TTW - 21 (Patreon)

Esmerelda stepped into the Mystic Tresses salon later that afternoon. "Bon Jour my Darlingzzz" she waved at each of the coven in turn as she passed by, sharing a bit of gossip here, reacting to some news there, walking down the line and making sure each witch felt welcomed and acknowledged by her.

A hum of ethereal energy brushed against her skin—the scent of jasmine and charred herbs floated in the air, weaving between the murmurs of clandestine conversations. The room was alight with a soft, golden glow, candles flickering beside mirrors that only reflected the room’s ancient elegance and none of its modern intrusions.

"Ah, Esmerelda," greeted Marjory, the Innkeeper, her eyes twinkling above the rim of her teacup, "You've missed the latest—Helena has managed to misplace her spectacles again, only to find them perched atop her head!"

Esmerelda chuckled, the familiar rapport easing the tension from her shoulders. "I am more zurprised they did not vanish into thin air with all the spellz fluttering about."

From beneath a hairdryer dome, Beatrix nodded in Esmerelda's direction, curls of steam rising around her as she motioned with a glossy magazine. "Speaking of spells, have you heard that Fiona's latest concoction turned Jocasta's hair green? The height of fashion, if we were peacocks, perhaps."

Esmerelda’s gaze drifted to Agatha, who sat regally in the salon chair, her crown of white hair reflecting a lifetime of wisdom. "And what of the Aegis, Agatha?" she inquired, her voice low yet clear. "Any insights into what might be 'appening and how to destroy it?"

Agatha’s hand stilled, her manicurist pausing mid-stroke. "The Aegis stirs not just in sleep, my dear," she replied, her tone as steady as the mountains. "It has woven shadows into Thomas. We must tread carefully—this mirror ensnares more than just reflections."

Esmerelda shivered, thinking of the dream from the night before.

Isolde, adjusting the sashes on her vibrant robe, leaned in closer. "Indeed, it seems to be a conduit, a vessel for something ancient and hungry. I’ve imbued some amulets with protective runes. We shall distribute them tonight."

Esmerelda moved further into the room, each greeting, each shared a snippet of information, entwining like the braids of Gwendolyn's hair, who sat quietly in the corner, whispering to a small sparrow perched on her finger.

Cassandra glanced up from her palmistry chart, her gaze piercing. "Beware, Esmerelda," she said, voice edged with urgency, "The Aegis has shown me visions—darkness cloaked in light and light veiled in darkness. Your path is enmeshed with its fate."

Dorothea, always buried in her scrolls, didn’t look up, but her voice floated over from her corner. "The archives say the Aegis's curse can be traced back to the old wars.

Esmerelda sat in one of the chairs, and Henni, the stylist, turned to her. "So what shall we adjust today dear?"

Esmerelda spoke to Henni, showing her several options from the geas that needed tending.

As she sat back into the chair, and the magic of the salon reinvigorated and energized her, Esmerelda felt relaxed and at peace since before the wood-nymph catastrophe.

The tendrils of magic, created the psychic head-space where all the Coven sat in regal chairs, chatting idly. Esmerelda was amazed to see Marjory there also.

Agatha raised her hand and instantly, the coven fell silent.

"I've asked Marjory to attend this afternoon's session. She has insight into the coming battle, and what might be necessary to overcome Nyarlathotep.

The coven buzzed. It was unusual for a stranger to attend their psychic meetings.

"Now, I've given you the highlights of what happened the past couple of days."

"Yeah, you finally got some," Beatrix said, winking at Agatha, who blushed profusely.

"Speaking of which," Agatha said. "Apparently the TreeMother has invited Thomas to allow Joe some nymphcations…"

Esmerelda blinked. "What?"

"Yes, apparently, the TreeMother is rather fond of your husband and would allow our husbands to swap occasionally."

Esmerelda sighed, nodding her head. "It would only be fair, I zuppoze."

"Thank you dear. We will schedule the next nymphcation soon."

Disquieted, Esmerelda nodded. "What are we to do with the Aegis? I am afraid to zleep in my bed?"

"We can't just blow it to smithereens," Dorothy said. "That item pre-dates the WitchWars of 1700. In fact, it might be as old as you, my dear."

It was a well-known fact that while Esmerelda was the 'youngest' witch, she was the vessel for the oldest Entity.

"It doez not even look like an antique? 'ow can it be zis old?"

"The mirror and probably some of the wood," Marjory said. "We have some pieces like that in the Inn as well."

"Regardless, my dear." Agatha held up a hand. "We will be at your home tonight to perform an assessment. We also have some ideas on how we might at least cause it to go back to sleep."

"Turniproot and grapevine!" Fiona said, her voice abrupt in the peaceful psychic communion. "Cut close to the stem! Boil for three hours! Add vulture dust and caromine! Sleep sleep!"

"And what about zee reversal of my geas?"

