The swamp is doing that thing where it pretends to be quiet but absolutely isn't. Something croaks. Something else slurps. Something breathes wrong.
I slow my pace. Just a touch. Smile already on my face.
Loma follows behind me, barefoot and miserable, pink sheer tunic clinging like it's embarrassed to be seen in public. She keeps stepping on twigs like she's apologizing to the swamp for existing.
"Careful," I murmur, syrupy. "Hags hear everything. Even thoughts. Especially stupid ones."
She nods immediately. Gods, she's easy to scare.
The hut looms out of the reeds, crooked like it's leaning away from the world. The door is shut. Of course it is.
I don't kick it this time.
I knock. Lightly. Polite little taps. Then I smooth my hair, straighten my posture, paste on my best respectful smile.
The door creaks open.
The hag peers out, one rheumy eye first, then the rest of her face sliding into view like a bad memory.
"Oh," she says. "You again."
I clasp my hands. Sweet. Gentle. Practically edible.
"Hello, lovely," I say. "Isn't it just wonderful to see you? You're looking… very… marsh-adjacent today."
She squints. "What d'you want."
I laugh softly. Non-threatening. "Nothing for me! Oh no. You already took such excellent care of me last time."
Behind me, Loma shuffles.
I gesture delicately. "This is for my friend."
I step aside like I'm presenting a gift.
"Princess Loma," I say brightly. "A real one."
The hag's gaze slides to Loma. Down. Slow. Bare feet. Mud. The fraying pink hem. The too-thin fabric.
"…That's a princess?" the hag says. "She looks like a tramp what lost her shoes and her pride."
Loma flushes so hard I worry she might burst into flames.
I rush in immediately, still smiling. "Oh, appearances can be so misleading, can't they? Royalty is terribly impractical like that. Always falling off balconies. Into poverty."
The hag snorts.
"And what's wrong with 'er, then?"
I lower my voice. Confidential. Respectful. Fear wrapped in sugar.
"Well," I say, "there's been a bit of a… complication."
The hag leans on the doorframe. Interested despite herself.
I continue softly. "You see, royal daughters are meant to be… untouched. Symbolically pristine. Very important for treaties and marriages and all that dull nonsense."
I tilt my head. "And my poor Loma has been… surviving."
The word hangs there.
The hag blinks. Then she cackles, a wet, delighted sound.
"Ohhh," she wheezes. "Say no more. Worked for her supper, did she?"
Loma makes a small mortified noise.
I immediately pat her arm. "Only because the world is cruel," I say quickly. "And unfair. And so fond of chewing up pretty girls."
I look back at the hag, all wide eyes and earnestness.
"And now," I continue, "there's a suitor. A proper one. Lineage. Coin. Expectations."
I hesitate, like it pains me to say it. "If he finds out she's not… as advertised…"
I mime an explosion. Very small. Very polite.
The hag tilts her head. "So you want me to make 'er… what. New again. Down there."
Loma squeaks.
I nod quickly. "If it's possible. If it's not too much trouble. I know it's delicate work and you're so skilled and I absolutely respect your craft."
The hag studies me. Long. Too long.
"…That'll cost," she says.
I don't hesitate. "Of course it will."
She grins, all broken teeth and old power. Opens the door wider.
"Bring 'er in then."
Loma freezes.
I lean back to her, whispering sweetly through my teeth.
"See? Perfectly fine. Just a little magic. Little lies. You'll be a princess again in no time."
Then, louder, cheerful again:
"After you, Your Highness."
Loma tugs my dress. Just two fingers. Barely there.
"S-Saya," she whispers, breath hitching, eyes darting to the shadows. "I don't… I don't know if—"
I turn on her instantly, all smiles and warmth, but low and firm. "Shh. Sweetheart. This is medicine. Very old. Very professional. You want a crown again or not?"
She swallows. Nods. Still pale.
The hag snorts. "Don't play shy now, girl. Shy's for before. Not after."
She jerks her chin. "Off with it."
Loma freezes.
I step in, quick, smoothing things over. "She's just nervous," I chirp. "Royal upbringing. So much sitting properly. Not much… well. This."
The hag waves a clawed hand. "Strip."
No patience. No softness.
Loma fumbles with the sheer tunic, cheeks burning. It slips off her shoulders and pools at her feet like it gave up. She stands there, arms crossed, trying very hard not to cry or vanish.
The hag circles her. Slow. Sniffing the air like a butcher deciding cuts.
"Now," she mutters, "let me feel your aura."
She presses two fingers—not touching skin, not quite—hovering, sensing. Her grin stretches wider with every inch.
"Oh ho ho ho," she chuckles. "Well now."
Loma squeezes her eyes shut.
"Someone's been a really naughty princess."
I clear my throat politely. "Resourceful," I offer. "She's been resourceful."
The hag ignores me, rocking slightly as if counting something only she can see.
"I… can… count… how many…" she murmurs, delighted. "Oh ho ho. Eager little earner, weren't you."
Loma's face goes crimson. She whispers, "I had to—"
"I know," I say quickly, squeezing her hand. "You did fine. You survived."
The hag claps once. Sharp.
"Right. Up on the table."
Loma hesitates. Then climbs, awkward and trembling, lying back on the warped wooden surface like she's about to be dissected or crowned. Hard to tell which.
"Legs apart," the hag says briskly. "This ain't a fainting couch."
Loma obeys, staring at the ceiling, mortified.
The hag peers, thoughtful. Then, casually—
"We doing the back door also?"
Loma makes a strangled noise.
I jump in instantly, laugh light and airy, heart thudding. "Oh! Oh no, no, no. That won't be necessary. She's marrying a man. Very traditional. Extremely boring."
The hag raises a brow at me.
"…Mmm," she says. "We'll see."
I keep smiling.
Very carefully.
Very politely.
Because when a hag says we'll see, you don't argue.
You pray.
The hag straightens, wipes her hands on a rag that has definitely never been clean, and looks at me sideways.
"So," she says lightly, like she's asking about tea. "You want me to wipe her memories too? All the carnal bits. Or just… fix the plumbing."
Loma lets out a small, broken whimper from the table.
"M-memories…?" she whispers.
I'm instantly waving my hands. Gentle. Fast. Smiling too hard.
"Oh no no no," I say sweetly. "Absolutely not. Memories stay. Lessons learned. Character growth and all that."
The hag snorts.
"Just the naughty bits then," I continue quickly. "Back to original condition. Factory reset. No haunting dreams, no missing time, no identity crises. She's had enough of those."
Loma exhales shakily, gripping the edge of the table like it might float away.
"Good," the hag says. "Memories cost extra anyway."
She turns her head toward me, eyes glinting.
"While you're here," she adds, casual as anything, "I could do you too. Two for one. Nice little discount."
The hut goes very quiet.
I laugh. Too fast. Too bright.
"Oh you are adorable," I say. "But no thank you. I'm… ah… spiritually complete."
The hag's grin widens. "Suit yourself. You've got some… interesting wear patterns."
I tilt my head, still smiling. "Occupational hazard."
She shrugs, already turning back to Loma. "Right then. Princess stays herself. Just… tidied up."
Loma swallows. "Will it… hurt?"
The hag considers. "Depends how honest you've been with yourself."
I squeeze Loma's hand again, softer this time. "You'll be fine," I murmur. "I promise. Worst case, you'll hate me for a week."
She manages a weak nod.
The hag reaches for her tools—jars, charms, things that hum faintly when you don't look straight at them.
"Legs relaxed," she says. "And no fainting. I charge extra for fainting."
I keep smiling.
I do not look at the table.
And I absolutely do not take the discount.