It had currently taken on the form of a female human, bushy hair puffing up into a haloed silhouette, untamed rivulets framing its round face. A brown tunic draped loosely over its slender frame down to the ankles that hid any human imperfections. A thick leather belt clamped the tunic tightly at the waist, and a large yellow headband over its forehead helped push that unruly hair out of its eyes.


    It had just arrived at a quaint village, an unnamed hamlet, mostly quiet with little of note to fill meandering conversations. This made simple matters such as the arrival of strangers newsworthy, whose simple narrative would spread like a plague through the unpractised ears of bored villagers.


    The reason it had arrived at this village was solely to confront the supposed vvitchenbreiver that called such an inane place home. It wanted to see one before they all disappeared, and supposedly, there should be one here.


    Its initial impression of the minor hamlet and its plain shanty huts was of concern. The whole town was an uninspired dreg, each building the bare minimum to house its tenants. It was plain to see this was a village of farmers; the massive fields of brilliant crops were endlessly more impressive than the withered gathering of housing. The only point of contention was the grand Devootian temple, which, even from the village edge, could be seen looming over the town. It was the only building of stone and the only one constructed with any care or attention. It was still a plain, unimpressive thing, but relative to the homes surrounding it, the temple appeared a divine work of art.


    Despite how small the village was and how little space there was to hide, The being was still caught by surprise when two small children snuck up on it, "You do look weird." the voice carried that high-pitched squeal of prepubescence and the being disguised in the form of a human female had to look down to spot their tiny forms. The childrens’ hands were inversely cupped together, fingers in a constant dance upon each other''s palms.


    The two children could not look any more different; the male on the left had black hair, brown eyes, too-small ears, and a black gown, his skin darker than the most pitch of blacks. The girl on the right had white hair, sharp, long ears, and a white gown, her skin paler than the most pristine white. The stranger part of the girl, however, were her eyes, which were a strange glazed red, clouded and unfocused. These eyes surprised the being; it had seen eyes like this many eons ago before the homomorphism, but surely the Devadoot worshippers of today''s age would go mad if they saw them.


    The being disguised as a female human asked the two children. "Why do I look weird?". It awaited for a harshly honest answer to come immediately, blurting out as children were wont to do. Perhaps it would be about the being''s eerily unblemished skin, or its stoically perfect posture undoubtedly foreign to a farmer''s village, or maybe it would be about the bewildering yellow headband, a colour the children had likely never seen woven into fabric before. The children did not indulge in such juvenile curiosity; they didn''t reply at all, in fact. The two children instead turned inwards, their fingers exploding into a litany of silent activity across each other''s palms.


    First, the girl moved her fingers over the boy''s palm, and then he to her. To the being''s surprise, the girl then responded. "Your clothes don''t quite fit."


    Though the extra steps were unexpected, the children''s response was just as curiously pure as the being thought it would be. The being smirked with entertainment but couldn''t help asking, "How do you know what I look like? Is it not hard to see with your eyes?"


    The little girl burst into laughter, and the boy, confused by his friend''s sudden movements, squeezed her hand questioningly. The little girl''s fingers fired into a flurry of movement over the boy''s palms as she simultaneously spoke. "I can see everything with his eyes, and he can hear everything with my ears."


    Curiosity peaked, the being focused on the children''s hands and from the convoluted patterns of movements, the being saw it, a language. A girl without eyes and a boy without ears, yet they communed as well together as any other. The being waited for the girl to finish recounting the conversation to her friend through their hands. Once she finished and the boy was let in on the joke, he, too, burst into laughter, though his voice was strange, raspy and atonal, as if inexperienced.


    "Do you two talk with your hands?"


    "Yep, that''s right. We can always feel each other like this." The girl responded, both verbally to the being and with her fingers to the boy. The being drew its gaze over to the boy and spoke; this time, the being accompanied its words with a series of complex hand gestures. "Do you understand sign?"


    The girl, confused, translated the sentence to her friend and then asked, "What''s sign?"


    The boy excitedly released the girl''s hand to curl his fist up and down while nodding his head. The use of two separate sign languages impressed the being, though the little girl thought differently, letting out a panicked squeak the second the boy let go of her. Her panic continued to build until the boy reclasped her and translated the exchange for her.


    The being spoke with both its voice and its hands. "Sign is a way that I can speak with your friend. This way, I can use sound to talk to you, lady, and visuals to speak with you, sir. I am impressed with this special touch language. Did you invent it yourselves?"


    The boy, rather than sign back to the being, allowed his friend to respond for the both of them. The girl gave an unsure shrug, "I don''t know, I guess. We kind of just made whatever up as we went along."


