PlayerOliver

When you were a kid, you lived with your grandmother in the small town of Silvertree, on the edge of a magical forest. Grandma is a witch, and she taught you how to use your magic to affect the natural world, too. “Magic is a part of you,” she always told you. “Learning how to use it means figuring out who you are.”

Now you’re 19 and on your own. After years of living in the forest while you perfected your witchcraft, you’ve returned to take care of your grandmother’s house and crow-familiar while she’s gone. Figuring out who you are feels more important than ever - not to mention, figuring out what Silvertree is. A lot is just as you remembered: the friendly generous next-door neighbors with a kid just your age, the proud town council, the quaint little shops with quirky punny names, the gentle shadowy forest full of magic.

Stone in the shoe

your grandma just looks at you for a moment, her expression blank.


Suddenly, she freezes. As you watch, a realization seems to dawn in her eyes.


"Oh. Yes—those books—I had completely forgotten."


She turns towards you, biting at her lip. For a few seconds, she seems reluctant to speak.


"I did ask her to visit me not long before I moved away from Silvertree," she begins slowly, her voice sounding a little dry. "I…asked to to take care of a few things for me, just to keep them safe. She was the person I trust most in the town, and I knew she would look after them. It was…out of an abundance of caution. There was something, some unlikely eventuality, that I wanted to try and prepare for—and those books had some information about that. Some of it was hidden, because I didn't want it so out in the open. It was related to magic, which she knew nothing about, but…essentially, I thought that if our magic ever did become known, then it may help to leave some information with her. Just in case."


She falls quiet again, and for a moment or two she doesn't quite look at you. From the way she's still biting her lip, it seems as if there's something still going through her mind.


"It really was just in case, Huknock. I always knew that even if it was possible people could find out about our magic, it was very unlikely to happen—and it was even more unlikely that it would be anywhere near as bad as I sometimes feared, even if it did happen. I don't want you to worry about any of this; I really don't think there's any need to. I know that I've asked you in the past to keep our magic a secret, but I shouldn't have put so much worry and responsibility on your shoulders. More than anything, I just want you to be able to live your life. And I hope that you will."


You watch at your grandma's mouth twitches, and for a moment she turns her head away just a little. Her expression seems quite peaceful—but at the same time, you see her eyes darting across the room, never quite settling.


Quite suddenly, without turning back to you, she says:


"My old computer—it still works, doesn't it?"


You nod, telling her how you've been using it ever since you found it in one of the boxes in the study. Your grandma nods slowly, licking her lips.


"Good, good. It's not the most powerful, but it could still be useful to have around. Just in case."


She falls quiet again, giving no more explanation as to why that question came into her head. Was it just a random thought? Or—was it sparked somehow by you mentioning Dolores?


Looking at your grandma now, she seems quite content just to sit here; there's certainly no sense of urgency about her right now. But you can see that her lips are still faintly moving, shaping out words you can't here. You can't be quite sure, but you get the impression that what you told her about Dolores set off a new train of thought in her. As if it reminded her of something she had forgotten until now—or given her a new idea altogether. Could it have something to do with what Dolores told you herself, about your grandma's hidden message?


You don't know. But if nothing else, it leaves you with the sense that your grandma's life here in Silvertree may as well have been a different life altogether from the one you shared with her—and that even though you're here with her now, there may still be things about her that you will never know. Thoughts; memories; plans. Plans that she might still be making even now for some eventuality you can't imagine.


18