Sorry for the long wait, but I'm back and with some important news! There are three things that I want to point out that are rather pivotal for this story. So if you can just take a moment to read this, then you have my gratitude!

1) Lately I've trying to hone my skills as a writer. I've been putting in a lot of effort into this story, which is why you'll notice the chapters are more substantial and (hopefully) better quality than my previous works. Unfortunately, this also means that updates will take longer, as you may have already noticed (sorry!). Basically, while new chapters will take longer to be posted, the quality and length will be enhanced. Fair enough trade?

2) Some of you may have noticed this already but Shush, Little Bird is a lot darker, for lack of a better word, than The Thousand Lumber Bet. While I assure you there will still be times reserved for laughing and smiling, there are also more mature themes as well. And for those who are squeamish, when I say 'mature', I DO NOT mean sexual stuff. Instead, I mean there will be chapters with some more serious themes in it-not all fun and games. Again, that does not mean there will be a lack of humor.

3) This is the most important yet; are you ready for it? (Takes a deep breath) I hate the color green. Kidding. Honestly, this is just a little fun thing I've come up with. Recently I have been practicing how to write riddles, of all things. So I figured what better way to see if they are any good, than to have somebody else read them. Therefore, from now on, you will find a riddle at the end of the chapter. Please don't feel like you have to answer them—it's just for fun. The answer to a riddle will be posted on the following chapter. Oh, and I do like the color green. ;)

XxTinyxX: Thank you! I think that Vivi is arguably the nicest Witch Princess in the Harvest Moon series…too bad I'm basically turning her into a psychopath. (Goes back into hiding before an angry mob comes.)

CAPJHMPAgirl: Haha, thanks for your enthusiasm. Don't worry too much about Luke; things will look up for him…eventually. ;)

Chapter 3

Façades

All usual disclaimers apply.

The swamp was not the place to get lost in. Along with the usual aggravations, such as insects buzzing around you like you're a free buffet, there were other things to watch out for. In hopes of preventing wanderers from getting to close, the Witch Princess had riddled the area with enchantments. Some were harmless, meant to fill your head with compulsions to turn around, either because you forgot something that you absolutely needed, or that today was just not the day for a hike. A deterrent such as this could be shaken off with a firm resolve and the knowledge that the impulsions were nothing more than a trick.

However, some enchantments were not so harmless. If a person was unfortunate enough to stumble across one of the less desirable spells, they would find themselves in quite a predicament; one that could involve beasts who attack without reason and geysers that spout hallucinogenic steam. It was the reason why the townsfolk gave the swamp a very wide berth. Many preferred not to enter the forest at all, and in the rare occasion it was mandatory, they would stick close to the entrance.

Molly was different from the other villagers. She had knowledge of the Fugue Forest that even Luke did not possess. When she had been looking in the swamp for the Green Bell, she was lucky enough to have Finn as a guide. Harvest Sprites have a knack for sniffing out magic, so it was easy for him to lead her through the swamp without stumbling into traps. Thankfully, Molly visited the Witch Princess so often that she no longer needed Finn as a guide.

This served Molly especially well as she searched for the carpenter. It was not difficult to track him. The path of broken crystals caught the afternoon light like diamonds; and if that was too subtle, then the trees that were slumped and missing patches of leaves also proved to be useful landmarks. Molly reasoned that whatever had taken Luke must have been strong and fast, judging by the battered trees. Although it would be impossible to catch up to the carpenter, if she followed the trail it could lead her right to him.

The crystals continued for quite awhile, but eventually they dwindled away until there was nothing left to follow. However, Molly knew where to go. The path ended where the forest merged into the swamp, as she expected. Luke would not be far away. He knew better than to go there...and yet their paths would have crossed by now if he had backtracked. So why hadn't he? The question left Molly with a hard lump in her throat.

Swallowing it, she marched into the swamp.

~HM~

A disgusting squelch followed Molly whenever she lifted her boots from the muddy ground. The sound was becoming as familiar to her as a heartbeat. She gave up long ago at swatting the insects that buzzed around her; as soon as she knocked one down, a dozen more would take its place. It would be a miracle if she had an inch of unbitten skin when she got out of the swamp.

Molly had been traveling for less than an hour, and the majority of that time was spent walking through mist. It clung to the area like a veil; thin enough for her to know where she was going, but thick enough so the landscape up ahead was obscured. This was commonplace in any swamp. However, as Molly continued walking, she noticed a subtle difference. At first it was imperceptible, but she realized the haze was gradually thickening until it was more of a fog than mist. Eventually it became so dense that when she outstretched her hand, the haze would swallow it up.

