She is not an investigator.

Igris pinched the administrator's nose, and the latter suddenly opened her eyes, glaring fiercely at Igris in front of her.

She looked fierce and angry, but the blush and lingering scent on her face made her look more like she was being coquettish.

"...Don't do that again."

In the end, all she could say was that, before burying her face in the pillow.

Igris found it somewhat amusing. She was the one who provoked her in the first place, but Igris actually did as she was told, and now she was the one sulking.

Igris hadn't even blamed her for getting her bed wet.

"I still prefer the way you were begging for mercy just now."

Clang—!

The moment Igris finished speaking, a silver-white scimitar was instantly placed at her neck. The panting administrator stared intently at Igris and said, word by word.

"Give it to me, and forget about it!"

It's like a cat with its fur standing on end; it's kind of cute.

"I suggest you get dressed first."

The caretaker's face flushed red and then turned pale. She covered Igris's eyes while shrinking back under the covers.

Only after she completely gave up arguing with Igris did Igris get out of bed, pick up the clothes the housekeeper had dropped under the bed, and throw them to her.

"Get dressed, we're going out to eat."

In contrast, Igris's condition was much better than expected. The key reason for this was probably that the administrator had almost no ability to resist, so Igris was just making one-sided sacrifices.

Obviously, this is very bad behavior, whether from an emotional or otherwise perspective, but the administrator probably had no choice.

Even though she really wanted to resist.

So until evening, the only feeling Igris had was... her fingers were a little sore.

"Turn your head around."

Holding her clothes, the caretaker, huddled under the covers, squinted at Igris, who was standing at the door.

Igris wasn't too concerned about this kind of thing, since the caretaker could see her changing clothes.

So it's quite reasonable for her to want to look back now, isn't it?

"No."

The words had barely left her lips when a pillow flew towards her, which Igris barely caught. But in Igris's eyes, the administrator's anger at that moment meant there was no room for any authority.

Helpless, the caretaker could only stare blankly at Igris, then reluctantly huddled under the covers to change her clothes.

Although covered by a blanket, the large movements still occasionally revealed some things that shouldn't be shown.

Although Igris didn't react, the administrator's face grew increasingly red.

Finally, after a long while, she managed to put her tattered clothes back on, grabbed Igris's hand fiercely, and disappeared from the room.

At the same time, Igris immediately heard the warm greeting from the administrator in her mind.

As for why she doesn't dare to come out and say it in person, it's probably because she's afraid of being forced to do it again.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"Awaited."

In the restaurant, a sumptuous meal had been prepared long ago, but Clendia, who had been waiting for Igris to arrive, finally saw Igris.

Igris waved to her, and she stood up and nodded back.

"How was your day off?"

It was just ordinary concern, a worry that Igris might not be used to living here, but it did indeed help Igris a little.

Actually... I accidentally got your bedding wet.

Igris found it hard to imagine what she was thinking when she said those words, since strictly speaking, she wasn't the one who got the bed wet.

Upon hearing Igris's words, Krentia frowned in confusion, seemingly wondering how Igris had managed to get the bed wet.

Did the water glass spill? But there doesn't seem to be a water glass in her room.

Could it be...?

Krentia seemed to be thinking about something, and her gaze began to unconsciously drift downwards as she looked at Igris. Recalling what Igris had said to her that morning, Krentia suddenly felt her throat become dry.

However, she could understand Igris, or rather, she understood Igris very well.

She had lived alone in this place for hundreds of years, so of course she knew that it was normal for everyone to have needs, so she could understand it perfectly well, or she could pretend that she knew nothing.

Yes, she can.

"...I...I'll tidy up your room and change the sheets for you in a bit..."

Her voice grew softer and softer, and her head drooped lower and lower until the wide-brimmed hat completely obscured her expression.

"Thank you, I'm sorry to have troubled you."

The witch shook her head, silently picked up the bowl in front of her, and took a sip of mushroom soup.

