Dark was the swamp beneath the grasp of clawing trees, only lit by low-burning fires and the occasional glimpse of the twin moons. Frogs howled and croaked in a nocturnal ambiance. All around the camp loomed hunting shadows and hungry eyes that may have encroached on them, if not for the watchful eyes of an on-guard witch.

Autumn stretched her jaw in a cracking yawn as she kept watch. She’d been up for a few hours by now, having the misfortune of taking a midnight watch. 

She was exhausted. Throughout the rest of the day, they’d marched through the dense, interwoven trees and through pools of stagnant water. Some of the water had plunged away from under her feet, leaving her to swim across. It’d been hard work and even harder for those bearing armor.

When the sun finally dipped low they’d made camp upon an old ruin sat upon a rare oasis of solid ground. Vines and creepers had burrowed between stones and brought down the old temple; all that was left were moss-coated walls and a platform of worked stone. 

Autumn had searched it in anticipation of treasure, but all she found was old bones and rusted trinkets. 

Luckily, her disappointment was short as Nethlia cooked up a wonderful hot meal despite the lack of supplies. It was easy enough to capture a net’s worth of fresh fish from the swamp waters and with a healthy dose of spices and dried mushrooms; she had a fairly decent stew going. Autumn cherished the luxury while it lasted. From tomorrow onwards, they’d be too near the goblin camp to risk lighting a fire.

So it was with a belly full of food, Autumn kept watch. 

Autumn’s breath misted as a sudden chill crept upon her without warning. Rime-frost crept and cracked upon the water’s edge until the pools froze over like a great glass mirror. A billowing icy mist floated across its surface, plunging Autumn into a world of her own. With a curious push, Autumn peered into the reflecting pool and saw her own reflection gazing up at her. 

A tired swamp-worn witch was what she saw, huddled in an overflowing robe and a hat far too heavy for her head. Limp black hair draped down a green-bruised face and shielded a pair of black-ringed eyes from the glare of its counterpart. Autumn soothed her expression as she realized she was glaring at herself. The other Autumn did the same, giving her a gentler, kinder air. 

With Autumn’s curiosity satisfied, she began to shift her attention away from the pool, only to have the reflection blink without her consent. Her burning gaze snapped back to the reflection. As if it was just her imagination, nothing strange appeared in that frozen glass. She lent closer, staring unblinkingly. 

Time crawled by as Autumn gazed at herself in a Narcissus-like moment. Her eyes grew watery, compelling her to blink. When she opened them again, it wasn’t her face that gazed up, but another.

A hauntingly beautiful visage peered mournfully out of the glassy surface. Features of elven femininity adorned the deathly pale face while hair of silk floated freely about her, a halo in the water’s grasp. Cold blue eyes froze Autumn in place as her heart stalled. The elf rose from the glass prison to float above the surface in a translucent glow. A ragged and wet silken dress clung tightly to the elf’s slender, womanly frame. Where one’s heart should lie was instead a hole ripped in both the dress and ghost; only creeping dread and sorrow remained in the gaping cavity.

As the banshee hovered over the lake on bloody feet, Autumn got the faintest whiff of fae about her.

Autumn’s body was robbed of breath, of heartbeat, and warmth. She didn’t dare to move under the piercing gaze of the fairy ghost. Sweat and trauma coated her shivering body as she lay before one of her hated foes, like a mouse under the paw of a lion. 

Yet it was the banshee who spoke first. 

“Thou didst not heed mine own warnings, death follows thee anon with ranker clarity.” 

The banshee looked at Autumn with a mix of longing and disappointment. Her ethereal lamination hauntingly drifted into Autumn's ears, sending a chilling sensation down to her very heart’s core. Autumn couldn’t help but lick her cracked and frozen lips before croaking out a reply. 

“W-warning? I-I didn’t hear y-your warning. Wh-who are you? What d-do you want? If you’re here to kill me you’ll find I’m n-not an easy pill to swallow!” 

“Calm death-touch'd one, I am not hither to fear thee or to claim thy living. Didst thee not heareth mine own song? I did becry a warning for thee and thy boon-companions both while the undeath did creep. I’d beest over-wrought if it be true.”

A sole ghostly tear crested the ghost’s cheek, lamination in essence. Whereas all the other fae Autumn had the misfortune of meeting before were of the summer, both fair and foul, the fae before her now was grief made manifest. 

Even with her cold-iron horseshoe clutched tight, she felt vulnerable beneath its wailing gaze.

“Was that wail you? It deafened me rather than warned me. A-and what do you mean by death-touched?” 

