Once upon a time, there lay a small village in a valley surrounded by forests. The village was secluded, but the villagers did not care. They were content in the comfort and safety of their homes. Among the villagers lived a powerful witch. She was a good witch, sweet and kind to everyone. She listened to villagers complaints and healed the sick with medicinal herbs and soothing magic. With silver hair as bright as the moon, she would walk throughout the village singing softly. From her lips would pour sweet words of magic, in the language of the Witches, and flowers would bloom at her step. 

One day though, the witch disappeared. When villagers went to her cottage that day, they discovered the cottage was bare and empty. Dust covered the ground and it looked as though no one had stayed there for a very long time. Everyone wondered she’d gone. Some of them were sad because she had been kind. Most of the villagers were simply lamenting for the loss of the healing powers and magical protection she’d brought with her. Unknown to the gathered villagers, the witch had hidden herself and listened to their complaints. 

“Why did she leave this village? Did we not give her a cottage and a place to stay and food when she needed it?” The council men muttered to themselves. “What if now that she has left, monsters begin to come and steal our children and wives? How could she simply abandon us like this?” At first, the witch’s disappearance was all anyone talked about. But then, like everything, as time went on, the witch was spoken of less and less. All too soon, she had been forgotten. 

When she saw this, the witch was sad. She sang no longer, and the trees and flowers around her did not grow any longer. The people forgot her song and forgot her. She thought of leaving the village. As she watched over the village and considered this, she noticed a poor girl wandering in the forests. The witch guided the girl towards the village and watched as she entered. The girl was only around 10 years of age, her hands caked with dirt from travel and her face smudged with tears and sweat. The witch felt sorry for the girl, and hoped that the villagers would care for her. “These people are selfish, I believe. But if one person does a kind deed and helps her, I will stay, otherwise my heart will be hardened against them, for they have already forgotten me.” 

The young girl slowly walked through the gates of the village, tired and hungry. She turned to the people, but her heart sank as the people turned away. When she lifted dirt smudged hands for alms, they lifted their noses at the smell of her unwashed clothes and greasy hair. When she stumbled on a jagged rock, no one helped her. 

“Who is this filthy peasant that has come here?” they asked themselves. “She does not look like she has anything to buy our goods with. Why should we bother with her?” Merchants cared little for penniless wretches. Mothers pulled their young away as though her mere presence would taint their innocence. Filled with disappointment and tired acceptance, the girl turned away.

As she left the village, the witch appeared to the girl. “Daughter. Are you hurt?” The little girl was frightened, but the woman’s soothing voice made her feel calm. The witch spoke an incantation and light wove around the girl. She felt a tingling sensation, then the light disappeared. When she looked down, all signs of her bruises and dirt were gone. She looked at the witch in amazement, taking in her porcelain skin and silver hair that shimmered like a pool of water.

The witch turned towards the village, sorrow deep in her heart. “Do they really reject a person who needs help so quickly? Have they no care for anyone other than their own tight knit community?” The witch seemed lost in thought and the girl did not know what to say. For a moment, silence remained between them. Then the witch spoke again, though she was not really talking to the girl. “Did I really have such an insignificant presence here that they have already forgotten me? Did I not teach of peace and hospitality when I freely healed them, offered food and shelter to anyone who asked?” A flash of anger ran through her. “Have I not protected them for all of these years?” Anger was replaced by sorrow as she looked down upon the village that went happily through their days, a witch and a peasant girl the farthest things from their mind. They had erased the witch from their memory, and even when she spoke those familiar words, sang the time old song she’d sung for them, they did not hear. Her words were but whispers in the wind now for they did not recognize her voice. 

As she turned to go, beckoning for the child to follow her, she saw a great dragon coming towards the village. The little girl’s eyes widened, but the witch remained silent, her eyes cold like ice. “Will you not help them? Will you not forgive them? Please, what about the innocent children? The ones who have not grown up in the foolishness of their fathers?” The little girl pleaded with the witch, knowing only she could save the village. “What have they done for you? They rejected you, did not offer you shelter or kind words even,” the witch said. “Still,” the girl said hesitantly. “Must they perish for it?” The witch hesitated. Suddenly she remembered her love for the villagers, the happy years she had spent with them. It was not their fault completely. She had, after all, been the one to leave.

Just as the dragon was about to reach the village gates, the witch began to sing once more. Her voice was a piercing cry filled with magic, the language of the Witches soared and a light in her hands began to pulse. The little girl cried out at the bright light, and was astonished to see an orb begin to appear in the witch’s hands. An illustrious, pearl-like orb rested in white hands. The witch’s hair began to swirl around her in an unseen wind, wrapping around her like a protective halo. She crooned a song and the villagers were lulled by the magic woven into her words. They fell into a deep sleep and the monster turned towards the disturbance. It let out a great roar of anger, flames bursting from its gaping mouth. The witch did not move, did not flinch as the fire streaked towards her. 

