Hello dearie,

After completing four wonderful arcs regarding my recent history, I realized it’s time to share some of the more ludicrous stories about my life. After all, being the Crone hasn’t always been a glamorous, well-paid endeavor. In fact, I spent the majority of my time setting up shop, so to speak.

Sure, my name is widely renowned now, but to build a brand, one must get involved, make messes, and handle them as professionally as possible. In the name of honesty, I wanted to share some of my funniest tales with you, my wonderful reader.

So let’s discuss the time I accidentally caused an orgy, why don’t we?

Picture this: a tiny planet known as Brine. Why translators decided to name a place after a pickling process, I have no idea. That’s not to say that it’s a bad name, it’s just—look, the Orrery is weird, sometimes you get planets named after aqueous solutions, culinary ingredients, or really specific emotions.

Language here developed from what is called the First Tongue, the original words of the Many Forms Itself. This is useful, as it means anyone with an awakened Mind can pick up local dialects rather quickly—barring some extreme developments—but it also means that the most universal translation tends to be… odd.

In reality, this planet’s name is something closer to “the gods’ love changes us over time,” and I can see where the idea of salt got into the mix.

Anyway, an unremarkably named planet was blessed with rather remarkable access to the rest of the Orrery, providing no less than 7 major Paths through the Recreative Domain, another 3 to Creative hotspots, and even a rumored descent to Karkinys if one were both suicidal and wealthy enough to pursue such an idea.

Naturally, this meant I was trying to grow a business. It wasn’t anything glamorous—I would know, as I had been procrastinating applying either a fresh coat of paint or an actual glamour to its facade, but it served my purposes. The wood carried a small blessing from the king of Priapnior, ensuring it could tolerate the concoctions I prepared without corroding, mutating, collapsing, or otherwise developing sentience.

Thus, word of my Brews and my little apothecary spread, and so, I met Fia. She wandered into my shop, cringing at the little ding the door gave, a neat twist of runework that ensured I would hear people entering if I was at the back of the store.

“Welcome,” I smiled, and to my surprise, she flinched a second time. I shuffled to one side of my counter, mentally preparing the lecture I was going to give her regarding a weedkiller Brew that absolutely under no circumstances should be mixed with wine, as it completely hides the taste and would be undetectable within the hour. I had an SOP somewhere here; I needed to print more copies.

“I…” she started, and I nodded encouragingly. Her eyes filled with tears, giving the sapphire color there a shimmering quality.

“Yes, dearie?” I said. Say the word, and I can have him dead by sundown.

“I need… a… love potion,” she got out before collapsing into incoherent sobbing. My revenge fantasies came crashing down, but ever the professional, I handed her a box of tissues.

“It sounds like you have a story to share,” I murmured soothingly, eventually coaxing out her name. “What seems to be the problem, Fia?”

“It’s Rew,” she wailed.

“And that’s… one of the curable ones?”

“What? No! Rew! His father is the duke,” Fia explained.

“Oh, of course, Rew, sorry, dearie,” I lied. I barely remembered the name of the town I was currently working in, much less that of some 20-something who lived in it. You live long enough, and the smaller places blur together. For the sake of the story, my apothecary is in the downtown area of Bacillos.

“And he’s… gay?” I questioned. Don’t get me wrong, I can spin a profit off of just about any situation involving my Brews, but I liked knowing my work wasn’t going to be a waste of time.

“No!” Fia chuckled this time as she dabbed her eyes, “The duchy is hosting King Gritha this evening, there will be a ball in his honor. You seriously haven’t heard? The entire town is dealing with preparations!”

“We have a king?” I muttered.

“What?!”

“Nothing, nothing, so Rew’s balls—”

“Rew is going to the ball,” Fia corrected.

“That’s what I said. Rew will be at the ball and your… stepmother is keeping you home?”

“Of course not, she and I get along perfectly,” she shot me a worried look, as though the rumors of an insane Brewitch taking up residence hadn’t been exaggerated, “Rew hasn’t asked me to go with him.”