Molly frowned, pulling back her hand. It had to be the Witch Princess's doing. Strange that she would decide to change something now. She seldom updated her enchantments since the villagers knew to keep their distance, and because Molly, the one person whom she did like to see, had already memorized a trap-free route through the swamp.

The squelching stopped and Molly's boots sunk an inch into the mud when she paused, facing the unfathomable wall of gray. While she considered what to do, something was creeping from behind her. An arm's length away was a tree with bark buried underneath a tangle of vines, each as thick as rope. One of the vines detached from its brethren. The farmer showed no signs of recognition as it plopped to the ground. The fog made it all but invisible as it slinked towards her, its body carving a snake-like trail through the mud.

Her back was turned. A perfect target.

The vine rose from the ground, coiling around her ankle like a lasso, leaving only inches of empty air between it and skin. It was just about to tighten in an unbreakable snare when—

Smack!

"Good to know that's still the same." Molly lifted her boot, revealing what was left of the trampled vine. Better luck next time.

She squinted her eyes, struggling to peer through the fog, but could make nothing out. It would be hopeless to just barge through it and hope for the best; that would only result in getting lost, and then somebody would have to save her and Luke. She could wait and see if the fog disperses, but who knows how long that could take. Time was limited. Luke could be wandering around somewhere, lost and blind. The thought tied her stomach into knots. If she could not see through the fog, how could he? Frustrated, Molly blew a strand of hair out of her face.

Just then a flash of movement caught her eye. A beam of light, no bigger than a button, was coming from within the haze. It was swinging back and forth like a pendulum or a searchlight; swaying to one side until it disappeared from view, then reappearing, before swaying to the other side. Molly watched as it repeated the pattern. By the third time, the beam jerked in front of her, as if noticing her for the first time. For a moment it didn't move, but then it slowly widened until it was the size of a full-length mirror, large enough to step through. The fog within the perimeter dissipated, revealing a clear path to the Witch Princess's hut ahead. Molly ran as fast as she could towards the pink building, in fear that the path would vanish and submerge her in fog. It never did.

In no time at all she faced the Witch Princess's door. Two knocks later and the immortal herself appeared. She looked surprised, most likely because she assumed the newest enchantment would have warded off visitors.

The witch stayed by the doorway, making it impossible for Molly to enter. "Hello, dear," she said, amber eyes flickering past her, nervous. "Unfortunately, I can't entertain any mortals today. Goodbye."

The door was about to swing shut, but Molly jammed her foot in before it could. "Unfortunately, this mortal needs to talk to you."

She ignored the witch's huff as she pried open the door just enough to slide inside. Immediately the witch stepped in front so her view was limited. Molly frowned. What was she trying to hide?

"Dear, can't you come back another time? One of my potions broke and it's not safe for you to be here. You could get a high fever or your hair could turn green or—"

"If Phoebe can pull off green hair, I'm sure I could, too," Molly interrupted. She looked around the witch and scanned the room. There were no spilled liquids that she could see. In fact, the cauldron Molly usually found gurgling with the witch's latest brew was empty. The rest of the hut looked as it normally did, with odds and ends scattered around that Molly thought, knowing the witch, she'd be better off not raising too many questions about.

Besides the cauldron, the only thing out of the ordinary was a birdcage that Molly had never seen before, placed on the windowsill. It was an old-fashioned one, about the size of Molly's outstretched arm, and made from wrought iron bars, shaped into a dome that curved into a small heart at the top. Inside were two birds roosting on a perch that spanned the interior of the cage. Their plumages were such vibrant colors they looked out of place with the witch's dark color scheme.

Molly was unsurprised when she recognized the smaller bird as the Yellow Warbler she had met a season ago. The Witch Princess had told Luke and Molly how she had found the bird unable to fly. She asked them to find a Fugue Mushroom so she could make a potion to heal it. Once Luke and Molly returned with the fungus in hand, they wanted to check on the bird to see if it was all right, but the Witch Princess ran them off before they could. It struck Molly as unusual, considering the witch had asked them to help, but she had too many matters on her mind to dwell on it.

At least now she knew the Yellow Warbler was doing okay.

Molly recognized the other bird just as easily as she had the first. Judging from its plumage—which began as a soft blue with traces of lavender on its crest, to a sapphire adorning its wings, and then a chest dusted with white like powdered sugar; all of which was contrasted with ebony brands outlining the sides of its face, so bold as if somebody had stroked them on with an ink brush—the bird was a Blue Jay.

