The heart of the Ivywood welcomed Marina with a slap to her face.

    It was followed by a sucker punch to her gut and then a sweep of her legs.

    There was no frantic windmilling of her arms as she snapped into existence. That level of indignity wasn''t available to her. Instead, it was a force which sent her spiralling in all directions like a drunkard in search of the nearest keg.

    The reason was clear.

    Magic.

    There was magic everywhere.

    It was total. Pervasive. She could taste it on her tongue. It was bitter, pleasant, acrid, vile, savoury, overpowering and mild. All the sensations which could be experienced over the course of a productive evening in her workshop had been condensed into a single moment. And the result was one added taste.

    Flowery … perhaps slightly nutty.

    After all—

    “Unnnnnngggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~”

    That was what the local pollen tasted like.

    Marina hugged her stomach as she knelt, all the while smothering her face with a bundle of grass.

    It was familiar. Mercifully so. A scent she could anchor onto, helping to stop the spinning of her head as she slowly willed her soul to return to her body.

    She waited, doing nothing but futilely fighting away the extreme nausea.

    Then, she caught a glimpse of something bright in the corner of her eye.

    A fruit slime.

    Small, red and round … just like the apples they slowly absorbed.

    And it was bouncing towards her.

    Utter despair filled Marina''s heart.

    She''d come so close.

    She was mere steps, mere moments away from unravelling the reasons for her existence. Her purpose. Her blood. To unravel the mystery behind the missing witches and her mother.

    And now she''d suffer defeat to a single poke.

    She knew it with utmost certainty.

    Like the moment after consuming far too much food over the course of a single meal just because Mrs. Tinnaman at The Black Fowl wanted to repay her for the knee ointment by using anything but crowns, she knew that just the faintest contact to her waist would destroy her.

    Horror consumed Marina as she watched the lowliest of monsters approach.

    She tried to shake her head as it happily bounced towards her. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Each motion like the pendulum of doom striking midnight. It only made her more desperate as a vision of the future flashed across her mind.

    A tombstone where she lay.

    Marina Lainsfont.

    Witch of Calamity.

    Defeated by a fruit slime.

    “Nnnghhhhh … nooooooo ...”

    She clenched her teeth.

    She clenched her fists.

    She clenched her arms, shoulders and legs, the sheer weight of indignity taking hold of her quivering muscles as she forced herself to sit up.

    And then she gasped.

    Once. Twice. Three times. Until her vision began to sharpen and she could focus on more than just whatever was the brightest colour in her periphery. A haze of green washed over her. More grass. Shrubs. Trees adorned with so many leaves that their branches were weighed down like sheep desperately in need of a shear.

    With an effort she''d never expended before, a smidgeon of balance returned.

    And thus—

    “Shoo … shoo …”

    She waved away the bringer of her demise.

    The fruit slime paused … and then it bounced away, either sensing its prey recovering or simply suspecting that nothing in Marina''s alchemy satchel was flavourful.

    If the latter, then it was correct.

    Everything she made tasted like medicine. Even if less than half the things she carried actually were. She dug into her satchel and retrieved one of the better ones, then uncorked it and drank.

    Relief flooded her at once, courtesy of a revitalising potion imbued with her favourite coffee extract. She stood up a moment later and took a deep breath, sucking in the air like a dragon readying to see the forest burn.

    A prospect Marina couldn''t rule out.

    Something had pulled … no, dragged her here.

    Her arrival had been disturbed. A concern. That was no simple teleportation spell she''d used. It was a fixed anchor designed by a fae countess. And yet she''d been fished out like a salmon hooked from a river.

    The interruption combined with the glut of magic in the air would have been enough to see any other mage succumb to the first caterpillar to crawl over them. Because this wasn''t just the Ivywood.

    This was a settlement.

    Marina narrowed her eyes as she gazed around her.

    She caught the homes scattered beneath the ancient branches.

    But these certainly weren''t the fluttering pavilions of elves in a forest. They were wooden, old, covered in moss … and also resembled the highly approximate shape of teapots, their tips functioning as chimneys and lids as rooftops.

    The home of the Hexenkreis Clan.

