Chapter 66 : Walpurgis Night (66)

Every witch has two names.

One is the name from her human days—used before her flesh bore the mark of the arcane. 

A name given by her mother at birth, when she lived as an ordinary girl, a maiden, a woman, or an old crone.

And the other is the name she gives herself when she awakens to her own mystery—her name as a witch.

But in truth, the two names are not so distinct.

As a witch grows older, she discards the worn and weathered name of her human past and lives only by her witch’s name.

Unless she’s a young witch like Gretel, who hasn’t even taken on a single familiar. 

No one clings to memories of their fragile, human past.

“Lebkuchenhaus.”

“You’ve come, Blauer Vogel.”

By that standard, the witch who didn’t deny her [witch’s name] but slightly frowned at hearing it wasn’t that old a witch.

Older than Gretel, perhaps—but even she had vestiges of humanity still clinging like sediment at the bottom of her subconscious. 

Only after scraping all of that away and discarding it would she become the kind of [witch] that people truly feared.

But for now, she was still just barely at the age where one might call her a girl.

With a giddy grin, Lebkuchenhaus crooked her finger—and the earth shifted, drawing out a chair for the guest she’d invited.

The two witches looked nothing alike.

Lebkuchenhaus wore a black robe pulled deep over her head, concealing her entire form. 

Even so, her hooked nose was so large it jutted out unmistakably. 

From her body wafted an overpowering scent of ginger and sugar—so thick it bordered on nauseating.

Blauer Vogel, on the other hand, wore barely anything—her outfit closer to underwear. 

Yet it didn’t seem lewd. 

Feathers the same shade as her hair had sprouted all over her body, covering her like a bird’s plumage.

Her face had the delicate features of a beauty, but her mouth jutted forward. 

Her lips were dry and cracked, forming hardened crusts—early signs of becoming beak-like.

“What you said… it’s true, right?”

Perhaps that’s why—even though her voice, like a bird’s chirping, was beautiful—you could still hear the unmistakable tension and anxiety in the young witch’s tone.

“Yeees. Don’t you trust me?”

“Ha. Trusting a witch? That’s about the stupidest thing anyone could do.”

“But you came here anyway.”

The young woman scratched herself with visible irritation. 

Her fingers were far too sharp to be human, and feathers scattered in the air as she scratched. 

The ends of the plucked feathers shimmered with an iridescent glow, like distant descendants of something long forgotten.

“You even brought your ‘happiness’ with you.”

“…”

Outside Heimvig, in a desolate wasteland, two witches sat beneath a sky where a single monster circled overhead.

Ojojo—the most commonly used familiar of witches. 

It had claws shaped like human hands. 

That particular one stood out for two reasons. 

One: its feathers were a rare shade of blue.

And the other— “M… mama. Mama…”

The monster spoke.

A hunter might have been horrified, but for witches—who already knew the hidden truths—it was nothing strange.

“I swear it on my name.”

A monster is the stillborn child of a witch.

While monsters are capable of reproducing, their origins trace back to a witch’s umbilical cord.

A witch’s child may be born as an ordinary human, but they carry a faint trace of the arcane. 

That incomplete and flawed mystery becomes poison—turning the human into a monster.

First the body, then the mind, and eventually, even the soul.

The creatures witches command as [familiars] are those who have undergone the first two stages. 

Once their soul becomes fully monstrous, not even the witch can control them.

But up to that point—even if they’ve lost all memory and intellect from their human life and think like base beasts—they still obey the mother who passed her mystery down to them.

That is why witches can command some monsters.

And it’s also why Gretel has no familiars.

The girl hadn’t even experienced childbirth. 

Hans was her first man, after all.

“If you give me your son—if your ‘happiness’ becomes mine… I’ll take it out of this place. Once it sets foot on land beyond, I will release it freely—without bindings, without conditions.”

That Ojojo was still in the first stage, its body alone having transformed into that of a monster.

Which meant it could still barely manage human speech, and its human intellect hadn’t fully faded. 

Because of that, it could be commanded even by witches other than its mother. 

Once the mind, too, was corroded by monstrosity, that would change.

“Still hesitating?”

“…Kgh.”

“Well, it’s your choice. I don’t force anyone. But just know this—”

When Lebkuchenhaus laughed, even the shadowed earth around her giggled in sync.

“You’re not the only one I’ve offered this to.”

“What? Wait, don’t tell me… you mean Flamkuchen, don’t you?”

“Correct. Even I can’t take more than one with me. Only one may leave this Labyrinth.”

When Blauer Vogel sighed, a lonesome wind sighed with her.

And at last, the mother who had severed the umbilical cord strangling her child—but still could not abandon the stillborn—made her decision.

“…Fine.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s do it.”

The proposal Lebkuchenhaus offered to a witch with something precious was simple:

That which is precious shall no longer belong to the witch—but to her instead.

In return, when she escapes the Labyrinth, she will take that precious thing outside and grant it freedom.

Even a moment’s thought would expose the flaws in such a contract. 

How could one trust that the promise would be honored? 

And even if it were, the outside was no paradise—just less dire than the Labyrinth. 

If mere survival and safety were the goal, it might be better to keep what is dear in the arms of a witch.