The Witch Princess's snappish voice returned Molly's attention to the matter at hand. "Apparently rudeness is overlooked nowadays, seeing as how people just barge in whenever they want. It's not like I'm busy or anything."

Any other time Molly would have been mortified if somebody had called her rude—cheeky, perhaps, yet never rude—but the witch's cutting remarks were so frequent she hardly cared anymore. Instead she crossed her arms and steadied her gaze on the immortal, making it clear she had no intentions of leaving.

The Witch Princess sighed. "Whatever. Just let me have some tea first before you come pouring out your troubles."

At first Molly figured she must have been joking. She should've known better; the immortal didn't have a good sense of humor.

The Witch Princess snapped her fingers and a tea set, complete with a tray of biscuits, popped into existence on a table that wasn't there a minute ago. A set of matching chairs appeared, decorated as if they belonged in an English garden rather than the middle of a swamp. On the tray was a plump teapot spouting steam. Molly just hoped it wasn't the same steam in the hallucinogenic geysers. The last thing she needed was delusions.

"Sit," the witch ordered, taking her own advice.

Molly wanted to argue this wasn't the time for a tea party, but knew it would be pointless. She held back a sigh and sat opposite of the princess, who had her ankles crossed and her hands placed neatly on her lap, looking as natural as any lady from a Jane Austen novel. Molly was all too aware of her mud-stained clothes and the sweaty strands of hair sticking to her forehead. She mentally shoved away the insecurities. I'm a farmer, not some dainty lady.

If only Finn could see her now; he would either be laughing so hard he'd be rolling on the ground like an upturned beetle, or dashing off to the nearest boutique to find a suitable dress for her. She shuddered.

"Flavor?"

Molly blinked. "Er, sorry?"

The Witch Princess made an impatient sound. "For your tea. What flavor do you want?"

"Oh. Green, please."

Without any assistance, the teapot levitated off the table and poured a yellowish liquid into her cup, before serving the Witch Princess, the liquid now a reddish-brown. Rooibos, judging on the robust odor. Molly wrinkled her nose; to her it smelled like sweaty socks. "You know, I never took you for the tea party type."

"Blame it on my niece." The witch sipped her tea. "Well? Are you going to tell me what you came here for or what?"

Although Molly placed her hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into her skin, she did not raise it to her lips. It was unclear whether she would have trusted the tea more if the witch had poured it herself rather than by magic. "I want to know if you've seen my friend. He might've wandered into your swamp by accident, and I figured it would better to find him before he gets stuck in one of your enchantments. By the way, nice fog."

Peering over the brim of her cup, the Witch Princess regarded her with a frown. "And look at what good it did. I assumed it would be enough to keep fools away, but apparently not."

Molly simmered almost as much as the tea. Trying to calm down, she reminded herself that the immortal didn't mean to be offensive; she just didn't know how to behave around people. Or at least that's what Molly told herself.

Nibbling on a biscuit, she jabbed her thumb to the Yellow Warbler. "My friend's the one who helped me with that little guy. You know, blue hair, Band-Aid on his nose, likes the sound of his own voice."

The witch scowled. "Ah, yes, I remember him. He's that little twerp who insulted my home."

"I told you before, he didn't mean to be insulting. He just isn't used to your…many charms."

Suddenly the Witch Princess's eyes surged with red when she leaned forward, slamming her cup on its saucer with a clink, spilling drops of tea. "Sweet talk all you want, dear, but I know what he's really like. Do you think I do not notice how he marches into the forest every day like he owns the place? Tearing down the forest, upsetting the animals! He's a menace!"

"He's a carpenter." she retorted, struggling to keep her voice low. "What do you expect him to do? Go around and pick daisies?"

"I don't expect even that much. Honestly, dear, I'm astounded you still consider him a friend."

The biscuit Molly was holding crumbled in her fist. "Boyfriend, actually."

The wise part of her mind rebuked her for declaring this, since any mention of Luke only served to provoke the already testy witch. The other part of her mind argued it was important to be honest. Wisdom retorted she was just being vindictive. True and true.

Either way, the witch clearly did not expect this turn of events. While the scarlet faded from her eyes until it was just an undertone, she gaped at Molly as if her hair really had turned green. Molly expected a lecture on how ridiculous she was being, but instead the first thing to come out of the witch's mouth was, "Are you sure you're not under a curse?"

Molly blinked. She was joking. Right? One look at her genuinely concerned expression told her otherwise.

