Chapter26

Later that day, the sun started it's journey towards the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the valley as Mark finished his chores on the farm. He wiped the sweat from his brow, a satisfied smile on his face as he imagined Keira waiting for him at home. Dinner would be ready, and they would sit together, talking about their day. It was the life he had always wanted, simple and full of love.

But when Mark reached the house, the door was ajar, and the house was silent. No smell of food cooking, no sound of Keira's voice humming as she worked. The table was untouched, and the room felt eerily still. His heart sank.

"Keira?" he called, his voice laced with worry. There was no response.

He looked around, noticing the faint indentations in the dirt outside—footsteps leading away from the house. His mind raced. Considering how deep the indentations were, he can tell that she was wearing her armor after he left earlier that day. She hadn't said where she was going, but he had a sinking suspicion.

"The hut," Mark muttered under his breath. He didn't need to think twice. Without wasting a moment, he set off in the direction of Witch Princess's hut. The valley was quiet save for the occasional rustle of leaves or chirping of crickets. Mark's breathing grew heavier as he ran, his mind plagued with worst-case scenarios. Keira had promised him she wouldn't confront Witch Princess, but he had seen the determination in her eyes earlier. She would do anything for her family, even if it meant breaking that promise.

When Mark finally reached the clearing near the villa where the hut stood, his steps faltered. The scene before him stole the breath from his lungs. The hut was nothing more than a charred skeleton of its former self, its walls reduced to blackened timber and ash. Smoke still curled lazily into the sky, the remnants of a fire that had recently burned.

"Keira?" Mark shouted, his voice echoing through the trees. He ran to the smoldering ruins, searching desperately for any sign of her. The sight of the destruction filled him with dread.

He kicked through the debris, his eyes darting around for clues. Among the ashes, he found fragments of what looked like books, their pages burned beyond recognition. Scattered shards of pottery and metal tools lay among the rubble, but there was no sign of Keira—or Witch Princess.

Mark's chest tightened. Fearing that the worst was becoming a reality.

"No, no, no," he muttered under his breath, stepping back from the ruins and raking his fingers through his hair. His eyes scanned the surrounding woods. "Keira! Witch Princess! Where are you?"

The only answer was the whisper of the wind.

Mark couldn't just stand there. He needed to keep searching. He turned on his heel and ran down the nearest path, calling Keira's name into the growing darkness. His voice cracked with desperation.

The sun hung low over the horizon, its golden light reflecting off the waves as they lapped gently against the shore. Keira stood motionless, her toes sinking into the cool sand, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her like an anchor. The rhythmic crash of the ocean was the only sound that broke the stillness, but it did little to calm the storm in her mind.

She didn't know why her feet always led her here, to this quiet stretch of beach. Perhaps it was the solitude, the endless expanse of water that mirrored her own sense of uncertainty. Here, there were no walls to confine her, no expectations, no traditions. Just the sky, the sea, and the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest.

The blade in her hand gleamed in the twilight, its surface catching her reflection. Her face looked tired, distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. The weight of her decision hung heavy in her grasp. She had forgiven Witch Princess—an act that felt right in her heart but wrong by every law and tradition the Hanabishi clan stood for. The code she had been raised to uphold demanded retribution, demanded loyalty to the past. And yet, in her forgiveness, she had turned her back on centuries of legacy.

"My parents would have understood, wouldn't they?" she thought. They had always taught her that protecting her people was the highest duty. But the laws they upheld were clear. To forgive someone who had destroyed the castle, the symbol of their power, was unthinkable.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the blade, and she pulled it from its sheath, the sound sharp and final in the quiet afternoon. The polished steel felt cold in her hand, a tangible reminder of her role, her lineage, her past. The ocean wind tugged at her long, flowing black hair, carrying it behind her like a banner.

Keira's grip faltered as a wave of doubt surged through her. She closed her eyes, allowing the memories to wash over her: her father's stern yet kind voice guiding her through her training, her mother's gentle hands brushing her hair, the warmth of their presence is dearly missed. And yet, they are gone. All of it was gone. The castle, the kingdom, the traditions—they had been reduced to nothing, like so many things from her past.

She opened her eyes, gazing at the horizon where the sky met the sea. She knew what she had to do.

Mark's search had led him across the valley, through the forest, and now to the familiar sound of waves. His lungs burned, and his legs ached, but he didn't stop. His heart had led him here, and he prayed he wasn't too late.

When he crested the final dune, his breath caught in his throat. There she was, standing alone at the water's edge, her silhouette framed by the glow of the setting sun. For a moment, relief washed over him—she was safe. But then he saw the blade in her hand, its sharp edge glinting in the twilight.

"Keira!" he called out, but the wind carried his voice away.

Panic gripped him as he took a step forward, ready to run to her, to stop her from doing something irreversible. But he froze in place as she raised her other hand and gathered her long, flowing hair into a single bundle.

Mark's heart pounded as he watched her bring the blade up. "Was is she—?"

Before he could finish his thoughts, Keira slipped the knife behind her hair and, with a swift motion, sliced through it. Her dark locks fell silently, the severed strands scattering like leaves in the wind in her hand.

