The door to Morgatha's quarters groaned open, revealing a room buzzing with arcane energy. "Welcome, my dear," Morgatha said with a wide grin, stepping aside to let Tisha in. Tisha crossed the threshold cautiously, her eyes sweeping over the chaotic, enchanting haven. Shelves groaned under the weight of jars filled with glowing liquids and oddities—pickled creatures, shrunken heads, and bundles of dried herbs tied with crimson string. The centerpiece of the room was a cauldron, bubbling with a mysterious, shifting brew that glowed faintly in the dim light. Its thick steam coiled upward, filling the air with the sharp, heady scent of herbs and magic. "It's… witchy," Tisha remarked, glancing at a rack of vials that rattled faintly, as though stirred by some unseen hand. "Flattery will get you everywhere," Morgatha said with a cackle. "And mind the cauldron—it tends to get hot when it's temperamental. A fun game, really. Ever tried minion bowling? Just give it a good push, and they go flying!" Tisha smirked, folding her arms as she eyed the bubbling brew. "Can't say I've tried it, but I like where your head's at. What exactly are you cooking in there, anyway?"
"Oh, this?" Morgatha waved her bony hand dismissively, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's just a little something to ward off nosy knights—very useful when you have a brute clanging swords around the place." Tisha furrowed her brows in confusion as she leaned against a cluttered table covered in parchment and vials. "Knights?" she asked, glancing around the dimly lit room. "What knights are you talking about?"
"The Master's personal trainer, of course," Morgatha said, her sharp grin returning. "The one who turned our dear Overlord from a skinny whelp into the titan you see today. A gruff disciplinarian with muscles to match, though not much for conversation." Tisha's curiosity was piqued. "So, what? He runs a boot camp for minions? Makes them do push-ups while they chant 'all hail the Master'?" Morgatha cackled, nearly doubling over in her chair. "Oh, darling, I wish. No, he's all business—strength, swordsmanship, strategy. The works. He molded the Master into what he is now. You should meet him sometime. Just mind your manners; he doesn't tolerate cheek as well as I do." Tisha rolled her eyes, though her smirk lingered. "Sounds like a charmer."
"Oh, delightful company," Morgatha said dryly before shifting her tone. "But enough about him. Let's focus on you." She tapped the edge of the cauldron with her staff, sending the liquid swirling into a new pattern. "Ever crafted a potion before?" Tisha raised an eyebrow, her arms still crossed. "Can't say I have. Sounds messy." she smirked. "Oh, it is," Morgatha replied with a wicked grin. "But it's also fun. The right potion can do anything—enhance your strength, sharpen your mind, turn an enemy into a toad. Speaking of which…" She reached for a jar containing what appeared to be a frog, its eyes glinting with an eerie intelligence. "Care to give it a try?" Tisha smirked, stepping forward with a spark of intrigue in her dark eyes. "Alright, witch. Show me how it's done."
The room buzzed with chaotic energy as Tisha leaned over the cauldron, her brow furrowed in concentration. A steady plume of steam curled upward, casting faint rainbows in the dim light as she carefully stirred the bubbling mixture. Morgatha hovered nearby, a gleeful grin stretching across her face as she watched her pupil work. "Careful now, dear," Morgatha crooned. "Too much mandrake and you'll end up with something explosive. Not enough, and, well... it won't be quite as exciting." Tisha huffed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as she carefully added a pinch of powdered root. The mixture hissed ominously, its color shifting from green to a sickly shade of yellow. She stepped back, eyeing it with a mix of suspicion and pride. The cauldron gurgled loudly before the liquid inside began to bubble more violently. A moment later, there was a puff of thick, black smoke and a sharp pop. As the smoke cleared, Tisha blinked at what had appeared before her. A creature stood on the stone floor, half-minion and half-toad, its bulbous eyes gleaming with an otherworldly glow. It let out a guttural croak and hopped once, its long, sticky tongue darting out to snatch a fly that had foolishly buzzed too close. Morgatha burst into laughter, clapping her bony hands together in delight. "Very close, my dear! Very close! Oh, you've got talent, no doubt about it. But don't worry—you'll get the potion right soon enough." Tisha placed her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow as she watched the bizarre creature hop in confused circles. "So… what do we do with this thing? Put it to work? Feed it to the cauldron?"
"Feed it to the cauldron?" Morgatha gasped, feigning shock. "Darling, no! That's terrible form. You keep it, of course! Every little mishap has its use." She grinned wickedly. "Besides, it's good to have entertainment around." The half-minion, half-toad let out another croak, its tongue flicking out as it tried to snag a second fly. Tisha couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "Alright, you win. But if this thing tries to climb into my bed, we're having fried toad for dinner." Morgatha cackled, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, you're going to fit in here beautifully, my dear. Now, let's try again—this time with a bit more precision, shall we?"
Tisha leaned back against the workbench, arms folded across her chest, as she watched Morgatha cackle at the half-minion, half-toad hopping in circles. The sight was absurd, and yet, in its own way, strangely endearing. The witch's laughter was infectious, echoing in the cluttered space and mingling with the bubbling cauldron's hiss. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the world outside the Tower seemed to fade. In the short time she'd spent here—what, thirty-five minutes?—Tisha found herself feeling something unexpected. Morgatha, for all her demon-worshipping, potion-brewing, eccentric tendencies, felt… warm. Not in the way of kind-hearted townsfolk who slapped on a smile and offered a polite word, but in the way of someone unbothered by pleasantries. Morgatha accepted Tisha for who she was, no questions asked. It was strange to Tisha, having someone take her under their wing so quickly. Her parents hadn't wanted her—they'd dumped her at the orphanage before she was old enough to even remember their faces. Growing up, the caretakers had been indifferent, the other kids cruel, and the world harsh. She'd learned quickly that no one would look out for her except herself. Yet here was Morgatha, a complete stranger, showing her more acceptance in thirty-five minutes than anyone else had in years.