She shook her head in disbelief. "Do you really hate Luke so much you think I'd have to be under a curse to like him?"

"It seems to be a very potent one. I'll get my spell book and—"

"I am not under a curse!"

She slapped away the witch's outstretched hand, at last reaching her breaking point.

Her understanding, and even sympathy, towards the Witch Princess evaporated along with her self-restraint. She didn't care that the witch was lonely or socially inept. She didn't even care that she had the power to do some not-so pleasant things to her with a flick of a finger. The only thing she did care about was how the witch was insulting Luke while he was lost in her swamp!

It felt like ice was sliding down her spine when she thought of Luke alone in that place, blindly tumbling through the fog where unnatural traps bided their time, waiting for him to take a wrong step, before pouncing. And all the Witch Princess could do was mock.

All the worry and fear and frustration that had been building up inside Molly, ever since she lost sight of that fiery bandana, were now sizzling in her veins. Blood pounded loud and hard in her ears. She wanted to rip that self-righteous look off the witch's face.

Undaunted by the warning sparks snapping from the immortal's fingertips, Molly slammed her hands on the table, leaning forward until her face was only inches away from the witch's. The words sweltering on the tip of her tongue felt like hot, heavy coals, just waiting to set a fire and watch it burn.

"You're unbelievable!" she yelled. "You say the reason you refuse talk to anyone is because the villagers hate what you are. So they chased you out, made you live in this awful swamp. But that isn't true, is it? All these enchantments you have? They're not here because you want protection; they're here because you want to wall yourself in! You're not even giving the villagers a chance to prove themselves. They would give a stranger the shirts off their backs without question, and yet you claim they're the bad guys."

"Because they are!"

Although the air was still, the Witch Princess's hair thrashed back and forth like she was caught in a tornado. Crimson began to suffuse in their tea, as if somebody was oozing red ink into the liquids. Then Molly realized—it was blood.

An accent the Witch Princess had kept carefully concealed now leaked into her voice, resonating of a life long ago. "The hunts, the bloodbaths, things that could only be glimpsed in the worst of nightmares—you saw none of it! You did not see the bloodied bodies, nor listened to the screams coursing through the night, or even smell the reek of burning flesh. You think those townsfolk you hold so dear are innocent? Kind and selfless, even? Nothing but illusions! Their ancestors were murderers, along with the rest of the mortal scum. You were not there, during the centuries where humans slaughtered thousands of innocents, snuffing them out like they were nothing but pests. My people…my family. Dead. All because humans were afraid of the word magic."

The Witch Princess, a wielder of power that others could only dream of, looked as fragile as a porcelain doll. Her hair floated down to her chin and became limp. Tears shone in her eyes, though not a single one dropped.

"You were not there," she whispered, "when the ground was soaked with red."

There was a long silence, prolonging this moment of sorrow so it felt like it would never end.

Then Molly found her voice, a hundred times softer than ever before. "No, I wasn't. But you're not here, now. These walls you set up are not only keeping everyone out, but also locking you in, too. The witch-hunts were centuries ago, Princess. Everything has changed. You just need to come out and see it."

The Witch Princess shook her head, eyes hardening to rubies. "Don't you understand? Nothing has changed, nor will it ever! I have lived through the rise of civilizations and the fall of empires. Mistakes may take on new forms, but they are still repeated in every generation. People do not change. That is the truth."

"How do you explain me, then?" Molly demanded, her voice hard but not without compassion.

"What do you mean?"

"If you really believe that people can't change, then why am I here? It was always your decision to let me visit you. At any minute you could have changed your enchantments so I would be lost in the swamp."

"But I did," the witch pointed out. "I created the fog."

Molly rolled her eyes, as if the accomplishment was at the same level as scrambling an egg. "I doubt the best you can come up with is a bit of cloud. And if you really wanted me gone, then why did you send that beam of light for me to follow?"

The Witch Princess looked at her like she had spoken a different language. "What nonsense are you rambling about? I never summoned any lights. That would defeat the purpose of the fog."

Molly's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Wait, that doesn't make any sense. I figured it must've been you, but if it wasn't, then who sent it?"

Perhaps she imagined it, but Molly could've sworn the witch's eyes flitted to the birdcage before taking a sudden interest in her shiny black shoes. "I'm not sure," she mumbled.

Molly arched an eyebrow. A life of solitude turns a person into a terrible liar.

She drew her focus away from the witch and to the antique cage. Apparently their argument had roused the birds from their sleep.

