Part 4: Past Glory

Through misty woods, on paths concealed by haze.
He thrice died and thrice was born, in ancient days.
Guide me rightly, that I may not stray.
By the willow fire, a witch is dancing in the ritual ground.
She performs her dance alone. Only the shadows cast by the flames accompany her.
Willow: Flowers bear fruit, and beasts give offspring's way.
Willow: With eyes of fire, pierce through the cloudy maze!
Willow: Ugh! Failed again. Damn it!
She clenches her right leg, her fingers turning white at the tips.
Willow: I won't get anywhere so long as I can't move right.
Vines Carbuncle: Squeak! Squeak!!
The typically docile Carbuncles are now locked in a frenzied shrieking match. What should have been a calming ritual has quickly turned into a bloodied war drum, and all because of a single misstep.
Willow: Enough! The last thing this haunted old place needs is another crazy creature!

Flutterpage: Ms. Willow—
Willow: ...!
Willow: I swear to God—
She collapses by the willow fire, causing the intense flames to suddenly die down. She swiftly grabs a blanket from the pile to cover her legs.
Willow: Whatever thing you are, don't think I won't strangle you to death with my bare hands!
She struggles to her feet, but just as she's about to stand, one leg gives way.
Willow: Ugh!
Flutterpage: Ah!
The little girl tumbles through the window and into the room.
Willow: Bloody!
She tries to lift herself up for the second time but can only support half of her body. She looks up to find a little face among a pile of stitched and re-stitched clothes.
There could be no more embarrassing or infuriating way for another to behold her.
Willow: You! What are you doing here?
Flutterpage: I only wanted to show you the arcane skill you taught me.
Flutterpage nimbly gets back on her feet, bouncing around as she shakes off the dust.
Seeing that the girl is unharmed, the witch turns her face, hiding her fleeting look of concern.
Flutterpage: But you are in a bad mood, aren't you? What happened? I promise I didn't call you Ms. Willow in front of others!
Flutterpage: You said I can call you Ms. Willow when there's just you and me, right?
Willow: And you actually listened? First time for everything, ay? But it's not about what you call me.
Flutterpage: Then what is it?
She stares at Willow in confusion. Suddenly, she realizes why she's lying on the ground.
Flutterpage: Let me help you up.
Willow: I don't need it.
With a flick of her wrist, Willow's coat and hat leap onto her like loyal dogs.
She tries to stand up for a third time, using the rough stone pillar beside her for support, and finally manages to straighten herself out.
Willow: So then, if you value my words so highly, what about the time I told you I don't need a knocker-upper?
Flutterpage: I remember! You told me, "There's no sense waking me up for anythin'. I don't have any work to go to."
Flutterpage: But I'm not here to wake you up, am I? I already did that for the whole street hours ago!
Willow: Oh, have you now? Then maybe you can buzz off and bother someone else. I didn't give my permission to let annoying little flies in my house.
Willow: I'm in the middle of something important. So leave me be.
Willow grabs a broom handle and points it toward the window Flutterpage opened.
Flutterpage: Just one more question, Miss! I'll be quick.
Flutterpage: Ms. Tooth Fairy and Mr. Fog say you made people sick with the black fog, but I know you didn't do it, did you?
Flutterpage: You never told me you can summon black fog.
Willow: Done with all that nonsense, are you? If that's all you knocked on my window for—
Flutterpage: But if you didn't, I can tell them the truth.
Flutterpage: Or you could even help them find the black fog! You're the best witch I know.
Willow: Their problem is no concern of mine.
Flutterpage: Em, oh, but I did hear somethin'. I was thinkin' maybe you'd like to hear it, too.
Flutterpage: Letter from St. Pavlov Foundation:
Flutterpage: Um, due to ... what? De-teary-on air quality? And arcane tube-or-key-old-kiss ...?
Flutterpage: Um. They said the Uluru Qualifiers are canceled.
Willow: Stop.
Willow: Do you understand at all what you're saying?
Flutterpage: No, but—
Willow: Go away.
Flutterpage: Aww ...
Willow: I said get out!
She seizes Flutterpage with both hands, half dragging, half pulling her toward the open window.
Flutterpage: Ahhh!
Willow: You know what I don't want to hear, eh lass? Your voice!
Flutterpage is flung out the window and carried away like a kite with a broken string on the breeze.
Willow: And your infernal knocking!
Flutterpage: Whoaa!
Willow: Don't you never take another step into my house, never!
*crash*
The room reverts to its familiar silence, no life save for its solitary resident, just as it has been for the past decade.
Her hastily thrown-on coat and hat slide to the floor as Willow leans on her right leg and limps over to the storage table filled with bottles and jars.
There's still enough mucus left over from yesterday's snails for her to use. She pours the liquid from the jar into the cauldron.
Willow: Just a wee bit left.
She sets the fire alight, and the lubricant starts to bubble in the cauldron.
Willow: Heh! Eat snails? Hmph!
Willow: Let them think what they will. I don't care.
Willow: The Fog Hag, a toad monster, the failed work of an ancient alchemist ...
Willow: Yes, yes, of course. Charlotte O'Hagan, you're nothing but an ugly, evil, terrifying Fog Hag living in a haunted house. You deserve every bit of it.
She lifts her eyes and gazes out the window. To her surprise, she can see the moon, a flurry of small clouds slowly making their way across it, and a flock of silhouetted birds swooping and swerving in tacit harmony.
Like the white sheep that roamed those vast rocky hills. Like the witches in black robes who danced together in perfect unison.
Willow: What an age—At last witches no longer need worry about being captured in their sleep, pierced on a stake, or burnt alive.
Announcer: Our next competitor is our witch from Ireland, a once-in-a-generation talent!
Willow: The ancient rituals are different now. We dance, communicating with spirits, like a joyful game.
Announcer: The Uluru Games—
Willow: Or a graceful competition ...
Announcer: And the winner for the Floor Ritual is—
Willow: A desirable ...
Willow: ...!
Willow: I left the pot on!
The smell signals a point of no return for the lubricant, and its appearance confirms it as she sees a small blackened mass stuck to the bottom of the cauldron.
Willow's prosthetic leg grinds and creaks as the joints rub up against each other, causing her hip to itch.
Willow: Feck! Fecking! Feck!
Willow: Fit for the rubbish now!
Willow: Rubbish!