Collection: Home Cauldron

Meanwhile, hidden from sight, a pale figure in icy robes dashes through the tight corridors, her silver crescent shining in the eerie light. Her eyes glimmer with golden light, and her white maw turns into a rabid smile. “And that was the first time you encountered the pale ones?” a rugged voice asked her. Mirabel nodded. “Yeah. And it wouldn’t be the last, as you well know.” Then, another voice spoke, but this time the question came out soft and worried: “So, did you ever find out who she was?” Mirablel sighed. “Yeah. I did,” she plainly said. The woman snaps her fingers, and a radiant night sky erupts from her fingers. The stars in the sheet of night float brightly as if they were alive, and the woman smirks.”So, the stars were right. She must be the one to uncover what Her Night’s Majesty is after.”
Erika’s face shifted into a compassionate smile with her emerald locks glimmering in the summer light. She tilted her head and spoke softly: “Of course I believe you.” Then she offered her hand to Mirabel. “Come, let’s get you up first and then you can tell me all about it. Do you like crêpes?” Mirabel smiled back and reached for her hand. “Like them? I love ‘em!” she exclaimed with newfound life. “So, about this woman. Start from the beginning,” Erika said.
“Ugh… Fuck. My head,” Mirabel muttered as she sat on the ground, still dazed. A crowd had gathered around her, looking down at her, some more worried than others, but her mind only made out monotonous silhouettes of the people around her. “Are you alright?” Erika asked. “People saw you fall on the–” she again began, but Mirabel grabbed her vest tight and pulled her closer. “The hag, Erika!” She yelled. “I thought I was going to die! She lured me into her tent, and I saw the sky burst into flames just like in my dreams!” she blabbered on, each word spitting out faster and faster and more disjointed than the last. She then tugged Erika’s vest again and pointed to the alley. “There! You must call the guards!” But as she gaped at the side alley, only the rays of sunlight bounced off the walls with serene calmness. “Mirabel. There’s nothing there.” Erika said calmly. “But I swear she was there with a tent! You couldn’t have missed it!” Mirabel retorted while the people still lingering around gawked at her. “People saw you staggering around, mumbling something incoherent about a fire,” Erika responded. Mirabel’s hold on Erika loosened, and she again sat on the ground, looking up to her with pleading eyes. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice to a soft plea. “Erika. I swear it was all true. Please, you have to believe me,” she said as Erika stared at her with her sapphire eyes.
“Mirabel! Mirabel!” the voice called for her. She could feel her body being shaken against the cold cobblestone ground. She slowly opened her eyes. A glimmer of silver shone brightly in the daylight, and as its rays hit her eyes, Erika let out a sigh of relief. She looked down on her with her emerald hair twirling down. A crowd of bystanders had gathered around them, but the only thing she could focus on was Erika, whose worried face was shifting into a shy smile. “Good heavens, you had me so worried here for a moment! Are you alright?” She said.
Suddenly, a shock jolted through her body. She gasped for air, blood spitting out of her mouth. Something warm poured on her palm through the wave of cold. She looked at her hand, then down at her stomach. Blood. It painted her pale palm and the silver-adorned dagger that pierced her chest right in the middle in rich crimson hues. “What? Why?” The words escaped her lips silently. She could feel a dark grasp reaching out to her. Like maggots, they crawled up her and sucked away all the warmth and heat of the flames, and the world slowly faded into darkness. “I… I don’t feel so good.” She managed to muster out through her fading breath, and as the tear drop rolled off her cheek, everything went dark.
The golden light drowned the table. As the beams of light reached for the skies, so too did the woman’s arms lift like a marionette’s. Her grin split wide, and as the formless words began slithering past her lips, the night sky burst into flame. Mirabel watched in terror as the pillars of fire reached out for the night, where three stars looked down upon them in brilliant sheen. The unbearable heat that erupted from nothingness burned so hot that even the moon itself began melting, its silver surface dripping into strands of mercury. Then the woman’s echoes coalesced into being, and the depth of her murmurs resonated into the night: “Deep within the cracks of time, the slumbering sister awakens, and the stars begin life anew. In flame, will you bathe, and from the embers will an old promise rekindle. And there it will all end where it started. Solemnly, as the stars weep and dusk alone bears witness. As steel and flame clash in the crucible of a new world, with the guilt of sin and a heart everbright.”