The Blue Jay stumbled off its perch and blinked rapidly as it tried to take in it surroundings. Although Molly was no ornithologist, she could've sworn that it looked confused. The bird spotted the Witch Princess first, and then Molly second. For a moment the bird froze, struggling to comprehend the situation, before bursting into action like somebody had pressed the play button.

The Blue Jay charged forward with a cry that made Molly's ears ring from the close proximity, only for it to ram headfirst into the cage bars. There was a sickening bang when the bird collided with the metal. It reeled backwards, the stars spinning above its head practically visible as it slumped to the floor. The Yellow Warbler gave what looked like an eye-roll from where it sat calmly on its perch.

For a rare moment, Molly was speechless. She'd never seen a bird act like that before. Then something caught her attention, something so glaringly apparent that she was shocked she had only noticed it now; like a song you didn't know was playing in the background until, suddenly, you could pick out every lyric, though the volume never changed.

The Blue Jay's eyes were yellow. Not just any yellow—Luke's yellow.

A bead of blood formed on Molly's lip as she refrained from voicing what was blaring in her head like a wail: "No, no, no!"

Meanwhile, an expression akin to panic flitted across the Witch Princess's face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. She was silent as she swiped her index finger through the air. The Blue Jay had just gotten to its feet when its body became rigid. As if pushed by an invisible hand, it fell over like a statue knocked from its pedestal. This time the bird did not stir.

The Witch Princess looked at Molly with an unsettling calmness that felt even more sinister than her rage.

"It still has a bit of a wild streak," she said coolly as if the bird—Luke—was a difficult animal that merely had to be tamed. "Now, where were we again?"

Molly hesitated. In any other circumstance, she would launch back into the dispute without a second thought of the consequences. However, it was not just her wellbeing that rested on what she did next, but Luke's as well. Her eyes flitted to the immobile Blue Jay—only the slightest rise and fall of its chest gave the reassurance it was asleep, instead of something infinitely worse—before landing on the Witch Princess.

Although the distraction had placated the witch, Molly knew that she was treading on a very fine rope; one that could lead her and Luke safely across this dark abyss, or send them plummeting into it with one misstep. No pressure.

Molly knew what she had to do. Using every ounce of her acting skills, she erased the repulsion from her face and plastered on an expression that would hopefully pass as remorseful.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Princess," she mumbled in a low, sheepish voice that she'd never used before. "I'm not—I don't know what came over me. I guess I'm just worried, that's all, but it's not right to take it on you. Forgive me, please?"

The Witch Princess looked surprised, but quickly recovered with a smug expression. All traces of the vulnerable, heartbroken girl were gone. "Yes, well, mortals are fond of their dramatic reactions, I suppose. I'm not sure where your…acquaintance is, but I'll keep an eye out for it—him."

Molly managed a strained smile. "Thanks. That's…generous."

The scrape of her chair sounded more like a shriek when she stood. Her stomach felt sick when she saw the teacups still brimming with blood. Feeling like a performer on stage, she walked stiffly past the witch and towards the door. Her fingers had just closed over the knob when a voice froze her to the spot. "Oh, and dear?"

Molly forced herself to turn around and meet the witch's cold eyes. Her smile was bewitching. She said in a voice as smooth as glass, "Immortals have very long memories, and hold even longer grudges. Keep that in mind, dear."

The farmer stiffened, the threat ringing sharp in the tense air between them. Then Molly twisted the doorknob and left without a backwards glance.

~HM~

The journey back to Harmonica Town would be at least an hour-long hike through the woods, which left Molly some much needed time to think. And she had a lot to think about. The Witch Princess. Luke. What to do next. People she should ask for help. How to not go insane with the doubts that zipped through her head like a bullet train, yelling at how impossible her chances were and how she should just give up now and—

Enough.

Molly planted her feet firmly into the dirt. Unmoving, she closed her eyes, tuning out everything until there was nothing, and took a deep breath. As her muscles rose with the intake, she imagined every thought, worry, and doubt in the form of the lotus-shaped lanterns used in the Firefly Festival. One by one the lanterns were lit with a soft, glimmering light, like a star had fallen into each of the blooms. Once the dark tapestry of her mind was illuminated, Molly let her breath rush out, her shoulders loosening, and released the lanterns into a flowing river. She watched as the current carried the lights away until they winked out of sight.

Molly opened her eyes.

