Nightingale walked in the "Mist."
From here, the world was only black and white.
The lines that originally constituted things were no longer clear, and the boundaries between straight lines, broken lines, and curves became blurred, like doodles in a child's pen.
It was a difficult feeling to express, and it took Nightingale a long time to learn how to distinguish boundaries. As long as she used it properly, she could move freely in the Mist, unfettered by mundane things. The walls that seemed to be connected as one, as long as she changed the angle slightly, she could see entrances that absolutely did not exist in the real world.
In the Mist, up and down, front and back were no longer fixed concepts. They would transform each other, and even overlap. For example, what she was doing now was entering the castle under the eyes of the guards, following the unpredictable lines, stepping into the air step by step, passing through the ceiling, and arriving at Anna's room.
For her, it was a completely free world.
Only when she was in the "Mist" could Nightingale truly relax. Although it was quiet and lonely, she liked this feeling of being unthreatened.
Most of the time, it was black and white here, but she could occasionally see other colors.
For example, Anna in front of her.
Witches were different from ordinary people. They were aggregates of magic. Nightingale could see the flow and disappearance of this power, and it was also the only color in the Mist.
She had never seen such a full and intense color like Anna's—emerald green luster surged on her, with the center close to incandescent, making it almost impossible to look directly at. This made Nightingale very puzzled. Generally speaking, the color of magic was very close to the performance of the ability. She had seen many witches with the ability to manipulate flames in the Witch Coop, and most of them were orange or dark red, like a dancing fireball, regardless of size or brightness, they could not be compared with Anna.
If this was just difficult to understand, another point was incredible.
Such a huge amount of magic gathered on her, why was she still alive?
In the entire Witch Coop, Nightingale could not find anyone with such magic, even adult witches paled in comparison. If Anna were to become an adult...
No, she didn't have this opportunity, Nightingale sighed, the stronger the magic, the stronger the backlash. She couldn't even imagine how terrible torture Anna would face when the demon devoured her body. The tearing pain from the inside out would not make people lose consciousness. Until the moment they gave up resistance and accepted death, they would have to repeatedly endure uninterrupted pain.
She walked out of the Mist, temporarily put away her low thoughts, and cheered herself up, "Good morning, Anna."
Anna was used to the other party's uninvited, sudden appearance. She nodded, did not answer, but continued to practice manipulating the fire.
Nightingale touched her nose and sat down on the girl's bed.
She had seen this kind of practice many times. In the beginning, Anna would accidentally ignite her clothes, and in the shed in the back garden, a bucket full of clothes was prepared for her to replace. Later, she was able to skillfully make the flames dance on her fingertips, and even Roland no longer urged her to practice. The wooden shed in the garden was removed and converted into a place to enjoy afternoon tea and sunbathe.
Even so, Anna still practiced for one to two hours every day as instructed by the prince—right in her own room.
"I brought fish cakes, do you want to eat them?" Nightingale took out a cloth bag from her arms, spread it out and handed it to the other party.
Anna sniffed and nodded.
"Go wash your hands," Nightingale said with a smile. Fortunately, she didn't hate herself, she was just not good at talking. Speaking of which, she obviously cared about Nana, but she didn't say much either. In fact, she rarely spoke except in front of Roland.
In contrast, Roland had too much to say. He always had endless principles, and even eating a meal had many rules—such as washing hands before meals, not eating too fast, not picking up things that fell on the ground to eat, etc... He could talk at length about each of them.
At first, she was extremely impatient, but after all, the other party was the owner of this place, the Fourth Prince of Graycastle. Since she ate his and lived in his place, then she would reluctantly listen.
Now, she had slowly gotten used to these rules. For some reason, when she competed with Anna, Nana, Roland, Carter and others for the order of washing hands, she inexplicably felt a hint of fun.
Anna put her hands into the bucket filled with well water and rubbed them, then lit a fire to dry them, grabbed a fish cake and sat back at the table, nibbling on it in small bites.
"Are you really not going back with me?" Nightingale asked, trying to find a topic to talk about, "There are many sisters there, they will take good care of you."
"Here, you can only move within the castle, don't you feel bored?"
"Although there are not many supplies in the Impassable Mountain Range, everyone is a family and gathers together for the same purpose."
"Your power is so strong, they will welcome you very much."
"I'm afraid you won't make it through this winter..."
Speaking of the latter, Nightingale's voice lowered. Perhaps it was too late, she thought, even if she returned to the camp, her current huge magic power would almost certainly not survive adulthood. All she could do was watch her demise.
"Before joining the Witch Coop, where did you live?"
Nightingale was stunned. She rarely asked herself questions. "I... I used to live in a big city in the east, not far from the capital."
"Were you happy?"
Happy? No, those were simply days she didn't want to recall, living under someone else's roof, being despised and ridiculed. When she discovered that she had become a witch, she was even guarded like a cat or dog, with chains tied around her neck, forcing her to do things for them. Nightingale shook her head and asked softly, "Why are you asking this?"
"I used to live in the old district," Anna simply told her story, "My father sold me to the church for 25 gold royals. His Highness brought me out of the cage. I am very happy here."
"But you can't leave this castle. Apart from Roland Wimbledon, others still hate witches."
"I don't care, and he said he would change all this, didn't he?"
"That's very difficult. As long as the church doesn't fall, witches will always be heretics."
Anna did not refute. The silence was a bit long, so long that Nightingale thought she would never speak again, she suddenly asked: "Were you happier in the Witch Coop, or are you happier here?"
"You... what are you talking about," Nightingale was caught off guard, "Of, of course it's..."
Is it the Witch Coop? To be honest, she was not very interested in finding the Holy Mountain, but there were friends there that she couldn't give up.
Is it Border Town? If she hadn't heard that a witch was in danger, she wouldn't have come here at all!
The answer should be obvious, but why couldn't she say it right away?
This time Anna smiled. Nightingale rarely saw her smile. Her eyes were like a lake reflecting the morning light, making people feel inexplicably at ease—even when she was not in the "Mist." "I heard Roland say that you are looking for the Holy Mountain in the northern mountains. If the Holy Mountain means stability and belonging, I think I have found it."
This was her Holy Mountain, Nightingale realized. Although her life was running out, her soul would reach the other shore earlier than most witches.
Just then, there was a sound of hurried running outside the door. Nightingale listened carefully and it sounded like Nana Pine's footsteps.
The door was pushed open, and it was indeed Nana Pine who rushed in.
She threw herself into Anna's arms with a crying face, "Wha... what should I do? Sister Anna, my father found out I'm a witch!"