The woman flinched, the akarta slipping through her fingers as if they were paralysed by venom. Mirabel’s eyes trailed the falling card, and as its corner hit the table, she could feel the aether flow around her like a dry, hot gust of air. The citrine trims lit up like candles, and the old lady’s voice echoed with deep resonance that was far removed from her high-pitched cackling. “Yes, o’ night…” she said, her voice echoing in the room with a low murmur. Depicted on the card were 8 people of different origins, engulfed in a golden flame, and all stared at the sky where the flame first erupted. She knew the story well, as did everyone. The Fouding Flame. She could feel her blood pumping as the woman’s voice deepened further. “Heed my words…”
Mirabel gave the woman an impish look. ”Well, let’s hear it then, old hag! I hope Ikitar has some good fortune in store for me! Maybe I will stumble upon some stunning noble lady who offers me her hand and half the kingdom?” she sneered. The blue-cloaked woman cackled with a wide grin, and her teeth shone in the candle-lit tent as she laid the deck of cards on the table. “Seers tend to be an eccentric lot. Interpreting the threads of time is a cryptic form of magic, and they use peculiar mediums to better concentrate on it. Hers was a deck of Akarta with a citrine trim. Goes well with getting swindled, or so I thought.” The woman reached the velvety cards with her rough, pale-furred fingers. She flipped the card on the table with a single snappy motion, and she let out a chuckle. “The Minstrel. Herald of adventurous souls, creative minds, and visionaries,” she said as she looked down at the picture of a singing bard elegantly painted on the bone paper with gold and black ink. “Or perhaps foreshadowing greater events yet to come…” She flipped another card. “Ahh, the Lady of Fate. Many seek Ikitar’s wisdom and guidance, yet only a few are ever blessed by her light. She must have great things in store for you…” Mirabel looked down at the cards with her eyes half-lidded. “Whoa… Riveting…” she said with an impassive tone. But as the woman began reaching for the third and final card, something in the air lifted. “I was beginning to believe it was a mistake…” The pale hag’s golden eyes widened from beneath her dark cover, lighting, and swirling up with awe as she looked down upon the last Akarta. “…and to be fair, maybe it was.”
Mirabel pulls open the curtain to the shady tent. Its shady interior is only lit with an assortment of candles and baubles emitting a magical light. Despite its meager outward appearance, the interior holds within it a set of equipment that rivals even a more established witch’s study. “I was curious I could not lie. My mentor was a reflection witch, so I wasn’t easily impressed by some cheap parlour tricks. But there was something about it. Something about those words that drew me like a moth to a flame.” She glances around the tent until her eyes land on a robed figure and her deck of cards which she shuffles with ominous determination. “Good.” the woman says with squeaky age rasped voice. “It is wise not to mute one’s mind to the murmurs of fate. To not stray blindly into the dark.” She continues as the candlelight shines upon her robes and that are adorned by a silver. She grins. Like the night sky, her robes frame her long pale muzzle peeking from withing the dark covers of her hood, and she opens her mouth again and continues: “So, I ask you again, young witch. Care to witness what lies in the path of stars? To listen to the whispers of the Star Mother and what she has woven in the endless bed of night?”
“Psst! You there young lady...” A voice calls to her as Mirabel is strolling around the populated marketplace. “What now...?” she says turns around to see where the sound originates. It’s hard to see but Mirabel manages to catch a glimpse of the shady figure inside a tent. The pale furred figure flicks a purple card with bright yellow etchings. A trail of golden magic follows the card’s movements as the woman speaks to her again with an old and gnarly voice: “Care to witness what the stars have in store for you?” she says. Mirabel looks at the small tent set up in the alleyway for a moment. Like a robe with dark blue trims and snowy fabric it stands in the vacant dim alleyway. Underneath the hood that covers the spindle, a silver crescent decorates the tent like a head of a figure. The brooch, too made of silvery metal, shines against rogue rays of light piercing into the alley. Mirabel sighs: “I’ll pass” she says frustratedly. “I prefer to worry about my future tomorrow.” The innards of the snowy tent illuminate, lighting up the back street with warm golden light. “How about your dreams then, Mirabel?” the woman says with an ominous tone and her words are enough to fully draw in the intrigue of Mirabel. ‘How does she know my name?’