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The last thing a slug destined to die that day saw was the sole of a sturdy black leather boot coming right down on it. The creature’s end was slightly worse than its friend’s, who, hidden under the colorful foliage of the Sacred Woods, never even saw it coming.
The leaves crumbled under the heavy feet, producing a satisfying crunch every time the boots made contact with a particularly brittle bunch.
Black paws appeared in the footprints only moments later, much softer than the human’s. Where the witch went, the familiar followed. Deeper and deeper into the forest.
Any ordinary girl would have been afraid of the dangers lurking in the shadows. But Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not an ordinary girl. With a broom slung over her shoulder and a black cat on her tail, she didn’t leave any room for doubt. She was a witch. And if there was anything in the forest to be afraid of, it was her.
There was a skip in her step and a smile on her face. She even hummed a simple melody, though it was completely off-key, as they climbed over fallen tree trunks and slipped under dying branches. Her cat was less enthusiastic about the journey.
By the time the duo reached the clearing, the forest was engulfed in darkness. The light barely reached the ground, but a handful of rays made it through, illuminating the narrow path leading to the ancient oak tree. It trembled under its own weight.
Marinette marched right up to it. She had no time for ritualistic sacrifices — nor any desire, for that matter. Mindless bloodshed wasn’t her thing, not as a human, not as a witch.
She knelt down and searched the ground. The leaves rustled as she pushed them aside, revealing layers of decay. In the dirt, there were specks of shimmering gold. Her fingers dug deep into the ground, trying to pry some of them free. Three acorns later, she leaned back, sighing.
“What do you think, Plagg?” She offered the acorns to the cat. Plagg pawed at them, flipping them around.
“Good enough,” he meowed grumpily. “Let’s get out of here. This place is giving me the heebie-jeebies.”
“One for wisdom, one for youth, one for good luck,” the witch counted before letting the acorns fall into her leather pouch, each of them landing with a quiet plop on the bottom among freshly picked flowers. The pouch was old-fashioned, but she had sewn it together herself. Her last work as Granny’s apprentice.
“You’ve been doing this for years,” huffed the cat, jumping over a fallen tree trunk. He waited for the woman to follow. “You don’t have to count them.”
“I have to be sure,” answered Marinette, securing the small bag onto her belt. “One for each village. I can only do this once a year, so I can’t get it wrong. You know that.”
“It’s not like they would know.” Plagg stopped to clean his fur.
“You’re right. They wouldn’t.” Marinette smiled. “But I would.”
The leaves rustled under her feet as she walked while Plagg moved soundlessly down the narrow road leading back to the main trail. Taking flight before reaching the road was dangerous. Neither of them wanted to risk it, not so close to All Hallows’ Eve. She shivered and pulled the cloak around her.
“It’s been a long while since I’ve been home,” she reminded her companion. “But it’s still part of my domain. It’s my responsibility.”
“With the way they treated you, they deserve an unfortunate year.”
“It’s been three hundred years. I think it’s time you forgave them.” As she said that, she glanced up into the darkening sky. Through the thinning branches, she saw the moon rising. It was nearly full, reminding her how late she was to attending to her task.
Marinette reached out with her mind, looking for a willing victim. She soon found one in the shape of a fox running after a pair of rabbits. She borrowed its eyes for a moment, catching a glimpse of what was happening ahead of them. Other witches were approaching.
“We should hurry,” she whispered, slipping away from the fox’s mind. A little while later, they mounted her broom. No one noticed them go.
🐈⬛🐈⬛🐈⬛
The north wind howled in her ears and nibbled on her cheeks with its sharp teeth, coloring them crimson. It was one of the few things Marinette hated about flying. But up high in the air, confined to the expectations of what a witch ought to be doing under the cover of darkness, she had other concerns. Like keeping her wonky broomstick straight and not crash landing in the muddy riverbank.
Her feet touched ground safely half a mile from the first village. She hid her broom under a poisonous bush, knowing that no mortal would go looking for it there.
“You can stay here or you can come with me,” she offered to Plagg. The feline sat down, almost invisible in the pitch black. His emerald-like eyes stared into the depths of her soul.
“I will come with you, young witch,” he informed her gruffly. He sauntered over and climbed onto her shoulders, careful not to claw her skin while he made his way up her arm. “You might want to lose the hat. It’s a dead giveaway.”
Chuckling, Marinette removed it and placed it next to her broom.
“Better now?” she teased him. “Where would I be without you, silly kitty?”
“Burning at the stake,” the cat answered humorlessly. He swatted one of her pigtails gently with a forepaw.