"That's a more serious matter we would like to discuss," Agatha looked at her sisters.

"Very well," Esmerelda said. "Dizcuss."

Dorothea brought out a dusty book. Esmerelda giggled at that, how does a book get dusty when it's inside a mind? The archivist blew the dust off and several of her sisters even sneezed. Psychic sneeze?

She opened the book, and pointed at a passage, pausing to read in her fervent voice:

Entry from "Þæt Bēc Þrīwa-Wǣfena Paða" (The Book of Thrice-Woven Paths)

In þe shadowed eaves of Sælicbrook, where þe veils of worlds do kiss, þere lieth a secret most sacrosanct, þe geas of witches old and new. It is here þat þe Weavers of Fates decree þe melding of spirits, ancient and nascent, in an embrace þat transcends þe fleeting breaths of æons.

When þe balance of realms doth falter and þe chorus of cosmic threads sings in discord, a witch of Sælicbrook must forsake her solitary song for a symphony interwoven. The Rite of Æternal Binding is sought, a ritual both hallowed and dire, for þe witch must unite her essence with one of elder craft, and þus birth a being of combined might and memory.

This rite shall only be performed under þe eye of þe All-Seeing Moon, when stars whisper þe names of þe forgotten and þe air shimmers with þe breath of þe One Tree. Upon þe altar of earth and sky, þe present witch shall lay, surrounded by þe coven's circle, each a keeper of secrets untold.

With words as old as þe roots of þe World Tree, þe coven shall chant þe incantations of binding, calling forth þe spectral essence of þe ancient witch. A vessel of amethyst and silver is required, filled with waters from þe sacred brook, to serve as þe crucible for þe spirits' merger.

Þe present witch must willingly drink þe elixir of past and present, her lips uttering þe sacred assent, "By þe weave of fate, I bind my spirit to þe æld." As þe liquid fuses þeir souls, a light most brilliant shall pierce þe shroud of night, and a tempest of æther will swirl as þe geas becomes one.

In þis moment, a third entity is woven into being, not just a sum of þe two, but a new spirit with þe wisdom of ages and þe vitality of youth. This witch shall rise with eyes ablaze with þe fires of a thousand spells and a heart beating with þe courage of countless battles.

Be warned, for þis path is one of no return. The geas bound cannot be unwound, and þe witch so bound shall forever be a guardian of þe nexus, a sentinel against þe dark tides þat seek to unravel þe tapestry of all.

"For in þe union of two, a power is born, a bastion against þe chaos þat clamors at þe gateways between þe worlds."

**Translated Text:

Entry from "The Book of Thrice-Woven Paths"

In the shadowed groves of Sælicbrook, where the veils between worlds touch, lies a most sacred secret, the geas of the old and new witches. Here, the Weavers of Fate decree the union of souls, ancient and nascent, in an embrace that transcends the fleeting breath of ages.

When the balance of realms wavers and the chorus of cosmic threads sings in dissonance, a witch of Sælicbrook must abandon her solitary song for a symphony intertwined. The Rite of Eternal Binding is called upon, a ritual both revered and formidable, for the witch must merge her essence with one of ancient craft, thus creating a being of combined power and memory.

This rite shall only be carried out under the gaze of the All-Seeing Moon, when stars whisper the names of the forgotten, and the air shimmers with the essence of the One Tree. Upon an altar of earth and sky, the present witch shall recline, encircled by her coven, each a guardian of untold secrets.

With words as ancient as the roots of the World Tree, the coven will chant the verses of union, summoning forth the spectral essence of the ancient witch. A vessel of amethyst and silver, filled with water from the sacred brook, shall serve as the crucible for the spirits' convergence.

The current witch must willingly consume the elixir of past and present, her lips uttering the sacred agreement, "By the weft of fate, I bond my spirit to the old." As the potion unites their souls, a brilliant light shall pierce the veil of night, and an etheric tempest will swirl as the geas becomes one.

In this moment, a third entity is created, not merely the sum of the two, but a new spirit with the wisdom of the ages and the vigor of youth. This witch shall rise with eyes ignited by the flames of a thousand spells and a heart emboldened by the courage of countless battles.

Be forewarned, for this path is irreversible. The geas once bound cannot be undone, and the witch thus bound shall eternally be a guardian of the nexus, a sentinel against the dark forces that threaten to unravel the fabric of all.

"For in the union of two, a power is born, a stronghold against the chaos that clamors at the gateways between worlds."

Esmerelda listened to the words, frowning. "And who might be zo foolish to bind themselves in such a fashion?" She shivered thinking. Essentially it mean erasing herself, as Lydia, and irreversibly becoming Esmerelda in body, mind and spirit. None of her sisters would even entertain such a—

"You, child," Agatha said. "I fear you must allow yourself to be bound."

Esmerelda had no words, as she found herself unable to focus on the psychic meeting, and was bounced from the headspace.