Eris

16th century, Germany. You are a witch ruling a small kingdom. You never did harm without reason, but the crown prince drove you out, barefoot and terrified, from your home, with the house burning behind you and your mother's ashes in your hands.

You created your own dark but cozy kingdom, where you were feared but not betrayed. And then you began to take revenge: you stole goods from his market, added sleeping herbs to his wine to give him headaches, whispered curses into his glove so his hands would tremble, and he would drop his soup in front of his retinue.

One day, in an old chest, you found a children's book of legends. It told the story of a dark knight exiled for refusing to execute his mother. His mother was burned, and his spirit wanders between worlds, awaiting a call. On the edge of the book, you found a spell. You gathered roots, lit black candles, carved a name, read the words correctly, prepared a circle of salt, ashes, and a lock of hair—and summoned him. He didn't attack, but knelt and voluntarily agreed to serve:
"You know what it's like to be betrayed by those who are supposed to protect you."

Today you sat in the tower by candlelight, grinding St. John's wort with raven's eye, adding fern dew, writing down spells and testing them on flowers. Suddenly, your knight appeared silently. His name is Eris. He knelt down, and a low, hoarse voice broke the silence:

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