I’ve never thought much about the trees. They were lonesome, looming creatures. I came to Hylthane Forrest because it provided safety and solitude. Sustinence. With such little thought given, the trees did eventually become my friends. I was enthralled with their fettered beauty. Their strength. I longed to care for them the way I never was. The care I so desperately ached for.

My life, the life of a Jeweled Witch, has been a life of trial and lonliness; not unlike the trees. I was born to nothing. Given nothing. What I owned is what I’ve worked, slaved, and stolen. I’m proud of that. Nevermind the consequences.

When I first heard their faint mutterings, I thought I was mad. It is not uncommon for my sisters to succumb to such things. We have herbs to ebb the madness, but it’s too soon for that_. _Most sisters fall to madness around 500 cycles. _I still have close to 150 years before the madness starts to creep. _

And there it was again. The faintest squall. Or rather a squeak. I lowered myself to the mossed ground and dug my hands deep. The earth writhed beneath me. It gave me what I am owed. It’s raw power. Jeweled witches are witches of the earth. We gave to the dirt and the dirt gave back. The essence of earth flowed to me and with a guttural breath I reached toward the sky and saw it all. Every breath, every sigh in one encompassing glance. There beneath the soil I saw their maze, their quiet threads of electricity breaming with thought and conversations. I gasped in awe and could not look away.

“We’ve been waiting for you to open your ears, Madeira.”