1#—I am bestowed great responsibility

“I ruined everything.”

Sienna Hollow looked at the brick wall standing in front of her, ignoring her bloody knees and scratched palms. She helplessly whimpered, grabbing handfuls of dead leaves scattered on the pavement, crushing them between her fingers.

“If only I ran a little faster,” she whispered.

Her tear-filled eyes glanced, where only a few seconds ago, a dark portal had opened and swallowed the mysterious nightmare. The darkness creatures were fond of pranks, but this time it was far from being a harmless joke.

“I have to get it back,” continued the witch, getting up slowly.

She walked back a few meters to grab her long, pointy hat lying in front of a candy shop. She raised her wet chin and looked at the clock hanging on the manor of Autumnal. It was eight twenty-four in the morning. She had fifteen hours and thirty-six minutes to retrieve the Jack O’ Lantern from the Nightmare realm.

Fifteen hours and thirty-six minutes before a war would break in the Sleep world.

But to understand how we got here, let’s get back some hours ago.

Two hours earlier...

“Excuse me, Miss Sienna, but a group of ghosts is haunting the corn maze. Could you possibly exorcise them?”

The witch rose from the floor, abandoning the red chalk and the bubbly purple potion boiling in a small cauldron.

“I don’t think it will be necessary, Mister Hazel; I think a haunted maze will be a wicked attraction for the festival,” she answered with her finger against her sweaty cheek.

The man’s face lit up. “I didn’t think about that! But you are right! After all, those little nightmares like pulling pranks—no doubt the maze will be this year’s most popular attraction!”

He thanked her one last time before exiting her shop. Sienna sighted in relief, one less trouble to worry about. Her hands were full with the upcoming Halloween festival. It was the thirst time she organized it alone, but her mentor was stuck in bed after a metamorphosis experiment turned sour.

She glanced at the shop; every inch's walls were covered with luxuriant plants and wooden shelves buried with grimoires and vials filled with a great variety of potions of different shades. Tall tainted windows let a yellowish view on the alley surrounding her little shop. The ceilings were decorated with flying candles lighting up the shop with a cozy flame. The floor was covered with esoteric drawings, pentagrams and constellations. At the back of the shop, hidden behind a perl curtain, was the storage that emitted a delicious smell of spices, pumpkin pie, and wet pavement.

Sienna kneeled down and grabbed the little cauldron before swallowing the potion.

“Hum,” she sighted, licking her lips. “I don’t know why, but I have an ominous feeling about today.”

She put the recipient back on the floor and stretched her arms. The mirror in front of her reflected the image of a girl with long, cascading chestnut hair falling under her back. Small freckles covered her nose and cheeks, giving her a candid appearance. Two mesmerizing purple eyes akin to amethyst gazed back at her with a twinkling spark.

Eye color was attributed to you at birth, defining your nature: red for vampires, grey for werewolves, black for necromanciers, purple for witches, black for the nightmares, and brown for the dreams. The common human possessed every other color.

Sienna grabbed her leather bag, stuffed her grimoire in it, and rushed outside without forgetting to turn the Closed sign. The fall wind rushed through her hair, tickling her neck.

“Good morning, Miss Sienna!” greeted the baker.

The young girl turned around, feeling her mouth watering with the scent of freshly baked bread and cinnamon croissants. But she didn’t have the time to idle around. She waved back at him before dashing down the streets of Autumnal.

“Hello, Miss Sienna!”

“How are you, Miss Sienna?”

“I hope the preparations for the festival are going well!”

“Happy early Halloween!”

It seemed like every townsfolk knew the young girl running towards the Maudit Manor. She smiled politely, trying to control her panting breath. She was ashamed of her poor physical shape, and she couldn’t let anyone witness any flaw in her during the Halloween festival.

‘I am so anxious,’ she thought, biting her tongue.

Halloween wasn’t a simple event. It was the most important day of the year in Autumnal. It was the day where the barrier of the Sleep world was the thinnest and the day where the Witch of Autumnal lit up the original Jack O’ Lantern. The sacred artifact kept the balance between Dreams and Nightmares. Sienna felt shivers in her back thinking about the great responsibility bestowed upon her.

Finally, she arrived at the old manor. An old crumbly man was waiting at the entrance. His thin lips stretched into a smile when his squinty eyes saw her.

“Good morning Sienna. Lord Oberon is waiting for you at the top floor,” he greeted with his trembling voice.

“Thank you, Mister Morte!”

The witch climbed the stairs, thinking about how the old guardian looked like a skeleton. As usual, she took the fourth corridor and knocked on the sixth door.

“I greet you, Lord Oberon,” said the witch, doing a polite curtsy.

In front of her, sitting in a comfortable armchair, was the Lord of Autumnal. He didn’t bother to lift his gray eyes from the newspaper. His fingers were turning the yellowish pages with great speed.

Sienna didn’t seem shaken by the lack of attention from the werewolf. She was used to it. It wasn’t personal; he was like this with everyone. She took the chair in front of his table and waited patiently.

Anyone who could’ve witnessed the scene would have been surprised by the two clashing appearances. A well-built man with white hair slightly wild at the tips dressed in a military silver suit, in front of a young woman dressed in a white frilly cotton shirt with black leather straps paired with shorts and long socks covering half of her legs. A long purple cloak embroidered with golden threads covered her back and her shoulders. No one would’ve guessed that the young witch was a few months older than the wolf.

After fifteen minutes of complete silence rhythm with the sound of folded pages and a ticking clock, Lord Oberon pushed the news paper under the amethyst eyes of the witch.

An unflattering image of her stumbling down the stairs, books flying all around her. A title followed the photo: The Autumnal Witch or The Walking Disaster. A long article was printed relating every public mistake she ever made, and as her eyes slid on each letter, she felt her cheeks growing hotter until she felt like freshly formed lava.

“The Halloween festival is our greatest tradition since the birth of our town. I won’t tolerate a debutant ruining our reputation.”

The Lord's icy voice felt like paper cut wounding her bare skin. Sienna dropped the newspaper; the tip of her index was crossed with a red line. The witch slowly bit her wounded finger, unable to utter a word. But the persistant gaze of the werewolf crushed her until she whispered back:

“I don’t do it on purpose. I am trying my best.”

“Try harder.”

Sienna felt the urge to cast a hex on his office and cackle wickedly as nightmares would make a mess out of the tidy room. His face grew colder as the three brutal scars cutting diagonally his face seemed to be sharper, like the blade of a sword.

“I will,” she responded, crossing her arms, trying to look confident.

He let out a grunt before turning back to a pile of paperwork. Sienna took this as a sign to leave. She bowed and took her leave. She exited the building without a look for for her surroundings.

“That cursed wolf,” she muttered to the orange cloudy sky. “He is a real nightmare.”