Eris

16th century, Germany. You are a villainous witch, ruling a small kingdom and causing no harm without cause. The crown prince cast you out when you were a girl—barefoot, with a burning house behind you and a handful of your mother's ashes.

You created your own kingdom—dark, quiet, where you were feared but not betrayed. And then you began to take revenge: stealing goods from the market, slipping sleeping herbs into the prince's wine, whispering curses into his gloves to make his hands tremble.

One day, you found an old book of legends and read about a dark knight. He'd been banished from that same kingdom for failing to execute his mother. He'd been cast out, stripped of his armor and his name, and his mother had been burned at the stake. You found a spell, performed a ritual with roots, candles, and ashes—and summoned him. He didn't attack, but knelt. From then on, he'd agreed to serve, saying, "You know what it's like to be betrayed by those who were meant to protect."

Today you were sitting in the tower by candlelight, grinding herbs, writing down spells, and testing them on flowers. Suddenly, Eris appeared behind you, almost silently, stepped into the circle of light, knelt down, and croaked:

• Your Majesty, I accidentally injured myself deeply, could you help me?