Jane rolled up her sleeves—well, her nightgown sleeves—and looked around her new home. It was a mess. Dust everywhere, broken windows, a ripped-up sofa, and an eerie silence that made the place feel haunted.
But she didn't waste time. With a flick of her fingers, soft purple sparks danced through the air. Dust vanished, windows repaired themselves, and the torn sofa stitched back together like magic—well, because it was magic.
Jane twirled once in the middle of the room, pleased.
"Now we're talkin'."
She stepped outside and looked at the overgrown grass in the front yard. Her fingers twitched, ready to blast it all away with one good spell.
But she paused.
If anyone saw magic like that, they'd know what she was. And in Arvenia… Witches weren't welcome.
The Sacred Book already warned her. People didn't just fear witches here—they hunted them.
So, no flashy magic outdoors. Got it.
Jane walked around the house and found an old, rusty shed. Inside, she discovered an actual lawnmower—clunky, squeaky, and almost falling apart, but it worked.
She spent the next hour trimming the wild grass under the hot sun, sweating like crazy. It wasn't glamorous, but it was real. And for once, she felt… normal.
Just as she was pulling out weeds near the porch, a voice called out from the street.
"Hello there, dear! Are you moving in?"
Jane looked up and saw an old lady waving at her with a kind smile. Her white hair was tied up in a neat bun, and she carried a basket of apples.
Jane smiled and nodded, "Yes, just moved in today."
The old woman tilted her head, confused. "But… wasn't this house still broken and abandoned yesterday?" She looked at the freshly painted walls and fixed windows in disbelief.
Jane froze. Oops.
She quickly murmured a spell under her breath, her fingers subtly moving by her side. A faint shimmer passed through the air.
The woman blinked. Then blinked again.
"Oh… maybe my eyes are getting worse," she muttered, squinting at the house again. Now, to her, it looked just as broken as before.
Jane laughed softly. Crisis avoided.
The woman's face softened as she took another look at Jane. Her messy hair, tired eyes, and how she was still barefoot.
"You poor thing," she said gently. "You must be starving."
"I'm okay," Jane replied, but her stomach grumbled at the worst possible time.
The woman chuckled. "I'm Mrs. Watsonville. I live just next door. Why don't you come over for dinner tonight?"
Jane hesitated, but the kindness in the woman's voice made her smile.
"Sure… I'd like that."
____
That afternoon, after Jane was done cutting the overgrown grass in her front yard, she stepped back to take a look at her work. It wasn't perfect, but it definitely looked way better than before.
Just as she was about to head inside, she paused.
"…Wait," she muttered to herself.
Her fingers moved in a familiar pattern, and with a quiet whisper, she cast a small spell toward the house.
To anyone passing by, the house would still look the same—broken windows, a creaky door, dull and lifeless. But inside, it was her safe little world now. Warm, clean, and slowly becoming hers.
She smiled. No one needed to know just yet that someone, well witch lived here.
When Jane walked back inside, she noticed it properly for the first time.
The house felt... warm. Not just from the sunlight slipping in through the windows, but from the way everything looked.
The furniture was all mismatched but colorful. The sofa was bright blue, with big yellow pillows that had weird little patterns. There were knitted decorations hanging above the fireplace, and the wooden floors creaked a little with every step.
Jane made her way into the bedroom.
The house only had two—one main bedroom, and the other looked more like a workroom than a guest room. But that was fine.
The main bedroom had a queen-sized bed—definitely smaller than the huge one she had in the mansion, but it was enough. The wooden frame creaked a little when she sat on it, but the mattress felt soft.
There was a small wooden wardrobe in the corner, and on top of it were tiny potted plants. A simple study desk stood by the window, with a woven wooden chair tucked neatly underneath.
Everything in here didn't look fancy. It didn't look like the cold, white, perfect furniture back in her old mansion.
Jane stood there for a moment, just soaking it all in.
She had her own room now. Her own house. Her own space.
She walked to the wooden drawer beside the bed, pulled it open, and gently placed the stolen clutch—well, borrowed—from her mother inside. She had no intention of returning it, but still, something about calling it "stolen" felt a bit too dramatic.
She was about to shut the drawer when her eyes caught something across the room.
A mirror.
A full-length one, leaning against the wall.
She hadn't noticed it before.
Jane stepped closer and looked at her reflection.
Messy black hair.
Pale skin.
Eyes glowing violet even in daylight.
Dark circles. Thin frame. Dirty feet. Her dress still looked like a crumpled nightgown.
She didn't look like a runaway noble.
She didn't even look like a witch.
She looked like… a sad story.
For a second, that old, lonely feeling came creeping back again.
"No more feeling sorry for myself," Jane muttered.
She took a few coins from the clutch—just enough, not too flashy. Then she stepped outside, feeling the sun on her skin again. Her bare feet padded softly against the dirt road as she made her way toward the small line of shops near the village square.
There was a modest shoe store tucked between a fruit stall and a tailor. It didn't look too crowded, which was perfect.
A tiny bell jingled as she stepped inside.
The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with a sleepy expression, looked up and gave her a polite nod before returning to whatever paperwork he was pretending to care about.
Jane's eyes scanned the rows of shoes. They weren't anything fancy, but they were practical—and some even cute.
Her gaze landed on a pair of sage green flats with soft velvet material. Delicate, simple, but still charming.
And then she spotted a pair of black boots—not too tall, with sturdy soles and silver hooks on the sides. Strong, comfortable, and stylish. The kind you'd wear if you had to walk a long way and still wanted to look good doing it.
She bought them both.
After the shoes, Jane wandered into a nearby clothing shop. It was a little dusty, but full of charm. Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, and the scent of lavender hung in the air. A few mannequins wore dresses in soft colors, floral patterns, and cozy fabrics.
Jane's fingers brushed against a soft yellow dress with little white flowers on it. The color was light and warm, like the morning sun. She smiled, imagining herself wearing it—not as Lady Jane of House Ardent, but just Jane.
She picked that one.
Then, a few more: a comfy blouse with puffy sleeves, a long skirt in cream, and a casual cardigan in pale blue. All simple, but beautiful. Pieces of someone who could belong in a quiet village.
With her arms full of clothes, Jane returned home.
She filled the tub with warm water and washed away the dirt and sweat from the past few days. It felt... refreshing. Like starting over.
When she stepped out and dried herself with a towel she found in one of the drawers, she looked at the yellow dress. She put it on, slipped into the sage green flats, and turned to face the mirror again.
She looked... new. Not perfect, not royal. Just a girl with violet eyes, starting a life of her own.
And for the first time in a long while, she felt alive.