“You better watch your mouth, kitty. Cats don’t talk.” She fixed her hair.
Plagg bit her ear affectionately, letting her know exactly what he thought about her comment. But as they strolled down the road and into the village, he stayed uncharacteristically quiet.
There was a party going on. Marinette observed it from a distance for a moment, admiring the girls’ colorful dresses and the boys’ linen trousers. A tiny part of her longed to join in on the autumn festivities. To dance with the handsome lads. To drink apple cider from the wooden jug that was being passed around. To sit by a bonfire with the other girls, gossiping about the couples who had sneaked away.
But she had a job to do. Keeping to the shadows, she tiptoed across the small marketplace to the oak tree.
Marinette admired it fondly. It was her tree, after all. The very first she had planted after leaving Granny’s care. Someone had tied a thin red rope around its trunk. The tree was now wider than she was and its branches stretched out above her.
It was a strong, healthy tree. Plagg was probably right when he said that it could survive a year without her assistance. Even so, she took one of the fruits of her earlier harvest from the pouch.
Marinette knelt down by the roots, letting her cat down as well, and placed the golden nut on the ground a little further away. With her bare hands, she dug into the ground, creating a small crevice in which to plant the seed. She could feel the magic flowing within the tree, protecting the place as far as its roots reached. It made her smile.
When she extended her arm to retrieve the golden acorn, it was gone. She leaned forward again, looking for it. Her hands found ways into all the nooks and crannies in which it could have fallen, discovering nothing but twigs and stones. And an earthworm whose life was cut short when her fingers crushed it in half. Marinette felt its life fading away with a small sense of disgust as the remains of the worm’s body stuck to her fingers.
“You’re a witch.”
The startling voice came from behind the tree. Marinette swayed back, her heart racing, and inspected the sight before her.
A man stepped out from his hiding place. He was blond and well-dressed. Marinette would have ventured to guess he was a noble if her eyes hadn’t found the acorn in his hand. He was toying with it, rolling it between his fingers, bouncing it gently. Her heart picked up the pace.
“No, I’m not,” Marinette denied calmly. Next to her, Plagg stiffened.
“We don’t usually get visitors, especially not in the middle of the night,” he remarked on her odd behavior. “Yet here you are, by the sacred oak, kneeling.”
“Perhaps I just came to pray here.” She resisted the urge to wipe her hands clean of the dirt. If she ignored it, there was a chance that he would too. “To express my gratitude for the good harvest.”
His grey eyes betrayed his wavering thoughts. Marinette immediately took advantage of it.
“And you?” she shot back. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the party? Everyone else is there.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t keep out the sincere curiosity in her voice. It was the first time she had run into someone like that.
“I should,” he replied curtly. He closed his fingers around the acorn, shielding it from her view. “What’s the lucky nut for?”
“Why would it be for anything?” Marinette shrugged indifferently. “It’s just an acorn.”
“You’re a witch. So it’s reasonable to assume it’s not just any regular acorn.”
The woman chewed on her lip, unsure how to get him to return the nut. “I told you. I’m not a witch.”
“Black dress, black cat.” He rolled his eyes. “A classic witch.”
Marinette laughed. “Maybe I just like the color black.”
“Shady business at the sacred tree,” the lad pointed out again. “And if I may have your name?”
“Marinette.” She smiled, aware that it would throw the blond off. It was common knowledge that witches had odd names.
“I’m Félix,” he introduced himself. He held out the fist that contained the acorn. “Well, mademoiselle Marinette, you can do whatever you want with it. It’s not like I care what happens to this village.”
Marinette accepted the acorn with a small frown.
“You should. It is a good village. The people are very kind.”
Félix snorted. “Yeah, right. They’re very simple.”
“If you want to see the world, why don’t you become the merchant’s apprentice?” Marinette knelt back down again. She placed the golden acorn in the small hole and covered it with dirt.
“I would much rather become a witch,” he said nonchalantly. The woman stilled. “I’m much more intrigued by their knowledge. There is peculiar wisdom in what they do.”
“A peculiar wisdom, huh?” The witch closed her eyes and placed her hands on the ground, tapping into the seed of magic in the acorn. She made it grow outwards — towards the brilliant light of the oak tree. The power thrummed against her fingers, stubborn and unwilling to cooperate.
“Well, isn’t there?” he insisted, towering over her bent figure. She was smaller than him. And softer , he thought, though there was no doubt in his mind that she could overpower him if she so desired.
Marinette opened her eyes and stood up. Félix stepped closer instinctively. He studied her expression, ignoring the black cat that walked between their legs, rubbing his back against her exposed calves.