Mark stared, unable to process what he had just witnessed. He watched as Keira's shoulders fell with a deep breath. She knelt down and placed her hair gently on the sand, as if laying a part of herself to rest. Then, without hesitation, she stood and walked closer to the water's edge.

Mark took a tentative step forward, his breath caught in his throat as he saw her sheath the blade, grip it tightly one last time, and then toss it into the ocean. The knife arced through the air before vanishing beneath the waves with a muted splash.

Keira stood there for a moment longer, the wind whipping her now-shortened hair around her face. It was as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. She turned her back to the ocean and gazed at the twilight sand, her expression unreadable.

Mark finally found the strength to move. "Keira," he called softly as he approached her, his voice hoarse from running and shouting.

She turned toward him, her face calm but tinged with a quiet sadness. The sight of her made his chest ache.

"What have you done?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"I let it go," she replied simply. Her eyes glistened in the moonlight, but her voice was steady. "The blade, the hair, the role I've been clinging to… I let it go. I'm not a princess anymore, Mark. I can't be. Even so, can I still continue to be your wife?"

Mark sighed deeply, the weight of Keira's words pressing on him like a heavy fog he couldn't navigate. He didn't understand what she was trying to say, nor did he know how to ease the turmoil that clearly gripped her. All he knew was that she needed someone who could help her in a way he couldn't. Without a word, he gently took her hand in his, his touch firm yet reassuring, and began leading her toward the Blue Bar. If anyone could help Keira with her hair, it was Muffy. The warm, inviting glow of the bar's windows came into view as they walked, the familiar sight offering a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, things would start to make sense again.

The Blue Bar was quiet, the remnants of the afternoon rush lingering in the faint scent of spilled ale and freshly wiped counters. Muffy hummed softly to herself as she moved about, collecting empty glasses and plates left behind by patrons. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow through the windows. It was a moment of peace, the kind of tranquility she rarely had during the day.

The bell above the door chimed, cutting through the stillness. Muffy glanced over her shoulder, expecting another late customer. Instead, she saw Mark stride in, his hand firmly clasped around Keira's. She blinked in surprise, smiling brightly. "Mark! Keira! What a nice—"

Her voice caught in her throat as her eyes fell on Keira. The glass dishes in her hands slipped, crashing to the floor with a deafening clatter.

"Keira… your hair!" Muffy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Mark groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I probably should've warned you."

Muffy ignored him, her wide eyes fixed on Keira's drastically shorter hair. It framed her face awkwardly, uneven strands sticking out in places that screamed of a hasty decision. She could tell this wasn't a planned haircut but something born of impulse—or perhaps something much deeper.

"What happened?" Muffy asked, her voice a mixture of shock and concern. She stepped closer, trying to assess the damage.

Keira hesitated for a moment, glancing at Mark. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Keira spoke up. "I… I just wanted a change," she said, her voice calm, though a little uncertain. She reached up, running a hand through the choppy strands. "I thought cutting it would help, but I kind of… ruined it." She offered a sheepish smile. "That's why we came here. Can you fix it? Please?"

Muffy stared at her, stunned into silence. She wasn't buying Keira's nonchalant explanation, not for a second. She'd known Keira long enough to see there was more to this story. But pressing her for answers now wouldn't help. Instead, she sighed, shaking her head with a mix of exasperation and amusement.

"Well," Muffy said, placing her hands on her hips, "you're lucky, I have some experience cutting hair. Come on, let's see if we can salvage this."

Keira smiled gratefully and followed as Muffy led her toward the back of the bar, where she kept a stash of beauty supplies for emergencies. Just before they disappeared into the back room, Muffy turned to Mark. "You go on home, Mark. This is going to take a while. I'll bring her back when we're done."

Mark frowned, but he nodded reluctantly. "Fine," he said, his tone laced with worry.

Muffy waved him off with a smile. "I'll take good care of her, don't worry. Now go."

Mark lingered for a moment, his eyes flicking to Keira. "You sure you'll be okay?" he asked softly.

Keira nodded, her smile reassuring. "I'll be fine, Mark. Go home. I'll see you later."

With a sigh, Mark left the bar, the door chiming softly as it closed behind him.

Muffy sat Keira down in a chair, wrapping a cape around her shoulders. She carefully combed through the uneven strands, wincing at the jagged edges and uneven lengths. "Alright," she said, grabbing her scissors, "this is going to take some serious work, but I'll make you look beautiful."

Keira chuckled softly. "I trust you."

As Muffy began to snip away at the damaged ends, she glanced at Keira's reflection in the mirror. "So," she started casually, "are you going to tell me what really happened? Because I don't believe for a second that you just wanted a new look."

Keira sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "It's… complicated."

"Of course it is," Muffy said, her tone teasing but kind. "But if you feel like talking, I'm all ears."

Keira hesitated, watching her reflection as Muffy worked. Finally, she said, "I guess I just needed to let go of something… of who I used to be."

Muffy paused for a moment, studying her friend in the mirror. "Well," she said softly, resuming her work, "whatever you're letting go of, it sounds like it's something big."