Behind her, the peasant girl cowered, fearing the witch’s death, but discovered that no flames had touched her or the lady. Now, the witch retaliated. Her crooning song of sleep became a screech, a shrieking answer to battle. The single notes pierced the dragons ears, causing it to roar and shriek in reply, though the witch’s voice rang out above it. She threw the ball of light in her hands at the dragon and it exploded around the monster. Flames of blue magic enveloped the dragon, crackled around it and destroyed it in a tremendous explosion, leaving only ashes. That day, the sky was filled with a dark cloud, a cloud of ash.

The witch sank down, drained of energy, but satisfied that she had saved the village. The villagers woke up and discovered the witch and the girl in front of them. The girl spoke for the witch, for the witch could not speak for a long time. The girl explained that the witch had saved them. At this the villagers remembered her. They cheered and lifted the two girls on their shoulders. They brought her gifts of gratitude and held feasts in her honor. The girl the witch had saved became the witch’s faithful servant. The witch named her Aroha, meaning, Mercy, for she had reminded her of her love for the villagers, and kept her from letting them perish. Aroha always stayed by her and the two lived in the witch’s cottage, living a peaceful life. 

One would think the story ends there. For surely the witch had proven her loyalty, her kindness and love in that act. But ah, people are cruel. People change, and as the years went by, children grew to men, and men grew old and forgot. A generation arose that ignored the story their parents had told them. They did not know who the witch was, and they stayed away from her. The witch never spoke, and this filled the councilmen with a strange sort of fear, as though she would control the village. Men fear too much power in other’s hands, yet always continue to seek it for themselves. And so, the men grew wary of the peaceful witch, and spoke out against her. 

As fate would have it, a tragedy occurred. A girl went missing and though villagers searched and searched, she was not found. Fingers began pointing at the silent witch, for everyone wishes to be able to find reasons in confusion, understanding in panicked sorrow. She was blamed for the child’s absence, and people began to wonder if she had hidden the child somewhere with magic. Even with the accusations, the witch did nothing and said nothing. Aria tried to uphold the witch’s good name, but people in foolish anger will not listen to any sort of reason. 

Then another child went missing. A young boy, actually the lover of Aroha. Aroha was devastated, weeping and frantic, she refused to eat, to sleep. The villagers saw Aroha as yet another victim of the witch, her lover taken from her in a selfish gesture by the witch. So they took her forcefully from the witch’s home, saying it was for her own safety. Then the riled up crowds began to gather around the silent witch, yelling and demanding the boy’s return. They grew angrier at her silence, thinking she taunted them by refusing to answer. Finally the angry crowds pushed and shoved until they literally tore her cottage apart. The witch fled, watching in silent sorrow as they burned her home. Flames licked at her thatched roof, melted her glass jars and scorched her carefully collected herbs. 

The witch hid herself once more and watched the mayhem from the forests. “Twice they have forgotten my good deeds, but still twice will I help them. This time I do it for Aroha and her love,” she thought to herself. Bowing her head in farewell, she disappeared without a trace, and only Aroha noticed. For weeks the witch searched for the lost boy. Finally she found, in a high mountain many miles away, what she had been searching for. What she saw in the dim light of a cave, was a boy’s broken body. His heart was gone. Whatever magical creature had stolen him, had cruelly ripped it from his chest. She looked at the boy with tears in her eyes. “So young, so young,” she thought sadly. 

She thought of Aroha and the light in her eyes at the sight of this boy, the flutter of magic she’d seen between the two. What could she do though, for a dead person? Healing arts would not work a man that could not be healed. She smiled a sad smile, realizing what she would have to do in order to save him. Standing, she closed her eyes, allowing her magic to course through her body. “I have lived a hundred years, now may you live a long life as well. Stay by Aroha, protect her.” With this last thought, she plunged her hands into her own chest and grasped her heart. With a painful cry, she tore it from her, her life force beginning to wane, the magic in her witch’s heart beginning to fade. With a last, desperate call to her magic, she pushed everything she had into the boy’s body. Her bloody hands were wrapped in light as she gave him her heart. Then she fell to the ground and died. Silver blood poured from the empty cavity in her body as she wavered between life and death. Then the magic retook her, leaving only silver dust that was scattered by the wind. A faint song echoed in the cavern, her voice heard once more, the first time in many years, the soothing, sweet song of sorrow and love. The song faded, and soon the cave was silent once more.

A few moments later, a boy woke up. Confused by his strange surroundings, he ran down the mountain and was eventually found by villagers and taken home. He did not remember anything that had happened after he had been taken. Everyone cried out when they saw him. They hugged him and smiled, amazed at his miraculous return. But no one remembered the kind witch who sacrificed everything, including her life, for their well being. Even now, no one remembers much of her or even her name, except for whispered myths and haunting glimpses of silver. Still, when the mist creeps around the mountains, and the forest lies silent with its inhabitants, sometimes, just sometimes, her pure, sweet song can still be heard in the rustling leaves and the sighing wind.