"Anyone home?"
Annan poked his head through the doorway.
The Witches' Home was bigger than he had imagined. Beyond the door lay a living room lit by oil lamps and a fireplace. The untreated grain of the wooden walls made the house look warped and grotesque. Everything was asymmetrical—the windows, the fireplace, the long table... It was like a world seen through a drunkard's eyes.
Walking in a straight line through the room would have been difficult.
A sound came from a room beyond the living room. When no one answered his call, Annan stepped onto the floorboards.
Creak—creak—
All kinds of strange Glass Bottles lined a wooden rack by the wall: a still-beating heart, a goat's eyeball, a root with two legs. Annan even spotted a frog with eyelashes in one Glass Bottle... Would kissing it turn it into a princess?
From this angle, Annan could see a hunched Shadow cast on the wall deep inside the house, wavering with the firelight.
"Hello?"
The wavering Shadow gave no answer, so Annan kept going. Not wanting to startle the seemingly elderly figure, he deliberately made the floorboards creak beneath his feet.
But when he left the living room and entered the next room, the Shadow and its owner were gone.
Something was cooking in a cauldron over the fire. The thick, dark-green sludge made it clear it was no food, yet a wooden bowl and Spoon sat beside it.
"Is anyone here?"
Annan peered curiously into the darkness farther inside, unaware of a shadow rising behind him...
"Oh, a lost boy."
Annan spun around. A hunched figure in a black Cloak stood behind him. She looked him over and gave a rasping laugh that set him on edge. "Are you all alone?"
"Yes. Just me."
Annan pretended to be frightened,