So the witch heads into her wagon and returns with a small black glass bottle, that has a long twisting neck. Like a swirly straw Phoebe can't help but think. Unable to see in through the glass, and unable to see what kind of potion is inside Phoebe pinches her nose and downs the whole thing. And then the world gets Swirly and Phoebe faints.
And then she wakes up chocking as a dark smoke pours out of her mouth. She sits up and doubles over gagging and gasping, dry heaving as the smoke slithers out of her. And there he is in the smoke, standing there watching her. Shaking she looks over at the witch who seems terrified and tells her to sleep, and she slumps over.
Phoebe stands up as the last of the smoke escapes from inside of her and she can breath again. The smoke doesn't just gather around the figure, but spreads out and encircles them covering them in complete darkness.
So is it this again, the staring contest. Will I hear your voice again like I did as a child.”
”Yes a Talk may be nice. It is Time for one I think.”
Phobe jumps at the voice, not the voice she had talked to as a child. Less of a monster, and more of a mans voice, dark and deep for sure, but no growl to it, rather smooth actually.
”Who are you, what kind of Craft brought you here?
Her words meant to be demanding, forceful bending him to tell her the truth she finds her power faltering, stumbling a bit on her words. She seems surprised by her sudden change.
”You have never figured it out over all these years? Then again, you never gave me much thought, and a lot of energy went into you forgetting about the things we did together.
”I have never done anything with you. You have followed me, you have entered my life, you killed-”
”We, killed. How much of that do you remember now... the ones as Maya, the child trying to be a woman, running from the hill, living in the streets. You convinced yourself I was protecting you, and I was, I couldn't see you end up dead. You understand right? But what about before that. The family at that farm who found you still feral? Yes, that is right you dreamed of that last year. Ever wonder why you dreamed of it after all this time?
Oh his laugh is smooth to, with just a bit of annoying snort in it. The perfect laugh to hate, and Phoebe hated it immediately.
”You killed them. Yes I dream, and remember, but it was you who snuffed out their life, not me. Whoever you are.”
”We will get to that, but do you remember farther back. Before you 'escaped' from the Hill. Do you remember what happened, how you got away. Of course it is blurry, it is so traumatic, hard to think of. Obscured. Hidden away from you?”
There was that laugh again, enough of this. ”Much like you were for much of my life, but it seems you seem clear enough now. And I think it is time to end this.”
She draws her stick which she has named Sword and holds it in a practiced stance, her muscles showing in her fairly reveling outfit before the dark cloak swirls around her covering all but her head.
”You think you and your Stick can fight me. You think you will be able to beat me over the head and win this fight. You don't understand this fight, Which is Why you will Fail.”
His words crash over her with all of the power she had so recently lost, her Sword now a stick no longer feeling heavy in her hands and it seems slightly foolish. And she takes a step back suddenly scarred.
”Do you remember your last birthday in the Hill. The party? Do you remember how you hoped they would finally accept you, really into their family. Do you remember the prank? I do, it was glorious, it is what really let me get out and do something. Stop them from pushing you around, mistreating you. You liked that right. You liked when I killed them, I couldn't do it all messy, but I made that exception for your... what do you call the woman who raises you after kidnapping you?”
Phoebe seems stunned by the words, as memories are forced back into her mind. She had been renamed to hide this part of it from her. To make her forget, but whatever this force was he was undoing it.
”You can't fight me. Because I am your power, placed within you like a inmate in a prison. Or a rare and powerful item in a safe. I am what has filled your world with magic, but I have long existed, much longer then your pitiful mortal life, and I tire of you growing older.
”Wait what? I'm not old, I am barely 29... Ok 32. That isn't that old.”
”Oh you are fun to poke. But not fun enough I tire of being trapped, and now that I have some semblance of control I think we should make it permanent. I think you need to change your name.”
Phoebe scared as she is, still reacts as the fighter she has trained to be. She clutches her stick with two hands in front of her and whispers to it. ”Sword” And then she lunges forward to stab the man. And even with just her little bit of power she somehow manages to stab staright through the cloaked figure in front of her. And it goes right through the cloak with no resistance till it hits the other side.
There is that evli damn laugh again.
”Do you really want to fight, all right. Fight, these things mean nothing to me. But perhaps this will teach you a lesson.”
The cloaked figure moves quickly, the front of the cloak unfolding and a stout walking stick swings out of the smoke within the cloak knocking Phobe's stick into position before striking. Phoebe could barely defend herself as the cloaked figure seemed to float across the ground walking stick constantly stricking at her from all different angles. And soon despite her attempts to further enchant her stick to be a Sword it was slowly, and then suddenly cracking apart with a loud snap. Phoebe watched as the stick she wielded for so long snapped in her hands. And then the walking stick proceeded to attack her, striking her brutally and unforgivingly. She ended up curled on the ground when they stopped.
”Now then, I think it is time for the renaming.”
”You think wrong. I named my Sword, and even though you broke it, I still had named it. Without your help.”
Phoebe says as she uncurls and stands back up, knowing the attack was over, and sore as she was she wasn't finished with this.
”And if I was in control before, I see no reason not to be in control again. I don't think this potion gives you as much power as you think.”
”Foolish girl, do not doubt my power I will rename you here and now. I will mold you to be but a vessel for me. Now tell me girl, say it, tell me your Name.”
”Shouldn't you know it? I mean if you are in control, and you are my power, wouldn't my name be your name as well? Don't you know our name?”
The dark figure is quite, stumped perhapes, but Phoebe continues on.
”So I think I will tell you my name. Because they might have given me power when they trapped you in me. But I learned how to use the power myself. So I name Myself.”
And she speaks her name, which is long, should be unpronounceable and some times sounds more like waves, or wind then words, and on occasion reaches a pitch beyond human ears. And in her name she forms the powers prison, more completely then before.
And for a second the figure seems shocked. And then the world flashes and instead of standing up she finds herself flat on her back with the witch looking over her.
”How was it?”
How did the witch get up, didn't Phoebe tell her to sleep. And is that the sun rising, how much time passed. Wait Phoebe... that doesn't seem right. She gets up, it sure feels like she got beat like she remembered, and she glares at the woman sitting across from her chuckling at her pain.
And it seems wrong and she knows what she needs to do. It is what the stars hinted at. It was time for change. And no longer Phoebe was good at changing. She already had a new name. She grabs the pointed hat off the woman's head and speaks clearly in a voice that commands and controls.
”You are no Witch. You are a swindler, who passes some potions as true magic and sell it to feed your fat self.”
That might have been a bit mean but this woman almost set that thing free.
”You are a charaltan who creates potions she doesn't understand and then feeds them to people for amusment. And so, since I am A Witch. Maya the Witch. I like that. I take your hat from you and... your broom too. She says spotting the old thing sitting not to far from the fire. ”Call yourself witch no more, and improve yourself, for I am watching. Now begone. And bother me no more.
She keeps a serious face as she makes the woman pack up and head out down the road. Time to find a place to rest and heal up. Then, she should probably get down to doing some witchy business.
She looks down surprised to find herself leaning on the old broom, floating in midair supporiting her.
”Hey look, a broom.”