“Oh, that bastard,” I swore, marching through the drapes into the back room. Itook a moment to roll my eyes to the ceiling and grabbed three Brews at random, returning to her a moment later. “Surely, he can’t be missing what’s right in front of him?” I moved around the counter, pulled out a stool from under it, and gestured for her to sit. She collapsed with a sigh, and frowned again when she noticed only her forehead reached above the counter. I brought the other seat with me, tapping a corner of the wooden frame and releasing a brief touch of the Witchmother’s Storm. My Bloodfragment completed a runic circuit, powering it enough to sink the counter deeper into the floor, leaving a glass-topped table between us. Fia looked properly impressed—most planets were limited in their understanding of runework, but that was a focus for another time.

I placed the three Brews in front of Fia with a gravitas she would appreciate. The first shimmered like emeralds, and one could see facets appear within the liquid as it moved; The second was a vibrant purple, pretty, but clearly unnatural; and the third was black, with a consistency closer to tar.

The woman before me paled, a tremble passing through her hand as she tightened a fist in her lap.

“What do these—

“First, you must tell me what you wish to do. What you truly wish to achieve. If you lie to me, I will know,” I declared. My Mind spread through the space around us, and though she hadn’t been awakened, she would feel the pressure.

“I need him back,” Fia whispered.

“That… doesn’t really tell me anything, dearie,” I responded. Seriously, so many people have no idea how to communicate effectively. I was starting to hone in on Fia’s issue here.

“I can’t lose him. I… he’s the only man I’ve ever loved.”

“Have you tried… telling him this?” I suggested. By this point, you should be quite surprised, as an outsider might think I’m passing up an opportunity to make money. By the look on Fia’s face, she genuinely hadn’t considered such an idea. I didn’t need a crystal ball to see how the rest of this tale would play out: obfuscation and half-honesty, declarations of love shadowed by the frail ego of youth.

“The king’s daughter is one of Rew’s closest friends.”

Oh.

“I’ve heard that before,” I muttered. “Alright.”

Fia’s eyes sparkled with unbridled hope. Honestly, honey, for a man?

I pushed the first three Brews aside, though technically only one of them was proper craft—an aid for indigestion—the other two were little more than glamoured and dyed water. You get robbed one too many times, and you stop leaving the good stuff out before you receive payment.

“600 silver talents,” I said. Fia stared blankly. “Err… what’s the local currency?”

“Drops?” She made it sound like a question, but she drew a small pouch from her waist and pulled out several opalescent beads of various sizes. Ugh, Brine.

“Sure, 700 of those,” I held out a hand.

“Seven hundred?” Fia’s outrage suggested I was charging properly.

“You want the cheap shit, go to CostCoven,” I suggested. As expected, her anger melted away as she meticulously handed several pouches. I’d need to find a Fae moneychanger before I left, no point in taking a local currency offworld.

Once I had deposited the drops into my cloak, I raised the counter and rummaged in the rightmost cupboard until I found what I was looking for.

“Love potions aren’t real, you see,” I began as I pressed the vial into Fia’s hand. She stared doubtfully at the clear liquid within. “You can smell it, but I recommend keeping something that vibrates on hand.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind. As I was saying, Brews cannot affect love per se, but what they can do is encourage physiological reactions and direct one’s focus.”

“You mean this will—”

“Make him outrageously horny and encourage him to take it out on whomever he feels closest to in that regard,” I finished with a flourish.

“But what if that… isn’t me?” Fia looked green at the thought.

“Then you’ll have an honest answer, and you can stop wasting your time. Now listen to me, you need a teaspoon of that mixed into his preferred beverage, nothing more. And if you notice his erection lasts longer than 6 hours, come back here and tell me.”

“Why?”

“So I can congratulate you.” I stood, gesturing for her to rise as well.