“You’d look prettier if you smiled,” he deduced. Her furrows knitted together and her frown deepened. A grin flashed over the man’s face as if he had won the lottery. “You are a witch. I knew it.”
“Come on, Plagg, we’re done here.” Marinette picked up the cat, disregarding what the boy had said. Her work was complete. As long as the tree continued to stand, the village would prosper. And if the tree fell, well, there was nothing she could do about the foolishness of mortal men.
Plagg meowed in approval. Marinette brought him back to her shoulders.
Félix followed her. “You know, I heard that witches can’t turn away anyone who wishes to become an apprentice.”
“Any girl ,” corrected Marinette without caring for the consequences. “Witches are girls. It’s in the name. You are not a girl.”
“Yeah, but how many girls have expressed an explicit desire to become a witch in this century?”
“Few,” Marinette answered honestly. “But that doesn’t change the fact…”
“Times change.” Félix grabbed her hand. “Please, mademoiselle Marinette. Give me a chance.”
“The boy’s right, you know,” yawned Plagg. “There are not enough witches around. And times do change. Perhaps it’s time for you to take on an apprentice boy.”
“I’m not nearly old enough for that,” she laughed heartily. “I don’t need anyone’s help, much less a man’s.”
“Why don’t you take him with you?” suggested the cat. He winked at Félix. “For a test ride. See how he handles it. Maybe you’ll even like it. There is no rule against that.”
Marinette turned around and waved a finger at the blond lad.
“Fine,” she huffed. “But I’ll be clear. There is no potion brewing in what we do. No cursing, no jinxing either, none of the stuff you might have read in your books. Do you still want to be a witch after knowing that?”
“I do,” he nodded. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“Thank the cat,” she hissed.
“Plagg’s the name,” meowed the familiar, snuggling against his witch’s neck.
“Thank you, sir Plagg.” The genuine gratitude in his voice made the corner of the witch’s lips turn upwards, even though she still rolled her eyes at the gesture.
“It’s this way,” she grabbed him by the long sleeve of his shirt and guided him out of the village. Félix sneaked an apple from a cart on the way. It was a trick Marinette wasn’t sure she could pull off.
The witch retrieved her broom and the hat from the bush. She brushed off the leaves and placed the hat on top of Félix’s head, smiling smugly when he cringed a little bit. The witch leaned back and inspected her handicraft.
“It actually suits you,” she hummed, adjusting it a little. “You make a handsome witch-in-training.”
Félix’s cheeks dusted pink and he avoided her gaze.
She didn’t pay much attention to it, focusing more on the broom. It was barely big enough for a witch and her cat. It certainly wasn’t built to carry an extra passenger, especially if said passenger happened to be a tall man . Yet that’s what they had to work with.
“Sit behind me, it’ll be easier to navigate that way,” she instructed, stepping over the broomstick so it was between her legs. “Wrap your arms around my waist. Closer, please, we don’t have time to lose.” Félix did as she told him to, his cheeks burning a little more from the proximity. “Plagg, you’ll be between us. Is that alright with you?”
The cat was already clinging to the boy’s shirt.
“Perfectly,” he purred.
“Hold on tight then,” Marinette gave the last order and they rose into the air. The winds had slowed down a little bit so the air felt a tad bit warmer against her skin than before. “And don’t let go!”
The higher they rose, the stronger Félix gripped her waist. He snuggled closer to her, afraid of letting go; afraid of falling into the darkness below. Plagg’s claws dug through his shirt and into his skin, but the cat uttered no complaints when his space grew narrower and narrower
“You okay there?” teased Marinette, glancing back. “No fear of heights or anything? Sorry, should have asked that before.” Her laughter echoed in the night like bells in a church.
“Is it always this liberating?” Despite being terrified, he had bravely opened his eyes. The hat hid part of the view, but he was still able to see mesmerizing crop fields in the east and endless rows of trees in the west.
“I suppose so!” she called back gleefully. “But it’s seldom as beautiful. Look at the moon!”
He did. But in doing so, he couldn’t look past her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. They were a stunning shade of blue. His breath hitched.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she sighed, turning away from him.
“It is,” he agreed as a small red maple leaf, lost in the wind, got caught in her hair. Félix almost let go of her waist to remove it. He stopped himself when she stiffened in his arms. Wisely, he decided to lean into her further, reaching for the leaf with his mouth instead. He nabbed it between his teeth and pulled. As soon as the leaf was loose, the blond turned. He spat it out into the wind. It swirled down as if nothing had happened.
Félix rested his head on her shoulder, wondering if she knew how hot her skin burned. Marinette chuckled.