She was once again in the Fugue Forest, the area oddly serene, as if that moment had set everything at peace. The trees rustled gently around her, while the soft cooing of birds calmed her nerves. The emotions that had threatened to overwhelm began to subside. Her thoughts were no longer in the mess they were in before, but instead lined in manageable rows, waiting for her decision of which one to focus on first. One thing at a time, Molly. If she tried to figure everything out at once, it would only lead to disorganized plans and wasted time she could not afford.

The first thing that surfaced to her mind was the Witch Princess. Molly had heard stories of the witch's infamous deeds ever since she arrived at Castanet, but she always took them as just small-town rumors; events that become embellished with each retelling. When Molly first met her, she believed she was just a woman who had been persecuted for so long that she resigned herself to a life in solitude. Molly knew that she had powers, but always considered her harmless, if not melodramatic. Now all of those frightening tales came rushing back to her. She never put any stock in them, and even tried to defend the witch, but now she knew the stories were no exaggerations. The harmless woman that Molly had tried to befriend was not so harmless after all. She was dangerous enough to not only threaten her, but to also kidnap Luke and turn him into a bird.

Molly had the oddest, most inappropriate urge to laugh. The Witch Princess turned Luke into a bird since a frog was clearly out of the options, of course.

That burst of humor was fleeting as worry press down on her chest like a ton of bricks. How could she free Luke from a centuries-old witch? While Molly had proved to be tougher than she looked, she had no chance against a magical being. Well, not alone, at least.

She could go to the townsfolk for help. Molly could easily convince them to help her and…what? Go up against an immortal being and have everybody turned into birds? Molly shook her head. No, she could not risk their safety. That brought another concern to mind. What she said back in the hut was true. The villagers of Castanet—even the standoffish ones, such as Luna and Gill—would march off to save one of their own without a second thought. And it was that unswerving loyalty that would lead them to their doom. Even with everyone working together, they still would not be strong enough to stop the witch. Just the thought of someone as calm as Toby or as gentle as Bo facing that sort of threat brought a grimace to Molly's face.

In order to keep those in Castanet safe, Molly not only had to rescue Luke, but to do it quickly before suspicions rose and the villagers took matters into their own hands. The weight on Molly's shoulders grew heavier since so many lives—even those that did not realize it—were depending on her.

She sighed, practically seeing her options narrow by the second. If the villagers were out, whom else could she turn to? She had to pick somebody who would be willing to help, keep a secret, and most importantly, powerful enough to stand against the witch. That left only three options: the Harvest Goddess, the Harvest King, and the Wizard.

None of which Molly knew very well, having only met them a few times on her quest to save Castanet. But they were her only chance.

The goddess would be the likeliest to help, since she was the most sympathetic to humans than the other immortals. She was also in Molly's debt after the farmer had saved her and the island. However, there was one serious disadvantage that forced Molly to cross her name off the list. Under normal circumstances, the Harvest Goddess could put an end to the witch's games, but she was still recovering from the island's time of deterioration. Her powers in her weakened state would not be enough to help Molly.

The farmer's hope dwindled. She quickly shook her head, as if trying to shake off the pessimism, and moved on to the next option: the Harvest King. Unfortunately, this candidate was just as unlikely as the first. While the witch was no match for the Harvest King, he possessed a holier-than-thou personality; he was a god, after all, and a god did not interfere with 'trifle human concerns'. The only reason he helped Molly before was because his own image had been on the line; what would his subjects think of him if he could not sustain his own domain? It was unlikely the Harvest King would help again without his status in danger.

So that left only the Wizard. Unlike the rest of the villagers, Molly knew that his title was more than just a catchy stage name. She also knew that his powers were equivalent, if not surpassing, the witch's. However, there were some disadvantages to him, as well. Although he was not arrogant like the Harvest King or flighty like the Harvest Goddess, he was indifferent to humans—almost as much as a loner as the witch. Molly worried that he would not care enough to help her. But…he had helped her once, right? So maybe she could convince him to do it again. And she could be very convincing.

It was long shot, but any chance was better than none. Molly's strides became determined, filled with purpose, as a plan formulated in her mind. She could do this. She will do this. Although there were a lot of factors she was leaving to chance, there were two things that Molly knew with absolute certainty.

One: Somehow, she would find a way to free Luke and keep everyone safe.

Two: The Witch Princess will never know what hit her.

Sneak peak of the next chapter: Three friends fall right into a trap. Meanwhile, a genius is bested by an idiot, and said idiot is jailed for fungi abuse.

Riddle:

There is a hum, swish, then splat

Wherever I am at.

Although you would not use me in your hair,

I am still used on something very near.

A strand of pearls, glistening and white

Is what I love to see, every day and night.

What am I?