Fia still looked unsure, but I already had her money for services rendered. I ushered her toward the door, an altruistic part of me offering one final thought,

“Understand that an answer you don’t like is worth far more than a hope based on a lie.”

She took a moment to process, and I was gratified to see a glimmer of steel enter her gaze. “Plus, in the worst case, I sell some incredible poisons,” I shrugged and shoved her out the door.

Fia would be off on her own adventure, but now I was curious—as most of my problems begin. Given that this Rew was the centerpiece for the most interesting thing in Bacillos, I wanted to investigate for myself. That’s the nice part about self-employment, dearie: setting your own hours.

Barely twenty minutes after Fia had left my shop, I locked the door behind me and wandered into the city. Despite barely remembering its name, our besotted potion buyer had given me more than enough information to find this mysterious Rew.

The ducal estate was right on the edge of Bacillos, its gate more of a declaration of importance than an actual barrier to entry. There was meticulously crafted spellwork within the metal filigree, though it didn’t take a particularly close look to realize they were alarms, not defensive enchantments. If I crossed the threshold, someone in there would know I was coming, if only my familiar were not perfectly suited to snooping. My cloak rippled about my shoulders, a delicate rustle echoing within the Ethereality. Slowly, like ink spreading through water, the deep blue color shifted, stains appearing across the fabric and spreading as it sensed our environment. Black streaks similar to the metal fencing emerged and vanished as we quietly stepped through, the edges of my cloak turning the gritty color of the dust beneath my feet while the hood took on the tones of the cloudy sky above. Nothing sounded from the gates, and I continued to move through the grounds as my cloak shifted its color pattern in hypnotic arrays. The estate was swarming with well-dressed servants, stressed gardeners, and a host of sweaty, sweaty men laboring to build an outdoor-dance floor. I would be remiss if I didn’t closely inspect the latter’s work. Sometimes you need a Crone’s eye to ensure everyone was coming together… I mean everything.

Whatever.

I stepped into the manor proper, a monstrosity of stone pillars and thin-paned windows that was probably a bitch to heat in the winter. If anything, the interior was even busier than the outside, though no one paid me any attention. I was a ghost as I meandered my way through the west wing, getting a sense for the royals living here.

The duke was a politician, so fuck him, naturally, but the household servants were bright-eyed and attentive. People did not walk with their heads down; they chatted, complained, laughed, lamented, and did all the normal things those secure in their jobs enjoyed. The marquess seemed an especially popular topic, Fia’s potential beau whispered about by more than one giggling scullion or eyebrow-waggling steward.

King Gritha himself was mentioned less often; apparently, the royal entourage arriving in a few hours was an annual visit. This firmed my resolve to meet Rew myself and understand what Fia saw in him, if only for my own entertainment. Perhaps I could get some repeat customers out of the two. Unfortunately, without being able to ask anyone, it took me the better part of an hour to find the boy’s chambers, and I only stumbled upon them by sheer luck.

“She’s been so distant lately, Juna.” The voice slipped through a cracked door and down the hallway. I was eavesdropping in seconds.

“You’ve never been worried about her before,” a feminine voice tittered. Taking a moment to ensure my glamour was still functioning, I slipped into a comfortably furnished boudoir, where a young pair sat on opposite couches, the man lying on his back with his eyes closed as he spoke while the woman filed her nails. He couldn’t be anyone other than Rew, and I understood my client’s attraction to him. He wore his hair short on the sides, with blessedly no sign of balding. A well-fitting shirt did little to hide the bulge of his biceps, and I could appreciate the quads straining in his pants from across the room.

“It’s different this time, ever since the solstice Fia has been so quiet. Everything I say seems to upset her.”

“I don’t know why you sound surprised, Rew. You piss me off all the time,” Juna laughed.

“I’ll have you know I’m quite charming,” the man argued, “I just… can’t get a read on her.”

“You’ve gotten close enough these past few months, just tell her how you feel,” Juna encouraged. “Do you want me to talk to her?”