    "You two are very talented; how old are you?"


    Once again, it was the girl who answered, likely a habit built from a vocally inclined society. "We''re both four."


    The being tried to be discreet about voraciously analyzing every stroke of their movements in an attempt to decipher this new language. On the surface, ''she'' provided a kindly smile, "I have never seen four-year-olds quite like you two before."


    Unused to such open compliments, the two children couldn''t help blushing with suppressed giggles. "Master says that we''re very smart for our age."


    The being suppressed the spark of worry that word choice created and pressed forth, "Since the two of you are so smart, maybe you can help me. I am looking for a vvitchenbreiver that lives here. Do you know where they could be?"


    The boy, with his free hand, pointed down one direction of the street while translating to his friend with the other. The boy was rapidly transcribing the directions to the girl who then relayed them to the being. "Um, so go down the road until you reach a… yellow house? Um, and then um go right for three blocks, then um left, then uh…"


    The being wasn''t sure if the boy chose to speak through that touch language instead of directly using sign language because he didn''t want to let go of the girl''s hand again or if it was because he was simply more familiar with that language.


    After receiving the incomprehensibly confusing directions, the being nodded with a smile as if the instructions were even remotely helpful. "Thank you very much. I hope I will be able to see you both again."


    The boy waved with a smile, and the girl cheered, "Goodbye, weird person!"


    The girl waved to the now-empty space and translated what she said back to the boy. They were cute kids, and the being had to suppress another pang of sadness when thinking of the obstacles they would surely encounter. The being would definitely want to speak to the children again before leaving, but for now it had to go visit the vvitchenbreiver.


    The being tried following the children''s directions, though it quickly became apparent that translating directions from a deaf boy through a blind girl led to less than stellar instructions. It was no surprise then that the being found itself utterly lost. A feat that was almost impressive given how miniscule hamlet was. The being was a little disheartened, having to abandon the children''s guidance, but it was getting nowhere quickly.


    The devadootian church was an ever-present weenie in the town, with its structure being the only one taller than a single storey. The being thought that there would surely be people there who could give it more functional directions, and upon arriving it was not disappointed.


    The church''s courtyard was oddly bustling for such a small town. The town''s priest was having an animated discussion with an irate mother bouncing her babe, what was likely the father on the periphery failing to placate either side. A couple of burly men carried a thick pillar to an unlit bonfire in the street''s center. A group of mismatched children, none near in age, played an uneven game of tag, their chaotic running disrupting their hardworking parents.


    The being approached one of the citizens who was currently off to the side observing the pole mounting. "Excuse me, sir, would you happen to know where I could find the vvitchenbreiver?"


    "What! Why in the Devadoot''s honour would you possibly want to see that disgusting recluse? I can tell you this now, stranger: if you’re here to find that miserable wretch, you’d better turn around and leave. Nothing good comes from associating with him. We''re already dealing with one of his messes; we don''t need you coming and conjuring another. I''m telling you, this is the last straw! There''s no way we''re letting him stay in our peaceful town after this."


    The being was taken aback by the aggressive citizen but not surprised; humans tended to be rather close-minded in this generation. "May I ask exactly what did the vvitchenbreiver do?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The citizen glared at the being with what could only be described as a mildly unsettling and certainly unfriendly look. "We’ve all known he’s been harbouring monsters in his drab hut. There''ve been strange sounds in the dark of night and he buys enough food for a whole family despite having been a hermit for years. He’s finally gone and lost it. They say he’s let the beast loose into our town, no one is safe anymore. You should be careful. Our town is usually such a peaceful place, but you’ve chosen a poor time to visit, stranger"


    "Oh my, that does sound horrible. I should definitely avoid getting anywhere near where he lives if there could be monsters there. Can you tell me where that is exactly so I can make sure to steer clear?"


    <hr>


    It took longer than expected and a few more detours than the being would have liked, but it finally arrived at the vvitchenbreiver''s hut. The false-human slipped into a nearby alley, loosened its belt a few notches and transformed into a short, broad male. The being was never fond of staying in any particular form for too long; It did not like having humans know where it was and what it was doing. The ‘broad man’ left the alley and entered the vvitchenbreiver''s hut.


    Upon entering, the being was surprised to find some familiar faces. Unexpectedly, the two children were here. If they were coming here all along, why didn''t they just guide the being in person? None noticed the being''s arrival, the two children with their heads down solemn and a pudgy elder with a deep hunch lost in a dramatic scolding rant. "I told you two to never leave here without my permission! Are you not aware of what you have done? The danger you have put yourselves in?"