“You’ll get used to it,” she promised. “And then you’ll never want to stop.”
It hadn’t been true for her, but he didn’t need to know that just yet.
🐈⬛🐈⬛🐈⬛
Marinette waited patiently for Félix to let go of her after they had landed in the vegetable garden of a small garden. When he did, she missed his warmth almost instantly.
“Where are we?” he asked, removing Plagg from his shirt. He placed the cat on a gigantuous pumpkin, where he plopped down and proceeded to clean his bloodied claws.
“Somewhere you don’t need to know yet,” replied the witch, getting off her broom. “You’re hurt. Did Plagg do this to you?”
Noticing the cat attending to its paws, she shook her head. “You don’t need to answer that. I can see that he did. We should tend to it before the night is over.”
“It’s fine,” sighed the man, pushing a strand of hair out of his face. “So… about being a witch. Do all witches wear their hair in pigtails?”
Marinette hid her broom with a quiet laugh. “No. But you’re more than welcome to imitate my style.”
She studied her handiwork before remembering the hat. She spun around so she stood face to face with Félix. After admiring the sight for just a moment longer, she lifted the hat off his head, revealing a mess of golden locks underneath. They gleamed under the moonlight, awfully similar to the acorns in her bag. Something stirred inside her.
Marinette hid the hat, and her feelings, while Félix watched impassively.
“Lesson number one. Never go around with your broom and your hat. It makes people nervous,” she taught him. “There’s a time for everything. Currently, we don’t want them to know we are witches.”
“I see,” he nodded approvingly. “Yes, that makes a lot of sense.”
“Does it?” She raised an eyebrow at him. It hadn’t made much sense to her at first.
“It gives you the element of surprise,” he explained his train of thought. Marinette wasn’t entirely satisfied with it, but she left it alone.
“Lesson number two. Witches always mean what they say. So if things go south and I tell you to run and leave me behind, I expect you to run and leave me behind,” she continued gently. “Do you understand?”
Félix nodded.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asked after a pause.
“Sure,” she shrugged. “I might not have an answer but you shouldn’t let that deter you.”
“How old are you?”
Marinette stopped walking. Embarrassed, she smoothed down her dress, refusing to look at him. “I’m nineteen. With complications.”
“I’m twenty.” He kicked a stone in the grass. It went tumbling down. “With complications.”
“Twenty, huh? Shouldn’t you be married then?”
“I could ask you the same.”
Marinette chuckled to herself. “I’m a witch. Witches don’t get married.”
“What about the one who married the king across the sea?” Félix inquired, recalling an old story he had heard from his grandmother.
“The one who got decapitated?” She guessed which story he was talking about.
“No, the one who lived happily ever after,” he whispered as they passed a row of houses. Compared to his hometown, this village was quiet, “The one who birthed three baby boys and saved her country from an evil queen.”
"Oh, that one?" Marinette remembered the girl. "She was her own kind of witch."
"Aren't you? " The sharpness in his voice cut through her whole being.
“Hush now,” she murmured, putting a finger to his lips. They had reached the tree. Everything she had done at the tree, where she’d met Félix, she repeated. The blond inspected it from afar. His eyes wandered back to the girl more often than he was willing to admit. There was something about her…
“She’s a bit prickly about Melodie,” Plagg confided in him. “She was a promising witch. We could have used someone like her.”
“This tree looks the same as the one in my hometown,” observed Félix, paying the cat no mind. “Why?”
Marinette glanced at him. “You’re quite observant. For a man.”
Félix smirked in satisfaction. “Thank you.”
The witch rubbed her hands together to rid them of the dirt. Her eyes remained fixed on the ground as though she was waiting for the seed to begin sprouting any moment. A sigh escaped from between her lips.
“Are the trees connected?” Félix continued when she didn’t answer his question. “To each other?”
“You ask too many questions.” His question terrified Marinette because he was right. The trees were connected. Not just to each other but to her, too. They were her lifeline.
“Is that bad?” His voice by her left ear nearly made her jump out of her skin. She elbowed him for not respecting her personal space.
“It’s not bad,” she answered after thinking about it. “A curious witch is a capable one.”
“But… ”
“Asking too many questions will also get you killed,” Plagg interrupted. “Always has and always will.”
Marinette nodded. “If you want to ask questions, you’re better off becoming an alchemist. If you want gratitude, you’re better off as a wizard. If you want freedom, well, that’s when you become a witch.”
She pulled out her broom and the hat. Holding them out to the boy, she added, “It’s not too late to go back home, boy.”
