover with her sleeve.
"It's my diary..."
Her thumb rested along the edge.
Old.
Very old.
"from when I was young."
Just holding it in her hands seemed to pull her back through time.
The memories—bright, distant, and long buried—began to stir once more.
"Lie down," she said.
Mahayel obeyed this time.
Barely.
"You wanted my story," Moira added, sitting back down. "Then listen properly."
The book opened.
The pages didn't resist.
"If I'm going to tell it…"
A pause.
"…then we start at the beginning."
short pause.
"Something was stolen."
The girl blinked.
Moira looked at the page.
"A relic, actually."
Another pause.
"And that's where everything went into into adventure."