Sometimes Alice would read Lily’s future in tea leaves or with her tarot cards, sometimes they would plan her eventual takeover of the apothecary, and sometimes they would just sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the presence of each other’s company. What they never discussed, however, was Alice’s life, her past, her future. Lily had learned to stop asking, because Alice would shut down and change the subject, but her eyes would always flicker towards the ancient grimoire that sat on a dusty makeshift bookshelf next to the fireplace.

Alice was less open with her emotions, but even without words, the two of them could communicate their love for each other with a squeeze of the hand or a head rested on a shoulder. Friendships like theirs were rare, and they treasured each other.

As she continued to trudge rhythmically up the mountain trail, Lily realised that she was particularly anxious to see her friend. The last time they had been together, two days previously, they had argued, which was something they never, ever did. Alice had been distracted and melancholic for weeks and Lily had wanted to help her friend in any way she could.

Lily had convinced Alice to come down from the woods and join her underneath her favourite oak tree, where they could gaze out across the endless farmers’ fields and pastures. Alice had reluctantly agreed. The look in her eyes foretold a relief to be in the company of a friend, but also a tentativeness, a fear that if she let the emotion overcome her, she’d reveal too much.

Alice was frequently troubled by one thing or another, but on this particular occasion something was different. Her forest-green eyes had been ringed with the tell-tale blackness of insomnia, her pallor was death-like, her skin an even lighter shade of ivory than usual. Even her straight black hair looked unkempt and she’d let it hang loose over her shoulders instead of pinning it up off her face like she usually did. Her hands shook, though whether through cold or fear it was hard to tell. The Alice that Lily loved was usually full of wisdom and imagination; she was mysterious and she played upon it. But when she had seen her those few days before, Lily recalled a distance in Alice’s eyes. She had looked lost.

She had looked haunted.

‘Alice,’ Lily had begun tentatively, careful not to push her too hard, ‘you know you can tell me anything. What’s going on?’

Lily had reached for Alice’s hand, meaning to hold it, warm it, anything to stop it from shaking.

But Alice had flinched and pulled away.

‘You wouldn’t understand. This…’ she paused, contemplating her choice of words, ‘thing, I can’t move past it. I’ve tried to wish it out of me, I’ve tried every potion to get rid of it, but I can’t. You couldn’t even begin to understand.’ She whispered, but Lily heard the unmistakable edge of venom in her voice.

‘I’m not asking to understand, Alice’—Lily tucked a piece of hair behind her ear—‘I’m simply asking to help you carry your burdens. They’re weighing down so heavily on you. A friend doesn’t need to understand all of your troubles to help lighten them a little.’ Lily half smiled, suddenly terrified that if she pushed too hard, Alice would close herself off altogether.