#(but also samhain not wanting to hurt them… especially nettie….. my heart……….)

[hearthtales]

Faint pride fluttered within Bran upon learning he’d answered correctly, though it faded quickly as Sow'in continued. Wonder glimmered in his tired eyes at the sigils that floated and danced around the ghoul’s skeletal hands. The absence of green flames at the corners of Sow'in’s eyes didn’t escape Bran’s notice — it seemed like a good sign, a sign that questioning him hadn’t been a mistake after all, and some of the boy’s tension around the other ebbed away.

He listened closely, and as he listened, his face turned pale and his expression grave. Carving into one’s soul. Extremely painful, and there was still a chance the fae could overcome the spell under the right circumstances. But… there was also a distinct chance they’d lost the belongings they’d taken from him as a child. Several years had passed, after all.

What if the masking spell truly was the best option? What if he spent hours reading all the books, taking detailed notes, only to fail to discover an answer in the end? What if, by that point, it was too late to do the masking spell? He couldn’t afford to waste time.

Bran inhaled shakily and glanced at the girl half-hidden amidst the bundled blankets. She’d gotten lost in the pages of her book again, oblivious to their conversation. Even so, Bran’s words dropped to a whisper as he looked back at Sow'in, quiet but firm. “I won’t hurt Nettie.” Restless anxiety coiled within him. He twisted the ring around his finger again; the skin underneath rubbed raw in spots from frequent fidgeting. “But I… I’ve got a feeling they’re only tracking me, not her. Is there a way to confirm that?”

"Correct. One could say that sigils are intention manifest in written form. The stronger the intention, the more potent an' stronger the spell." Without much thought and with a single finger, the ghoul aimlessly wrote a sigil, the strokes and shapes glowing and wavering in mid-air. Since there was little intention behind the writing besides demonstration, the sigils were harmless and did nothing more.

"The problem with sigils, however, is that they do not last. Whether written in blood or ink, both will fade. Even if one were to brand sigils into skin or carve them into bone, in time all things heal. Cuts become scars an' disappear," the ghoul continued as the glowing symbols fluttered about his open palm and danced about his claws. Though Sow'in's expression remained hardened and unchanging, he was calm. Centered. And most importantly, the green flames had disappeared from the corners of his eyes. It had been a long time since he was able to discuss magick with another (in a civilized manner at least).

"But my masking spell is different. The risk is not in the process but the execution. When I cast the sigil that hides one's soul, it is permanent. It cannot be undone. Nothing in this world, no matter how powerful, dead or alive, can find you." He turned to the boy, with an expression that told him his next words were of grave importance. "Because I carve not into flesh or bone but into one's soul itself."

"Cutting into one's soul... is extremely painful an' not something even the most experienced magick users, let alone humans, can bear." With a flick of his fingers, the floating symbols disappeared into nothingness. "Just as you witnessed with Lady Vassilissa, even if ye both survived the process, one can still be found under the right circumstances. That is the price one pays for such a spell."

Sow'in was what was known as an arcane witch because the manner of their practice was difficult to grasp and for most, largely unknown. Arcane witches were adept in sigils, able to create and rewrite spells on a whim by sheer force of will and intention. Beings like Sow'in, Baba Yaga and even Lady Vassilissa could bend reality to their will. But their kind of magick always had a price, a loophole or a weakness; a preventive measure for any kind of magick from getting out of hand. Chaos magick in general was known for having costs too steep for anyone else's liking. It was the kind of magick one practiced when one had little, or nothing left, to lose.

Seeing the look on Bran's face, Sow'in nodded solemnly. "As ah said. A last resort."