I’ve never thought much about the trees. They were lonesome, looming creatures. I came to Hylthane Forrest because it provided safety and solitude. Sustinence. With such little thought given, the trees did eventually become my friends. I was enthralled with their fettered beauty. Their strength. I longed to care for them the way I never was. The care I so desperately ached for.

My life, the life of a Jeweled Witch, has been a life of trial and lonliness; not unlike the trees. I was born to nothing. Given nothing. What I owned is what I’ve worked, slaved, and stolen. I’m proud of that. Nevermind the consequences.

When I first heard their faint mutterings, I thought I was mad. It is not uncommon for my sisters to succumb to such things. We have herbs to ebb the madness, but it’s too soon for that. Most sisters fall to madness around 500 cycles. I still have close to 150 years before the madness starts to creep.

And there it was again. The faintest squall. Or rather a squeak. I lowered myself to the mossed ground and dug my hands deep. The earth writhed beneath me. It gave me what I am owed. It’s raw power. Jeweled witches are witches of the earth. We gave to the dirt and the dirt gave back. The essence of earth flowed to me and with a guttural breath I reached toward the sky and saw it all. Every breath, every sigh in one encompassing glance. There beneath the soil I saw their maze, their quiet threads of electricity breaming with thought and conversations. I gasped in awe and could not look away.

“We’ve been waiting for you to open your ears, Madeira.”