Her eyes were black as the pit. At the bottom of the seemingly endless pool, she too whirled around and around, whipping a human corpse through the water with each hand.

By all accounts, one was a human man who’d spurned the witch, and the other was the human woman he’d chosen instead. In return, the witch had chosen revenge, and for this crime she was bound eternally to her victims. Centuries later, neither would let her go. The spinning of the corpses caused the vortex that no one from leagues around would approach. Asgall and Beathag would think Hæra was dead for certain.

If she didn’t pull this off, she would be.

“Ancient One—” She struggled to keep her head out of the water wall, leaning down toward the eye of the whirlpool surrounding the witch. “Help me!”

The witch said nothing. She continued to spin in place, whipping the dead bodies around.

“Do you see my wounds? My kind punishes me for pursuing a human—for following my heart, as you followed yours⁠—”

The witch spun faster. For a second, Hæra was sucked back into the whirling water, pulled downward, before she struggled free again.

“You know what it’s like!” she gasped. The closer she was pulled to the bottom, the crueler the current was. Her body was designed to withstand brutal pressures, but not this, and there was dark magic at work besides. “You know how they don’t let go of you!”

The witch—for a moment—slowed. Not stopped but slowed.

Hæra thought fast. Brute strength was useless, but flattery might work. “Some called you jealous, but I call you brave. You risked everything for him.” She nodded at the male corpse that clung to the witch’s right hand, perfectly preserved after centuries, clothes and all. “And he was foolish to prefer her.” She nodded at the female, whose red hair fanned out around her face. “I came here to ask your blessing, that I might have even a little of your courage!”

It was a lie, of course, but the witch didn’t know that. She said nothing in reply but kept spinning the two bodies. Hæra wondered what the witch would do. Nobody knew what happened to creatures who got too close to her. She couldn’t use her hands, but her teeth were sharper than any shark’s.

“Help me!” Hæra screamed again, just as she’d called to Sister Madeleine a turn ago.

The witch looked up at her, her eyes darker and colder than the depths. Hæra stared back down, even as her bleeding tail beat uselessly against the currents that were now starting to pulverize her. Her ribs had never hurt so badly as they did now.

The witch said, “You will fail.”