The weeks following Grandmama’s death brought an unexpected thaw to Thornhaven. It started small—Old Henrik nodding to Papa at the market instead of turning away. The blacksmith finished Papa’s order on time without complaint. Mistress Svenson offering Mama a basket of early vegetables, “since you’ve had such a hard time of it.”

No one mentioned Grandmama directly, but the relief was palpable. The witch was dead. The curse was lifted. Life could return to normal.

Faline kept her head down, did her chores without complaint, and carefully, carefully kept her eyes dim. Every morning she would check her reflection, making sure the vibrant emerald was muted to an ordinary green. It became as natural as breathing—a constant small spell running in the background of her thoughts.

Smart girl, Grandmama’s voice would say. Hide what you are. Let them think they’re safe.

At first, the voice was constant, commenting on everything, offering suggestions, sometimes demanding Faline practice magic in secret. But as the weeks passed, Faline learned to push it to the background, to acknowledge it without letting it control her.

She wanted a normal life. Wanted friends. Wanted to stop being the witch’s granddaughter.

And slowly, remarkably, it started to work.

* * *

Two months after the burial, young Cade approached her at the well. He hung back at first, watching as she drew water, then finally cleared his throat.

“Faline?”

She turned, careful to keep her expression neutral, unthreatening. “Yes?”

“I’m… I’m sorry. About your Grandmama. And about running away from you before. I was scared, but that wasn’t fair.”

Faline felt a flutter of hope in her chest. “It’s alright. She was frightening.”

“Yeah.” Cade shuffled his feet. “Want to help me check my rabbit snares later? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

Say no, Grandmama’s voice warned. He’ll betray you eventually. They all will.

But Faline ignored the voice. “I’d like that.”

Cade’s face brightened. “Good. Meet me by the old oak after midday?”

“The old oak is dead,” Faline said before she could stop herself.

An awkward silence fell. They both knew why the tree had died—twice.

“Right,” Cade said slowly. “The… the dead oak, then.”

After he left, Grandmama’s voice was acidic. Fool child. You’re letting them in again. Don’t you remember how quickly they turned on us?

“That was because of you,” Faline thought back. “Because they were afraid of you. But you’re gone now.”

I’m not gone. I’m right here. Part of you. Forever.

“Then stay quiet and let me live my life.”

A long pause. Then: Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when it all falls apart.

* * *

Checking the snares with Cade was awkward at first, both of them careful with their words, avoiding certain topics. But as the afternoon wore on, it became easier. Cade told her about his family’s plans to expand their garden. Faline told him about Papa’s hopes for a better harvest this year.

It felt almost normal.

When they returned to the settlement, they found other children playing near the square—something unthinkable months ago. Ravael was among them, her dark hair braided neatly, her dress clean despite the muddy ground.

She looked up as they approached, her expression uncertain. “Faline?”

“Ravael.”

“I heard… I mean, I’m sorry about…” Ravael trailed off, then started again. “Do you want to play?”

It was such a simple question, but it made Faline’s throat tight. “Yes,” she managed. “I’d like that.”

And so she played. Ran and laughed and pretended to be just another child in Thornhaven, not a girl with a dead sorceress living in her head and magic thrumming through her veins.

For a few hours, it almost felt real.

* * *

As spring turned to summer, the normalization continued. Mama still struck her occasionally, still pulled her hair when she was slow with chores, but there was less fear in it now. More ordinary cruelty, the kind other children endured, rather than the terror-driven violence from before.

Papa spoke to her more, teaching her about crops and seasons, even asking her opinion on where to plant the squash.

And the other families… they weren’t exactly friendly, but they weren’t hostile anymore. Nods in passing. Brief conversations at the well. Invitations for their children to play with Faline, though always supervised, always with watchful eyes.

They’re waiting for you to slip up, Grandmama observed. Waiting for proof that you’re like me.

“Then I won’t slip up,” Faline thought back.

She was careful. So careful. She practiced magic only in the deepest woods, far from any paths, and only when she was certain no one could see. She kept her eyes dim always, even when alone. She never spoke the old words aloud, never made suspicious gestures, never did anything that might remind people of Grandmama.

And it worked. By the time autumn arrived, she’d been invited to help with the harvest alongside the other children. She worked in the fields, laughing at Cade’s jokes, listening to Ravael’s stories about her aunt in the next settlement, feeling—for the first time in her life—like she belonged.

You don’t belong with them, Grandmama’s voice said, but it was fainter now, easier to ignore. You’re above them. Beyond them.

“I just want to be normal,” Faline thought back.

Normal, Grandmama scoffed. Normal is for people without power. Without potential. You’re so much more than that.

“Maybe I don’t want to be more. Maybe I just want to be enough.”

Grandmama fell silent after that, though Faline could feel her disapproval like a cold weight in her chest.

* * *

Winter came, and with it, Faline’s thirteenth birthday. Mama made a small sweet cake—the first birthday cake Faline could remember receiving. Papa gave her a new pair of sturdy boots he’d traded for. Even Ravael brought her a small gift: a carved wooden bird that fit in the palm of her hand.

“I made it myself,” Ravael said, almost shy. “Well, my father helped. But I did the detail work.”

Faline turned it over in her hands, marveling at the tiny feathers carved into the wood. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“We’re friends again, right?” Ravael asked. “I mean, really friends? Not just… not just pretending because our parents make us?”

“Really friends,” Faline confirmed, and meant it.

That night, lying in bed, Faline felt something she’d never experienced before: contentment. She had friends. Her parents were treating her almost kindly. The settlement had accepted her back. She could have a normal, good life if she just kept the magic hidden.

For how long? Grandmama’s voice asked, barely a whisper now. How long can you deny what you are?

“Forever, if I have to,” Faline thought back.

We’ll see.

* * *

The next few months passed peacefully. Faline helped with spring planting, played with the other children, and even attended the settlement’s small festivals. She was no longer the witch’s granddaughter. She was just Faline—quiet, helpful, ordinary Faline.

She was so focused on maintaining this normalcy that she almost forgot about the magic thrumming beneath her skin. Almost forgot about the voice in her head that sometimes whispered dark suggestions. Almost forgot that she was anything other than what she appeared to be.

But Grandmama’s knowledge remained, buried deep but accessible. Sometimes, when she was alone, she’d practice small spells—just to keep her skills sharp, she told herself. Just in case.

In case of what? Grandmama would ask.

“In case I need to defend myself.”

From what? You’ve convinced them you’re harmless. You’ve convinced yourself you’re harmless. A pause. But you’re not, are you?

“No,” Faline admitted. “But I can choose not to use it. I can choose to be normal.”Can you? Grandmama’s laugh was knowing. Can you really? We’ll find out, won’t we?