    She''d arrived. But far from rejoicing, Marina could only furrow her brows. And not only because the same barrier she''d intended to cross had drawn her inside instead.

    Something was wrong here.

    Despite the fruit slime bouncing away, a clear sombreness pervaded the air. The same as could be found in the midst of a graveyard.

    The reason was soon clear.

    Not a single sound was being emitted.

    There was no brush of leaves or cry of birdsong, despite the presence of sparrows overhead and the swaying of branches.

    All Marina heard instead was another intake of breath … followed shortly by the padding of her steps as she made her way towards the nearest giant teapot.

    It wasn''t long until she found her first witch.

    Beside a flattened trail dotted with sunflowers, a woman was watering a patch of roses growing between the oaks. She wore no telltale hat or formal robes, but an airy dress reminding Marina of a time where wearing a cloak and hood was no longer an occupational requirement.

    Even so, there was no doubt as to who she was.

    The roses were being watered using a wand.

    A crux favoured by apprentices. And also witches who favoured the oldest traditions of inefficiency.

    A stream of liquid poured forth from the end. But despite sparkling beneath the sunlight, it failed to connect with the flowers.

    The flowing water was utterly still … as was the witch directing it.

    Marina cautiously circled the motionless figure, taking in a sight even she''d never witnessed before.

    There were spells of paralysis which could mirror such complete lack of movement. This was clearly more than that. Even her magic had been affected.

    Time had ceased to move for this witch.

    “[Sacred Dispel].”

    A faint glow shortly engulfed the woman as Marina''s spell weaved around her.

    No reaction.

    Marina nodded in acknowledgement. Any magic which altered the perception of time was amongst the most advanced. But a spell so potent it could wholly sever somebody from the strands of time was almost unheard of.

    An impressive feat. Particularly as this witch wasn''t the only subject.

    Marina proceeded onwards, following the sunflower trail as more of the village''s residents made themselves known. Some were caught mid-stride. Some were locked in conversation. But all were as oblivious to their plight as they were to Marina''s presence.

    There was no hint of horror upon their faces, or a counterspell exiting their lips.

    Whatever this was, it had come with neither warning nor delay.

    Eventually, Marina walked until something almost resembling a street appeared. The teapot homes sat side by side as wooden fences now formally marked the trail. Except it was more than sunflowers which began to litter the ground.

    Childish drawings of sunshine and families.

    Musical instruments both large and small.

    Colourful books bearing the titles of famed fairytales.

    Dolls smiling in eternal joy.

    Objects were scattered amidst the feet of the frozen witches. Each was another question before she''d received a single answer. Yet as she reached the end of the impromptu street, she discovered only the greatest riddle thus far.

    Why, amidst a village lost in time—

    “Would you like some more tea, Mr. Butterscotch? Miss Riririn says it''s very good. It pairs most nicely with the carrot cake. But if you wait one moment, I think that Lady Clover says that the hot cross buns will soon be ready.”

    —was there a little girl having a picnic in a garden?

    Large shining eyes. A blue dress. A circlet of daisies upon her golden hair.

    Beneath the shade of the oldest and most gnarled oak tree yet, a child with a sweet and innocent appearance smiled away as she sat upon a blanket amidst swaying grass and wildflowers.

    Her company was a stuffed bear, a stuffed rabbit and a stuffed dog—each dutifully attended to with a teapot she held in both hands.

    It was clearly too unwieldy for her, but if there was any awkwardness in the weight, her smile didn''t betray it. She poured into the waiting cups, each paired with either a plate of carrot cake or a rectangular sandwich.

    Marina paused.

    Hesitancy was an emotion she rarely indulged in. But so were the demands of children.

    Anyone below waist height was very much not her forte. The few children who entered her shop were more likely to wreck it than convince their parents to buy the sweets nobody ever did. Despite them being excellent.

    However, this wasn’t the reason for her caution.

    It was the magic.

    The little girl was making little attempt to hide it.

    Marina could see the spellwork like a spider threading its webs. A strand for every witch, each a fine trail before vanishing into the ether.

    The source of the mass statis.