Félix placed the hat on his head, earning a satisfied smirk from Marinette. “Lead the way, mistress.”
They took flight again.
🐈⬛🐈⬛🐈⬛
The last tree was far away from everything Félix had ever known. It stood tall between endless fields of harvested crops, basking in the moonlight, bowing to no one.
Out of all the trees, this one was Marinette’s favorite. The witch landed the broom a hundred meters from it, a respectful distance as Granny would have said. This time, there was no need to hide the telltale signs of her craft so she marched towards the tree, holding the broom in her hand. Félix took off the hat. He offered it to her but she smiled at him, implying it was okay to keep it. He put it back on.
“Watch carefully, boy,” Plagg drawled, strolling behind them. “No man has ever seen the Mother Tree before.”
“The Mother Tree…” Félix stared in awe as Marinette conquered the small hill. The acorn in her palms seemed to glow. He followed as though in trance.
“Granny started it,” the girl told him with a smile. “She’s the one who taught me all I know.”
She planted the acorn just as she had at the other two trees.
🐈⬛🐈⬛🐈⬛
“Welcome home,” she announced when they arrived at their last destination. It was a small cottage by the forest. Its broken door flapped in the wind, creaking every time a gust passed through. “I must warn you though. There is only one bed.”
Félix was less bothered by that information than he was about the door.
“Did someone break in?” he asked incredulously.
“Break in?” Marinette wondered out loud. She listened to the silence that was made up of the hooting of the owls, slithering of the snakes, the quiet footfalls of passersby. “No, I don’t think so. People here are afraid of the curse.”
“The curse?” It was the man’s turn to be surprised.
“The curse I’ll put on them if I find out they broke into my house.” She pushed through the door and hung her cape on a doornail. “And I always find out.”
Marinette told Félix to get the fire under the stove started while she went back outside. A few minutes later, she returned, carrying a tin bucket full of water. She filled the kettle, humming an unfamiliar melody, and placed it on the stove.
“You can sit wherever,” she mentioned when she noticed him glance around the house. She settled down into a sturdy basket chair that was covered in pillows and blankets. Félix chose to sit down on one of the wooden crates.
“It’s not what I expected,” he admitted.
“What did you expect?” she asked, absentmindedly fiddling a tassel on the edge of her blanket.
“Something a bit more magical, I guess,” he shrugged, stroking his fingers across Plagg’s clumpy fur. “More cobwebs and the like.”
“Oh, we’ve got cobwebs,” she grinned. “You’re going to be acquainted with them tomorrow.” Félix wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she meant by that. “Or the day after. We have a lot of work to do.”
The kettle whistled and the witch stood up despite the protests of her body. Every part of it ached from hours of flying, begging for rest. Marinette felt like she could sleep for days.
She sprinkled dried flowers into two chipped cups and filled them with hot water. Passing one to Félix, she kept the other for herself. The boy tilted his cup, causing the tea inside to slush against the porcelain walls. The pigment seeped from the flowers into the water, blue swirls branching out like tentacles as the water stilled in his steady hold.
"Is there something wrong with the tea?" Marinette asked when he didn't drink it.
"This isn't magic," Félix stated, though he followed up with a hesitant “Is it? ”
"It's not," she confirmed. The blond brought the cup to his puckered lips. “It’s called mallow. Grows like a weed around these parts. You need to know these things if you want to be a witch."
Félix’s stomach turned at her final statement. He had never thought of himself as ignorant, yet this knowledge was not something he possessed.
“I will learn,” he promised.
“You seem to doubt that.” Marinette pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “Are you sure you have what it takes to become a witch? Perhaps you’d be happier, sitting in an office and having pretty girls serve you the finest teas while you count numbers, making money?”
Félix wrinkled his nose at how similar her description was to the kind of future that waited for him back at home.
“Are you sure you’re willing to leave that life behind?” Marinette gazed at him, eyes burning with a fire that burned through the lies, the excuses, allowing only truth to remain.
“I am.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could even start considering the pros and cons of this decision. His hand flew to cover his mouth as his eyes widened. Had she added some kind of truth serum to the tea?
Marinette nodded thoughtfully, studying the sediment on the bottom of her teacup. Only petals and stigmas – nothing she hadn’t put there herself. She placed the cup on the shaky table and stood up.
“That’s it, then. We’ll commence your studies first thing in the morning. Sleep wherever you want.” She extinguished the candlelight with a snuffer.
With a single movement, she pulled the dress over her head. Climbed into the small cot, pulled the thin blanket over her head, hiding her face from view.
And if a small smile graced her face, when it was lifted again, well… No one had to know.