    The girl translated to the boy.


    The boy then transcribed his response and she repeated his answer verbally, "But we had to go and see the weird person. Moiety saw it. It was the only way we had a chance of being free."


    The older man was undeterred by the children''s excuses and continued his reprimand. "Moiety''s eyesight is still too weak. We can''t trust everything he sees; there may be as of yet unseen consequences from what you did today." It was then that the old man noticed the being silently watching. He stood tall, stepping between it and the children; his voice hard and authoritative. "I''m sorry, sir, we''re closed for the time being."


    The boy turned around to see the being in its new disguised form. His face immediately glowing with recognition, his hands excitably scribing to the girl. "It''s weird person! See? We told you they would come. They can help us."


    The being frowned, discontent with being outed so quickly. "How can you tell that I am the same person?"


    The girl answered with a cheeky grin, "Like I said, he sees everything."


    The old man reinvestigated the stranger now that he was armed with the newfound knowledge of who exactly it was. His suspicion did not leave, only strengthening, and he commenced an unceasing string of interrogations. "So, you''re this so-called saviour. What do you want? What are you going to do to them?"


    The being was at a complete loss; it hadn''t even known of these children''s existence a few hours ago, and now it''s supposed to be their saviour? "I''m just as confused as you are, sir. I have no idea; I had not come here for them but for you."


    The little girl''s posture plummeted, "What? But, but you''re supposed to take us away. You''re going to change the world so that we can truly live." There was a desperation in the girl''s voice. A little hope trying to fight against the crushing pressure placed upon it.


    "I am sorry, but I am merely an observer. I don''t know what your friend''s eyes saw, but I never enact change; I merely document it." The being had long since gotten used to these conversations but still dreaded them as much as the first. The next part always pained it. The part where the others realized that it had come to watch their downfall, not stop it.


    "So why are you here for me?" The old man asked, skepticism filling his voice.


    "The vvitchenbreiver are not long for this world. I must document them before it is too late. You are the last vvitchenbreiver."


    Grief flooded the man; his legs suddenly weak under him failed and he plopped into a chair to steady himself, "It, it can’t be. Are you sure that I am the last vvitchenbreiver?"


    The being merely nodded its head.


    "What about Mosey?" Just because the being was used to these conversations didn''t mean that it enjoyed them. When the being came across other librarians, they never shared the same dread that the being did. They always apathetically completed their tasks; not even Luna understood. It wasn''t going to betray its occupation, but there was always that lingering hesitance in these moments.


    The old man looked toward the being in hopes of finding an answer, but after a few seconds without response, he understood. "I see." His colour drained, strength sapped from his bones; perhaps it was just the being''s imagination, but his wrinkles seemed heavier.


    The little boy, Moiety, approached the man, placing his free hand on the man''s lap. The boy could not fully understand what was happening, but he could see the grief. His fingers moved over the girl''s palm.


    The girl gave Moiety a confused look, he nodded in assurance, and she hesitantly translated his message. "It''s okay, you don''t have to be sad. There was never really a Mosey anyway."


    The old man looked up to the children, his pained visage contorted in puzzlement. The girl waited for the boy to translate the rest of his message to her.


    The being felt a sense of importance from the encrypted words being traded between the two children, so it decided to record the event. The being raised a hand to its head and removed the yellow headband. Adorned upon the centre of its forehead was a third eye with three dark pupils enveloped in a pink iris. The three pupils merged into a single massive orb so large the optic rods were faintly visible within.


    The trio were too enthralled in their own conversation to notice the being. The little girl continued to translate the boy''s message, her voice atonal and quick in a way which seemed rote. "Strange person is here to help us; they have books that can help us, that can save us. And when they do, everything will be okay again, and-” The girl paused, her face scrunched in confusion. She looked to her friend and he nodded affirmatively, repeating the same message upon her palm. She continued her transcription but this time with less surety, a repetition without cognition “and Mosey can finally be born for the first time."


    Distraught turned to rage ill-founded from mourning. He leapt from his seat, spitting bitterly. "You''re wrong! We''re not like you, we''re not monsters. I don''t know how life works for you, but when a real human dies, they don''t come back. If you were human, you wouldn''t come back either!"


    The little girl was stunned still, her cloudy eyes tearing like a storm. The elder immediately realized his mistake. He regretfully begged. "I''m sorry, Tsela, please don''t translate that. I was angry; I didn''t mean it."