It wasn't hot, because she had already poured the soup before Igris arrived, so the temperature was just right.

Although her mind wasn't on the mushroom soup at all at that moment.

"Are you free after dinner?"

Krendia spoke with her head down, her eyes fixed on the mushroom soup in front of her, without looking up at Igris.

"Do you want to ask me out?"

Igris put down her knife and fork, trying to see Clendia's face beneath the wide brim of her hat, but to no avail.

Perhaps she still isn't used to being with Igris, but she'll get used to it eventually; after all, it's only the first day.

"I really like fairy tales."

She continued talking to herself, then looked out the restaurant window.

Under the dim light, a thin mist veiled her cheeks, and her amethyst-like eyes gazed at the night outside the window, carrying a hint of melancholy and anticipation.

"In many stories, the protagonists meet under the starry sky on a beautiful night, confide in each other, and look up at the moonlight."

She turned her head, pursed her lips, and looked at Igris with some anticipation.

"...Would you be willing to give me this opportunity?"

The bizarre stage play – The Arrogant Witch and the Kingdom of Wonders: Chapter Eleven, Wishful Thinking

Of course she wouldn't refuse.

If even this small wish cannot be fulfilled, she won't stay under the guise of helping her; instead, she'll simply coast through a month.

But she won't do that; it's not her style, nor is it something she wants to do.

"of course can."

So she stood up, bowed slightly to the witch, and extended her hand.

"I will never refuse you, no matter what your wish is."

That was obviously just polite talk, but so what? At least that's how she acted, and the witch was willing to believe her.

Sometimes, the truth doesn't matter so much, after all, the two people in this castle are just actors in their own lives.

So in situations like this, all you need to do is smile.

A slight upturn at the corners of her lips and a gentle curve in her eyes softened her expression and made her movements lighter.

He gently reached out, carefully took the fingers that Igris offered, and lowered his head to kiss them.

On this gentle evening, at this candid dinner.

Even the last trace of resentment has completely disappeared.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

As the banquet drew to a close, the witch's fingers danced across the table, and the plates and leftover food flew back to the kitchen on their own.

Perhaps this is the convenience of magic.

Before long, everything in front of her was swept away, and the witch's wooden staff came to her side and was held in her hand.

Just as she had come, she slowly lowered the wooden staff, letting it float horizontally in the air, and then gently sat down on it.

It was just a thin wooden cane, yet she managed to maintain her balance with her legs dangling in the air, sitting on it with perfect stability.

Igris didn't believe it was because of her exceptional balance; clearly, she was simply using some unseen magic to support herself and prevent herself from falling to one side.

Noticing the way Igris was looking at her, the witch gently smoothed her hair and patted the wooden staff in front of her, her meaning becoming all too clear.

Come up and sit down.

Igris would certainly be happy to grant her wish, provided that she did not develop acrophobia as a result.

"You won't fall."

She knew what Igris was worried about, but even so, it didn't mean that Igris would actually go up there.

Krentia reluctantly approached Igris, gently put her arm around Igris's shoulder, pulled her down onto the wooden staff, and slowly sat down.

An invisible pulling force stabilized Igris's body, and although her legs were still dangling in the air, she did feel much more grounded.

Especially since Krentia, who was behind her, still had no intention of letting her go.

"Let's go to heaven."

She murmured to herself, and the wooden staff slowly began to move, flying from the first-floor hall to the second floor, to the balcony, and then out of the castle.

As the two nestled together, they slowly rose into the air.

The sun has set, the moon has risen, and beneath my feet lies a dark forest, while above me stretches a starry sky that is entirely different.

Countless colorful stars hung overhead, twinkling intermittently, their reflections shimmering in the eyes of the two.

“I had imagined this scene a long time ago.”

The witch muttered to herself, while still holding tightly to Igris's arm, refusing to let go.

“I envy the characters in fairy tales. They are always so happy, even to the point of feeling unreal.”