"It is," Keira admitted. "But it's also necessary."

Muffy didn't push further. Instead, she smiled and said, "Well, new beginnings deserve a fresh look. And trust me, Keira, you're going to love this one."

Keira smiled faintly, her heart feeling a little lighter as Muffy's scissors continued to work their magic.

Mark paced back and forth inside their small farmhouse, his mind a storm of worry and unanswered questions. Keira's words from earlier echoed in his mind: "I'm no longer a princess." The statement gnawed at him. He knew how much her long, flowing hair symbolized her lineage, her role, her very identity. To cut it was no small act—it was a declaration, though of what, he wasn't sure. His imagination spiraled as he thought of all the things that might have driven her to such a drastic decision. Despite his concerns, there was one comforting thought: Keira was alive and well. That was all that truly mattered.

When the door finally creaked open, Mark turned, his breath catching in his throat. Keira stood there, transformed. Her hair, now trimmed evenly, curled gently at the ends, framing her face in a way that made her look almost unrecognizable. She wore the simple yet elegant western dress Muffy had gifted her over a year ago, a soft lavender fabric that highlighted her delicate features. Mark's face flushed crimson as he took her in, a warmth spreading in his chest. She wasn't just the Keira he knew—she was something entirely new, a woman who seemed lighter, freer.

"How do I look?" Keira asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she brushed her fingers through her newly styled hair.

Mark swallowed hard, trying to form words, but all that came out was a quiet, "Beautiful." His cheeks burned even hotter, but he didn't look away.

Keira's own cheeks pinkened, and a soft smile graced her lips. Before she could say anything more, Muffy, standing just behind her, gave Mark a knowing grin. "Well, my work here is done," she said with a wave, stepping back out the door. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to it."

Once they were alone, an almost tangible silence fell between them. Mark hesitated before finally asking, "Keira… what happened?"

Keira looked down, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. For a moment, Mark thought she might not answer. Then she shook her head, her eyes meeting his with a calm resolve. "It's not important," she said softly. "What matters is that I'm here, with you."

Mark studied her for a long moment, searching for any sign of pain or lingering trouble. But all he saw was the woman he loved, standing before him, safe and sound. He nodded, his heart easing. "You're right," he said. "That's all that matters."

And as Keira stepped closer and rested her head against his chest, Mark wrapped his arms around her, grateful for her presence and the quiet reassurance of this moment. Whatever had happened, whatever burdens she had let go of, she was still Keira—his wife, his partner, and the light of his life.

The morning sun streams through the farmhouse windows, casting a golden glow over the modest kitchen as Mark and Keira sit together at the table. The aroma of freshly brewed tea and warm bread fills the air, but their breakfast is quiet—peaceful in a way that feels rare these days. Keira, her new haircut softly curling at her shoulders, seems lighter, more at ease, though Mark can still sense a lingering weight she isn't ready to share.

Just as he is about to ask if she wants more tea, a sharp knock breaks the tranquility. Both of them freeze for a moment before Mark stands. "I'll get it," he says, his tone casual, though unease twists in his chest.

When he opens the door, he isn't sure what—or who—he expects, but seeing Witch Princess standing there catches him off guard. She looks… different. Her sharp, defiant demeanor is gone, replaced by slouched shoulders and a weariness that seems to weigh her down. For the first time, her piercing red eyes don't intimidate him—they just look tired.

"Witch Princess," Mark says cautiously, stepping out onto the porch. "What's wrong?"

She shifts awkwardly, her fingers tugging at the hem of her cloak. "I came to say goodbye," she says simply, her voice lacking its usual edge.

Mark frowns. "Goodbye? Where are you going?"

She hesitates, glancing off toward the distant horizon. "I don't know," she admits. "Somewhere far from here. Somewhere quiet, where I can… think. Maybe figure out who I am or what I'm supposed to do with myself." Her words hang heavy in the air, laced with uncertainty. For a fleeting moment, Mark thinks he sees regret flash across her face.

He nods slowly, his worry tempered by understanding. "That's probably for the best," he says. "But you should come in and say goodbye to Keira before you leave."

Her gaze snaps back to him, and for the first time, she looks almost afraid. She shakes her head firmly. "No. I can't face her again. Not now. She's moved on, and… I'm not part of her world anymore."

Mark studies her for a long moment, his farmer's hands resting on the doorframe. He doesn't press the issue—he knows there's no changing her mind. "Alright," he says softly, though the sadness in his voice is clear. "Then this is goodbye, I guess."

Witch Princess gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Goodbye, Mark," she murmurs. She reaches for the broomstick leaning against her side, mounting it with practiced ease. As the broom lifts her into the air, the wind catches her cloak, making her look like a wraith against the brightening sky. She doesn't look back as she disappears into the horizon.

Mark stands there for a moment, watching her vanish into the distance. Then he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck before turning to head back inside. Whatever conflict had played out between Keira and Witch Princess, it's clear to him that both women have changed. And though one has chosen to stay while the other has chosen to leave, he hopes they have each found some measure of peace in their decisions. For now, all he can do is step back into the warmth of the home he shares with Keira, grateful for the life they are building together.