    Tsela ignored the man. Her fingers trembled as they struggled to form the signs on the boy''s palm, salty tears raining onto their entwined hands. "Tsela, please don''t. I''m sorry." Her heart was nearly unable to pass on the words, but honesty forced her forth. Once Moiety received the message, his face filled with betrayal, then it morphed into anger.


    He shouted in a broken, unpracticed voice. "Ur nah umin eiwer!" and released the girl''s hand, running out the door and disappearing into the village. When Tsela''s hand was released, she let out a terrified yelp and chased after Moiety''s fading footsteps. She struggled to find the doorknob but eventually managed to leave the room as well.


    The old man buried his face in his hands, remorse and fear and pain and anger all mixing into a dizzying soup of self-loathing. "What have I done?" He didn''t stay depressed for long; pulling himself back together, he steeled himself. He had to make this right, "You have to help me bring them back!" He turned to the being ready to demand more, but all fight dissipated to naught upon seeing the leviathan third eye in its disturbing pink hue upon its forehead.


    The being did not respond. It just stared back at the old man, unmoving, eyes watered with shame. If he wanted to get the children back, he would be alone. He huffed irritably, pushing past the being on his way to chase the kids. As he gripped the door''s handle, the being had an idea, "Did you teach them the way of the vvitchenbreiver?"


    The man paused and turned back hopeful, "Yes, why?"


    "Because when the day is over, I will need a vvitchenbreiver to observe."


    Relief and resignation warred about the man''s face. He did not respond; instead, he gave a single nod and headed out the door.


    Now, the being was alone in the quiet hut, only accompanied by the bizarre repertory of a bygone trade. The being took its time exploring the cozy hutch. Its third eye drank every detail left behind, the exact curves of the glassware, the age of the hanging plants, and the colour of each befuddling liquid, even the dents and scars of the stoneware cauldron. It was a packed room filled with unconventional ingredients and complicated mechanisms. Each trinket came together to tell a story; as the being surveyed more, it began to differentiate the scars of expected use and those of clumsy learning. Entire lives were hidden in the details, three separate nooks, two shorter working desks, and one with wobbly unpracticed writing, the other devoid of ink. It took a lot of time to fully observe it all and properly comprehend the meticulous documents. It did not rush, ensuring that every nuance was burned into its third eye, never to be forgotten. Once satisfied that it had observed every possible detail, the being left.


    The first thing it noticed was that the day star was beginning to set, creating a beautiful purple sky; the sky was so peaceful that the being was willing to waste a few minutes just to observe it. The second thing the being noticed was a tall black smokestack that stretched up from the devadootian church. There was a faint hum of perhaps shouting or cheering; the being couldn''t quite tell.


    It placed its yellow headband back over its third eye and went to see the plume. It was much easier to navigate the town with the large smokey beacon guiding its way. The closer the being got, the harsher it was assaulted by the scent of cooked meat. The being had not eaten for a while yet, but for some reason, this scent quelled the being''s hunger rather than enticed it.


    Before it could arrive at the church and see what was happening, it saw a familiar face sequestered behind some trash in a narrow alley. The little girl, Tsela, was balled up as small as possible, suppressed sniffling gasping through the cover of cloth.


    The being chanced a cautious glance to the sky, in day, it only saw the brilliant day star and faint moon. The being fought back any sympathy but, this time, could not hold back. Luna wouldn''t tell. The being approached the little girl and asked. "Are you a vvitchenbreiver?"


    Tsela turned to the sound; her blank red eyes, not quite looking at anything in particular, were strained and had gone puffy. Streams of tears were pouring down her pale white face. Her perfect skin was marked and battered with dirt, scratches and bruises.


    Tsela tried responding through choked tears and streaming phlegm. "Th-They''re… not…. really gone… right?" Each word interrupted by full-body hiccoughs, chest heaving for breaths. "I-I-I… never really… met them…right? We can… like… m-make… them… born for… th-the f-f-f-f-first time… or… something like that?"


    The being paid no heed to the child''s trauma and asked again. "Are you a vvitchenbreiver?"


    "We… don''t…ac-ac-actually…get… the br-breiver title…until…we finish… our…training. W…we get… a…pseudo…t-t-title…until…then.”


    "So, what is your title?" Tsela wiped a thick string of snot viscous enough to hold as her thumb pulled away from her nose. The being noticed her arm was caked in dried red, a disturbing concoction of blood both hers and foreign. Tsela then brought her hand still laced with green slime, up to her drowning eyes. The being quickly stopped that, grasping both of Tsela''s arms and pulling them down. The being took its own cleaned sleeve and gently dabbed the tears from the child''s cheeks. The being pushed its questions forward again. "What is your title?"


    "My…title…is… the White Vvitch."