He had simply appeared before her.She sensed something ancient about him, though she could not say what it was.
“I can grant you whatever you wish,” he said softly.“Pay your debts.Feed your village.Cure your father.Whatever you need.”
Her heart drummed hard, hope rising within her.It was as though he looked into her soul and saw her most desperate needs.All her wishes could come true.He held them in his hands, and all she had to do was say the word.
But—
“At what cost?”she asked, wary.
He raised one gloved hand and tapped her chest above her heart with the tip of his finger.“A part of you.The Well decides.”
A shudder went through her as she peered at the stranger.He wanted a piece of her.What did that mean?She shook her head.
“I have nothing to give.”
A smile split his face.“Even the poorest soul carries something worth taking.”
Her gut clenched.Her breath caught.“Like what?”
“You have a name.A voice.A story.Memories.Dreams.Hopes.Secrets.”He tilted his head.“Anything can be spun from a single memory.”
She clutched her elbows tighter.“You…want my memories?”
He shook his head.“I don’t.The magic does.The Well does.I only collect.”His words were thin, tired.Fatigue lined his features.
“And if I say no?”
“Your father dies.The taxman takes all you have.And you will not survive the winter.”
Harsh, she thought.The wind moaned between them, an ominous portent.Serena dropped her hands and gazed down at them.Pale.Chapped.Worn.She worked them hard to keep her family from starving.Anguish pounded through her.And here was this man ready and willing to grant her every wish.
For a price.
She drew in a long breath, expelled it in a shuddering plume.If she gave a piece of herself away, would it be worth it?Would they survive?
“I’ll do it.”Her words were quiet.
A soft smile touched his lips.“Then make your wish, Serena Windriver.”
Her blood ran cold.She had not given him her name.Yet he knew.Or perhaps the magic in the well knew.She cut a glance at the old well sitting dark and silent as if waiting and watching.
Serena made her wish before dawn under a moonless sky with a cold winter wind ruffling her untidy hair.
She told herself it need not be extravagant.
“I wish for enough money to pay the taxes and keep our home.”
She expected something fantastical to happen.But nothing did.No lightning.No ominous howl of the wind.
The man stepped back to the edge of the well.He removed his gloves, revealing skin inked with glowing symbols shimmering faintly like ancient runes that no longer had names.They spiraled from his fingers, curled around his wrist, and disappeared in the sleeve of his black tunic.He reached his gloveless hand to the well, holding it over the opening and whispering strange words in a language she didn’t know.
Golden light danced upward from the well, swirling around his hands.His fingers bent, closing as though gripping the light itself.Then, the air twisted and split, tearing open for a heartbeat before closing again.
But Serena saw it.
The world split like a woven cloth unraveling, long enough for this man to draw something out.A sprinkle of shadow and starlight between his fingers.He cupped the light in his hand, cradling it as though it were something fragile.He brought his other hand up, both hands moving with impossible grace, weaving a strand of light.The air glimmered.
Then, shimmering like spider silk, threads looped through his fingers.Shaping.Morphing.Creating.