I hissed through my teeth, and Juna—Princess Juna—looked toward the window with a frown. I cursed myself silently, moving closer to Rew. Only an idiot would say yes, as I couldn’t imagine a worse situation for Fia. The daughter of King Gritha was a masterpiece, with heavy lips, a full figure, and blonde hair that shone with literal golden flecks in the dying sunlight. The poor girl would not have taken that well.

“Oh, please, like I would trust you to put a good word in,” Rew chuckled.

“I am nothing if not honest,” she shrugged.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Am I your favorite cousin, or not?” Juna asked.

“Oh, thank gods,” I said aloud, then clamped a hand over my mouth. The princess surged to her feet.

“Did you hear that?”

“…no?” I tried.

Rew cracked an eye,

“Sound travels strangely in the manor, you’re probably hearing things from the servants’ passage.”

I couldn’t believe my luck, or Fia’s for that matter. He was single, the hottest woman he spent time with was his cousin, and he was stupid.

Perfect, I would have sighed.

I spent a little longer listening to their conversation before I slipped out of the room, content with what I had found. I wasn’t going to spoil the surprise for Fia. If anything, she was in for a wild night.

“Now is the perfect time to strike.” The voice grated along my spine, a whisper that anyone else would have missed.

“With the king here—”

“With the king and the duke present, we could take both their heirs.”

Multiple men then, I thought, recalling what Rew had said about the servants’ passageways. I dropped the glamour, instead directing my cloak to extend tendrils of itself like roots across the hallway.

Anyone who came by would notice me, but I couldn’t unravel my familiar like this and maintain the glamourwork simultaneously. Luckily, one of the sconces on the wall came loose when a tendril delivered a delicate tug, followed by a click, and a section of the wall swung inward, revealing a set of stairs.

The whispers grew louder,

“We know these passages better than anyone. We disappear, and leave behind instructions for the ransom!”

I crept as quietly as I could down the stairs, eventually finding two men where the servants’ passages formed a crossroads. Silently, I directed my cloak to spread its threads once more.

“They’ll kill us for this, Amos,” the second voice argued.

“Bah, these nobles have little else to spend their money on, and the king will manage. We have that Miscreant claim the money, we drop them off at the edge of town. By then, we’re gone.” The first man grabbed his companion’s hand in both of his own, “It will be worth it, Zien, I promise.”

“May I recommend you speak more quietly next time?” I interrupted. The two leaped apart, Amos shoving his partner behind him and drawing a blade.

“What have you heard?” the would-be kidnapper asked.

“Enough,” I shrugged, “kidnap the marquess and the princess, get paid, start a new life. Unfortunately, it fucks with one of my customers.”

“Customers?” Zien frowned.

“You should worry about yourself,” Amos warned.

“Please, dearie,” I gestured, and one of the tendrils I had scattered around the passage shot forward, slapping the blade out of Amos’ hand. “You should really assume that if someone is willing to announce themselves, they’re able to handle whatever you’re packing.”

“We won’t go quietly,” Zien spat, though Amos still kept himself between us. This was becoming a headache, but I couldn’t help asking,

“How much were you going to demand in ransom for royal heirs?”

The two looked at each other for a moment,

“Four hundred drops,” Amos admitted. I stared so long they started to shuffle uncomfortably. “We know it’s ridiculous, but the king could afford it if he wished.”

“What the hells did I charge that girl?” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I waved them off, reaching into the pocket of my cloak, “If you don’t ruin an old woman’s evening, can you make do with 3?”

—

“Straight ahead, and take a right,” Zien pointed down one of the seemingly identical passages. Amos had long since stopped sobbing incoherently, but he still cradled the pouches I had handed over like they were a newborn babe.