But in the end, the witch who had not yet let go of her girlhood hung her head.

“If only for a single day… I want this child to see the blue sky.”

Like few other witches, the blue witch could never truly command her familiar like a servant. 

How could she, when she still vividly remembered how adorable the child had been as a human?

Those rosy cheeks, those bright blue eyes, that shimmering golden hair—so like her own when she was human. 

He was just the child of some handsome gigolo, nothing more—but Blauer Vogel came to love this pure soul.

Loved him so deeply, she’d rather let him sing elsewhere in sorrow than keep him caged by her side.

“Glück. Go to that witch.”

Glück—the name meant happiness.

The blue-feathered Ojojo shook its head. 

That too was something ordinary familiars could never do. 

A fully-mutated monster obeys its mother absolutely.

But inside that grotesque bird form, a lively, curious boy’s heart still fluttered. 

The child didn’t want to leave his mother—but the mother, because she loved him, pushed him away.

“Come on now. Be a good boy and listen to your mama.”

At last, the blue bird left the girl’s side and landed upon the witch’s outstretched hand.

Beneath her hood, what little of the older witch’s face could be seen was enough to know why she hid it. 

Rotted skin, festering spirit, and the artificially sweet scent of her flesh all conspired to repel.

But the good child endured.

Because the remnants of his human mind understood his mother’s wishes.

“What a lovely child.”

Most Ojojos were dull and grim in color—but this one stood out in striking blue. 

In the wild, that would’ve been a fatal disadvantage, but as a familiar, it made him prized—beautiful, special, a mark of prestige.

Still, that wasn’t the part that truly delighted Lebkuchenhaus.

Raising a hand as thin as a withered twig, the witch gently stroked Glück. 

She was blind, and perceived the world only through vibration—so color never mattered to her. 

What did matter.

“You must guard it well. It is precious to me now too.”

It was the fact that witches had deemed it precious.

For an old witch, the only things that held meaning were her own kind. 

So, when those she deemed valuable attached meaning to something meaningless—that meaningless thing gained meaning to her, too.

What connection did Lebkuchenhaus have to the affection Flamkuchen held for Johannes?

What did the maternal love Blauer Vogel felt for Glück have to do with her?

None.

But the blind witch had resolved to collect such things—and for what she saw not as slaves but as collectibles, she offered the proper care they deserved.

“Y-you…”

Blauer Vogel only realized the truth—after everything had already ended.

Lebkuchenhaus withdrew the hand that had been stroking the bluebird.

Glück—the boy who had lost his human form and become a bird yet never lost his vitality—no longer moved at all.

He was no longer a boy, no longer someone’s son, not even a monster anymore.

Like a living thing, exquisitely crafted—but never truly alive—a statue of a bird.

A petrification curse bestowed by the witch who bore the mysteries of the earth.

“What is… this?”

“No need to worry. Since this is the child you cherish, naturally I must protect it too.”

Not an ordinary human, but a witch who could see the mystical, denying reality and seeking an impossible answer.

“Ha, haha. Right? Later, when I get outside, I’ll try to break the petrification…”

“Hm?”

And from beneath her hood, her yellow shining eyes met his.

Those vertically split pupils no longer understood the feelings of any trivial life.

“I’ve never researched how to reverse petrification before.”

“…”

“Why that face? 

Isn’t this good for you too?

That child will never become ugly like us. 

There’ll be no daily erosion of his humanity by monsters, no trembling in fear, no need to exterminate him when he no longer recognizes even his own mother and his soul turns into a monster, coughing up his last breath. 

He will remain forever, in the form you loved most and found most beautiful.”

Surely, the witch would keep her promise.

Lebkuchenhaus would cherish and carefully care for her new collectible, and when she left the Labyrinth, she would set it free without any bindings.

Once she escaped and no longer met Blauer Vogel, the value placed on the statue would vanish, and she would simply toss it carelessly onto the dirt floor and depart.

Freedom meant nothing to a statue.

Unable to even twitch a single feather by its own power, it would be trampled, shattered, and eventually scattered as stone fragments to become one with the earth in neglect and indifference.

[…]

Blauer Vogel was not foolish.

Only her desperation had blinded her sharp mind.

Her wish, to show the outside world to her child’s heart while it was still human, before he became a complete monster.

Had been answered by the witch’s hand with a lifeless, artistic bluebird statue.

“Why so silent? Are you so satisfied you’ve lost your words?”

[Ah…]

If only I hadn’t been greedy.

Even if I couldn’t send Glück outside the Labyrinth, I could have spent countless happy moments with the witch’s power before the child’s heart completely wore away. 

Even if the bluebird became a familiar, we could have stayed together until that soul was devoured by monstrosity.

She already knew that there was no way to reverse petrification. 

That was no longer her son. 

It was merely a stone lump that had been her son.

Heart, blood, wings, soul—all turned into rigid, inorganic rock.

To undo the petrification curse would be nothing less than a sacrilege—creating life anew from a lump of stone.

That was the domain of gods, beyond the powers of witches or saints.

The moment the witch’s sharp mind fully grasped this whole truth—At last, the girl’s heart shattered.