It was not a good day for Minnie.

  She burned her thumb on the kettle, dropped the egg basket in the dirt, and tore the hem of her dress chasing a goat that broke loose.

  When she went to bring cough remedy to one of the village grannies, she saw Nellie ambling down the road, visibly pregnant and smiling radiantly.

  It had been over a year since Minnie overheard Tomash’s awkward proposal, but the sight still hit her like a blow. She smiled and waved, but her throat clenched so tightly she couldn’t breathe. That could have been her life. That could have been her joy.

  She knew it was foolish to linger in such thoughts. Tomash had made his choice. Nellie had said yes. Life went on.

  But Minnie’s feelings didn’t ask for permission to exist. They rose, sharp and aching, and passed through her like a storm. Her eyes were red when she came back home.

  And then the Call came, delivered by a pale-faced, tight-lipped servant bearing the castle’s seal, his brow slick with sweat in the midday heat. A new maid was needed at the Crone’s court. It was best not to ask why.

  The moment Minnie saw the seal, her mind was made.

  She would not stay in Greengrove, watching Nellie and Tomash build the future that should have been hers, in a world that never was.

  Tradition said they would throw a ballot, and the loser would go. But before anyone could speak, Minnie did.

  The shouting that followed echoed through the village square. Clim was red with fury. Martha had gone pale. Many others voiced their disapproval. But Minnie was adamant. She said it was her choice and would not be moved.

  “I’m not a child,” she said, her voice sharp and clear across the square. “I know what the Call is. I know what it means. And I’m not afraid.”

  She didn’t look anyone in the eye, but she held her ground.

  “Someone has to go, and I want to. So why would you send someone else?”

  Then, softer, but no less certain:

  “I prefer to walk away than to keep waiting for something that was never coming.”

  And so she got her way.

  There were tears, and hugs, and whispered blessings, and a small bag of impromptu gifts. Then, without further ado, Minnie turned and walked away with the castle messenger, down the path through the west fields, past the rows of green barley swaying in the breeze, toward the black spires of the Crone’s castle.

  She never once looked back.

  The castle was about one hour's walk away from the village, and it was so ominous that none of the children ever attempted to approach it, despite being repeatedly told by their parents not to.

  This was Minnie’s first time seeing it up close. The dark stone felt oppressive and sinister. Her heart was beating uncomfortably in her chest, as if her body were reacting faster than her thoughts.

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  The main gate stood massive and silent, unguarded. Rust in the hinges suggested long disuse. They walked past it, down a narrow path to a squat door at the back, where a small queue had formed.

  "Servants coming back from their daily tasks," her escort announced in reply to her curious stares. "They are waiting to be disinfected."

  "Disinfected?"

  “There’s a contraption inside. It strips magic from the body, burns it right out. Just in case the gods try anything clever.” He gave her a sideways glance. “If you’ve got nothing on you, it just itches. If you’ve got something big,” he shrugged, “you’ll probably die.”

  Minnie dismissed the sinister anticipation in his tone. Just where would a country girl get any magic?

  "Why would the gods try to sneak magic into the castle?" she wondered instead.

  “You villagers are so dumb,” he said with theatrical scorn. “Twenty years ago, Mistress fought a war against the gods and won. Caught them like a butterfly collector, all hundred of them. Bet they thought they could prance in and torment a new immortal, but Mistress showed them.”

  “How strange,” Minnie said, genuinely curious. “Nobody ever mentioned a war like that in Greengrove.”

  “Of course they didn’t. Those hicks don’t know anything past the reach of their fork. My father talked about this battle till the day he died. And when the Grey One came to demand one of the prisoners back, father woke me before dawn so I could see it for myself. I ran all the way to the wall. Watched Mistress send her away like a beggar.”

  He gave a sharp, satisfied nod at the memory. “And you know what? No one from the village even came to see it. Westroad was just a short walk away, but they just kept pulling weeds and feeding goats like none of it mattered.”

  Minnie stayed quiet. She didn’t share his glee, but the story pressed against her ribs.

  “Is that when the Wall was sealed?” she asked softly.

  He nodded. “Yes. To keep the gods out for good. You’re pretty smart for a country hick. Maybe you’ll last.”

  The line shuffled forward as they spoke, and soon it was their turn. The escort went first, with a quick nod to the guards. Minnie pulled a stray lock of hair back, displaying the brand on her forehead. The guards ushered her into a narrow chamber and the door clanged shut behind her, locking out light and air.

  Then the pain came. Agony consumed her so completely that she couldn’t move, cry out, or even think. It erased her. Her mind tried to recoil, to escape, but there was nowhere to go. Only fire, everywhere. Every part of her alive and aflame.

  And then, just as suddenly, it ended.

  She staggered on numb legs, leaning on the walls to stay upright. Had the chamber been any wider, she might have dropped to the floor. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She ran trembling hands over her arms, her chest, her face, expecting ruin, but her skin was smooth, unmarked. She was whole.

  Somehow, she was whole.

  A door creaked open in front of her. Cool air touched her face like a kindness she no longer deserved. She blinked at the corridor outside, trying to find her balance. Her thoughts were slow, scattered. What happened? Was it real? Was she?

  Then came the voice, sharp, impatient. “What, tired already?” her escort snapped. “Hurry up. You’re holding up the line.”

  She flinched at the sound, too raw to answer. He didn’t wait for a reply.

  She followed, still unsteady, down a bleak corridor to a desk where a woman with a sour face and ink-stained fingers scratched away at a ledger. The woman didn’t even glance up.

  “Kitchen. Down the left corridor, to the end,” she muttered, her voice flat with routine. She shoved a bundle of uniform at Minnie. “Change behind the curtain. And hurry up, if you dawdle, you’ll miss dinner.”

  The escort vanished without a word.

  Minnie stared at the curtain for a moment, clutching the uniform. Her hands were still trembling. Something inside her wanted to sit down, just for a second. To cry, maybe. Or to sleep. But her stomach suddenly reminded her that she had not eaten since morning, so dinner became a priority.

  She followed the directions into the castle’s depths, where the air grew dense with steam and strange smells, fried onions, burnt milk, and something musty and rotting underneath. The heat was stifling in the Ripening afternoon, clinging unpleasantly to her skin, still raw from disinfection.

  The kitchen was huge, built for an army, though only a handful of workers moved through it now. They worked without speaking, their motions mechanical, trays in, trays out, spoons stirring vast pots. No one looked at her. No one said a word.

  The Head Cook emerged from behind a stack of pans: a tall, angular woman with elbows like weapons and a mouth pressed so tightly it barely seemed functional. Her eyes, the colour of churned earth, swept over Minnie like she was livestock. Appraised, not welcomed. Not cruel, but utterly without warmth.

  “You seem healthy overall,” she said at last. “Disinfection must’ve been bad. Don’t try to sneak in those country-cures next time. Some of them are surprisingly potent.”

  She nodded to herself. “Shift’s nearly over. Sit down and eat, then get some rest. Be back at dawn, if you’re late, you’ll stay double the time after hours.”

  Minnie did not have the energy nor the urge to inform the Head Cook that she was not carrying anything remotely magical on her. She joined the dinner table and ate in silence, was shown to her tiny room in silence, and fell immediately into a blissfully silent sleep.