The couple had shared their story after I assured them that I just wanted Fia’s night to remain undisturbed. They had fallen in love just over three years ago, right before Amos’ mother had fallen ill, and the pair struggled to care for her. Her condition worsened, treatment after treatment failing, falling into a debt that hovered over their heads until kidnapping royalty sounded like the best way forward. Amos’ mother had passed, but now, they were preparing to start their new life. I just wanted directions back toward the party first.

“Thank you,” I smiled, turning toward the corridor. The lightest notes of a string quartet floated down from above, and I could sense a subtle pulsing within the Ethereal.

“Thank you,” Amos managed to force out. I heard them shuffle off down a different passage, a final few sobs echoing around me.

As Zien had said, I shoved open a trapdoor, dirt raining down around me as I found myself on the edge of the constructed dance floor, torches interspersed to throw a delicate light over the clearing. I spent far longer than I realized down in the passages; the sun had long set, and a raised dais hosted who must have been the king, his queen, and members of Rew’s family. They watched a pair of dancers with bemused expressions, the same look reflected on Juna’s face as she sipped wine on the edge of the floor.

The Ethereal sensations I felt were steadily growing stronger, a sure sign that the Brew I sold Fia was activating.

“What happened here?” I sidled up to the princess, who had yet to take her eyes from where Fia rested her head against Rew’s chest. They swayed back and forth in time to the music.

“Oh, it was adorable, that one,” she slurred slightly and pointed at Fia, “interrupted the king’s speech to declare her affection for my cousin. The duke was ecstatic, and his wife is already planning the wedding.”

“Huh… that’s… odd.”

“Oh no, everyone in the household has kept an eye on these two for years. Though before she spoke, she tossed some strange vial away.” Juna drank again, and I felt another pulsation. Looking around, I realized what I had mistaken for a growing rhythm within the Ethereality was, in fact, the steadily building effects from multiple individuals who had imbibed the Brew I gave Fia.

“Tossed?! As in threw?! WHERE?” I grabbed Juna by the arm, and I didn’t miss the moan that escaped her lips at the pressure. The princess gestured in a vague arc behind her, and I turned toward a table set with a dozen different drinks. I cast my senses fully into the Ethereal, tracking the feel of my own magic toward a massive pitcher full of wine. The blood red liquid stained the tablecloth as I plunged my hand into it, pulling out the vial I sold Fia… the cracked and empty vial. What were the odds?

“Juna,” I called sweetly over one shoulder, “how many people drank from this, would you say?”

“Oh, most everyone here. Bavulus is famous for its vineyards.”

“Aha! That’s the name of this city!”

“Pardon?” Juna asked.

“What is the meaning of this?” King Gritha shouted as the Brew finally overwhelmed people’s inhibitions. Already, I could see bushes at the edge of the firelight moving frantically… and people were fucking in the topiaries too.

“Go inside, dearie,” I told Juna, “trust me.”

Like I said at the beginning of this story, dearie: you have to handle things professionally.

“I can explain, Your Highness,” I called to him as I skirted the dance floor. Gasping moans were rapidly growing louder, though I was relieved to see that the king’s cup was filled with mead instead of wine. “A powerful aphrodisiac—available for a reasonable price at the apothecary on Vergath Street—has made its way into the wine served tonight. It’s completely harmless, but most of those affected will be, pardon my vulgarity, fucking each other’s brains out for the next six hours.”

The king went red in the face, opening his mouth to respond until a particularly loud moan cut him off. The queen looked off into the darkness, and I am bragging when I say she looked impressed.

“They must stop this.”

“And they will,” I assured him, “once it is out of their system.”

“The wine, you said?” The queen asked, and I confirmed with a nod.

“Completely harmless,” I repeated, “and the effects are completely avoidable.”

“Gods below, YES!” Someone shouted, and I realized the king’s redness wasn’t anger, but a deep blush.

“Oh… and they are guaranteed to improve the flavor of… everything,” I added.

“Hmm…” the queen rested a gentle hand on her husband’s arm before asking me one more question:

“Do you charge shipping?”