This story is a sequel to Acolyte of the Spiral — Angel’s Tale. Part I: Sisters of Chaos
STORY TRANSLATED USING CHAT GPT AI
Acolyte of the Spiral — Angel’s Tale. Part II: The Call of the Former Mistress
I returned after half a year. Not for an order — for an echo. A faint whisper in dreams: Screwball is alive, asking for help and… not lying. Amber Lake answered first; I came second, but with a different intent. We found her in the valley, wounded after a clash with a wizard of Harmony. We led her to a small cottage in the woods — not a fortress, just a shelter.
Screwball wanted to build anew, gentler: without coercion, without masks worn all the time, with the rule of “not-looking” if someone asked for space. I watched Jelly and Meluś waver between memory and laughter. Jelly dared first: she gave a child a dream — comfort without illusion, holding the mask at her heart instead of on her muzzle. Meluś guarded the boundaries and taught Screwball to be silent when needed. Pearl — my student — stood beside me, faithful and steady in step; a bridge between the old ritual and a new, softer community.
The cottage grew into a small Gallery: a mirror of memory instead of a whirl, a black apple of forgetfulness that Jelly did not bite, a protective circle raised without orders. In the valley we did something we had never done awake — a festival: mimicry as play, not camouflage. Children laughed with our laughter, but for their own reasons.
And yet, power does not rust. When a boy asked Screwball to “be a mother,” I saw the flash of her old precision: mist, touch, voice, mask… and that plum-colored gleam in the child’s eyes. She stopped in time — for the first time. I know what it means for Jelly and Meluś: they remember how warmth can be a trap. I remember differently: it was that very precision that saved me when I was ready to disappear.
We made a new rule: here everything is chosen. Plum eyes — the sign of sisterhood — can be taken voluntarily and only “for the time of being together.” The spiral dance we dance only if we want to; the house and valley are no longer a mirror without exit. Screwball is learning not to lead, Amber is learning to trust, Jelly is learning to be present, Meluś — to say “no,” and I… I test whether this gentleness can bear the weight of the world.
For I see something else: her power is whole again. In this valley they do not need a mistress — they need space. Elsewhere it may be different. And if somewhere a desire is born to dream without wounds, I will find that path. Not to betray — but to protect what must not be touched here.
At the edge of the orchard the scent of plums lingers. I hear their laughter and mine — doubled. One I leave in this valley. The other I take with me.