    Clearly noteworthy. Being a child prodigy herself, Marina knew more than any other that even the most gifted of mages had limits. Although she could frighten away a fruit slime from her kitchen window, locking away so many mages was something she could never have achieved.

    At least deliberately.

    It was all the acknowledgement she allowed before she approached.

    “... Are you responsible for this?” asked Marina, discarding preamble as she stared down at the picnic gathering.

    The little girl continued pouring her tea.

    “Look, Mr. Butterscotch. The Witch of Calamity wants to ask us a question. And she doesn''t even sit down to introduce herself first. How can we answer her when she won''t even show the littlest of manners?”

    Marina creased her brows.

    The fae were one thing. But a child was quite another.

    “You know who I am already. But I don''t know who you are.”

    “I''m the hostess of this tea party. And if you''d like to join us in conversation, you''ll need to sit down and introduce yourself. I might know you, but Mr. Butterscotch, Miss Riririn and Lady Clover do not.”

    The little girl pointed at her companions.

    Marina ignored them all.

    “I''m not here for a tea party. I''m here for the witches. Do you know why they''re now held in time?”

    “I don''t. But then again, they''re hardly held in time.”

    “They''re not moving.”

    “To you, maybe. But to me, I see them stretching, reaching and laughing. Just very slowly. Oh so slowly. It''d be most terrible if they were actually truly frozen. It''d mean they’re also stuck with the same dull thoughts as well. Can you imagine how awful that''d be? Mrs. Rancel thought she''d left her door unlocked. You can see her turning in panic. I think that sort of anxiety shouldn''t be suffered forever. Just a few centuries is enough.”

    The little girl nodded towards a nearby witch.

    A glance was enough to confirm the expression of dread stuck to her face. Marina frowned. The cruelty of mages old and young rarely moved her heart. But even this seemed excessive.

    She also often left her door unlocked.

    “I see. Not a true time stop, then. Just something an inch less powerful.”

    “That''s just mean. My spell is much closer than an inch. It''s at least a crumb as close to the real thing. Would you like me to show you how it''s done?”

    “You can show me how it ends. I’ve business with the Hexenkreis Clan.”

    A round of giggling answered her.

    “Always in a rush, Miss Witch of Calamity. Enough to forget why you’re actually here. Will you sit down with us? We’ve so much to talk about and so many snacks to share. We can even become friends.”

    “I’m not here for a picnic.”

    “Because of the carrot cake? … In that case, we''ve hot cross buns as well. Lady Clover says they''re just ready. There''s marmalade as well. My favourite combination. We can eat while I answer all the wonderful questions which brought you here. Isn''t there lots you want to ask me?”

    “Yes, I suppose there is.”

    “Good! Now, was it the carrot cake or the—”

    “But anything you can answer, so can the adults.” Marina raised a fingertip, now certain no defences were in place. “[Greater Disjunction].”

    The spell struck the little girl in the chest.

    Whatever powers this enigma boasted, there was a limit. And it would stop at the first mage who didn''t need a wand to employ magic. To alter the perception of time over such a wide area was a monumental feat. But Marina didn’t need to understand the spell to disrupt it. Sear?h the ηovelFire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    The greater the burden, the weaker the supports.

    Thus, Marina waited … and then she continued to wait.

    “Did you see that, everyone?” said the little girl with a clap of her hands. “The Witch of Calamity doesn''t just want to talk. She wants to play. In that case … who wants to go first? Mr. Butterscotch, perhaps?”

    Marina sent a frown towards the nearest witch, still motionless in the act of a sneeze.

    A specialised interruption spell had made direct impact upon an active casting source with no barriers, runes or wards to act as mitigation.

    Even so, the magic seeping from the girl didn’t so much as ripple.

    A defiance of both common logic and magical theory. And so Marina could only click her tongue as she considered the benefits of using her stern shopkeeper voice instead.

    All the more so since Mr. Butterscotch suddenly began to grow bigger.

    Much bigger.

    Enough that as the seams began to break and muscles, flesh, fangs and literal hellfire replaced cotton, she came to an important conclusion.

    From now on, she’d ban all children from her shop.