That sounded like something she should be concerned about.  

“I did hurt thee so? Twasn't mine own intent to coil thee so, only to warn.

“Thou art death-touch’d; thy form beest drench'd in the waters of the after. Tis a heady scent. Fear of those unlife who is't seek’th to claim thee, they shalt only seek the Styx’s boons for thineselves, uncaring of thy own virtues. Thou shouldst not trust even I for thee smelleth rapturous to mine own designs.”

A covetous expression washed away the guise of life, revealing the skeletal rot beneath. It lasted only a moment before the elven beauty was restored, but it felt as if someone had poured ice into Autumn’s veins.

“Alas, death itself hast claim'd a debt of thee.”

Autumn swallowed, her nerves on fire beneath the icy stare. Despite being within earshot of her sleeping companions, she felt totally alone.

“The Styx’s Boons, what does that mean?” 

“I has't nary a clue as to what it entails for I wish not to couch in yond river of nothing; the ordinary of the living still draws me hence.”

Sweat like knives ran down Autumn’s back, sourcing her back with their icy chill. For her this was the first time she’d conversed somewhat reciprocally with a fae and there were things she wanted, nay, needed to know. 

“Tell me…Is there a way home-to my home in the Feywild! I need to know!” 

The banshee observed Autumn’s desperation with a fond, desperation-stained mein. A smile drowned with tears warped across her face as she spoke. 

“I knoweth a way to beest sure, but what useth is't to bid thee; you’ll never maketh it.  The summer court rules and shalt tear thee asunder beneath wild hooves.”

“What way! Tell me!” Autumn grew desperate as hope kindled in her bosom. 

“Perhaps I shalt, but first a deal between us we wilt consummate.” 

The fae drifted closer to Autumn in a languid, somber affair, but a flicker of slain rage burned in her ghostly eyes. It set Autumn’s nerves to a fluttering, teetering edge. By now she was well aware of the oddities abound; the world around her was deathly still and not even her rising voice had awoken her companions, slumbering not more than a hand’s width away.

Autumn gulped. 

“W-what deal? I-If you think I’m making a deal with a fae, t-then you're vastly mistaken.” 

The banshee gazed unhappily at Autumn. 

“U-umm, what do you want?”

“I wanteth what all the dead wanteth: peace. Once, a most wondrous span of seasons ago, so long yond I’ve gazed upon entire races rise and falleth, I wast a most wise and powerful fae of the Autumn Court.

“We art the most belov'd of the courts by both mortals and divinity alike. Autumn is not as passionate as summer n'r as pragmatic as winter; tis the bounty and hospitality we giveth. But maketh nay misprision, we art the night of fright too; yond which jowls in the night.

“A lowly mortal fopped me most foul into offering mine own heart; far too fancied, yond did I agree. They did pluck’th from mine own chest a beating heart and curs'd me into the undeath thee ere see. Mine own deal with thee is thusly: emboss mine own foe and sendeth those folk to a most cunning and absolute of graves, ner to returneth forevermore. In returneth, I’ll aid thee in thy quest to returneth to whence thee wish to beest.”

The banshee gazed gravely and expectantly at Autumn. Hope was a foreign concept to such a shunned creature, but a light of it flickered in mockery in her core. 

Autumn’s own heart beat a loud rhythm in her ears as took in the bargain before her, but she’d not fall for the temptation. The young witch drew herself up and quelled her nervous hands. There was much to clarify before they could strike a pact.

“Who killed and cursed you?” 

“A foulness known to thee as a swamp-hag. Many names they knoweth the creature by; the one creature lays claim to is Mildred, the Finger-Eater.”

The banshee grew wrathful and the air froze before her. Autumn shivered despite herself and only half from the cold. 

“And you want me to kill her?”

“Cunningly and absolutely so yond she’ll ner returneth.”

“Is she powerful?” 

“...very.” The banshee almost hissed. 

“Where does she live?”

The banshee grinned a skull-white grin. “Here in this very mire; the beast mocks me with her presence.”

“And what exactly is it that you’re offering for this deed?”

An icy wind caressed Autumn’s cheek as the banshee narrowed her eyes. 

“Everything, I giveth thee.

“Thou wish’th to returneth home, aye? through the feywild? Well, thither art only three ways into the lands of the eternal seasons. The first, only a fae may travel the winding cords of the passageways into the feywild or hold a fae’s heart in thy hands. I shall giveth thee mine own still beating heart as a reward for vanquishing mine own foe. A fair trade, aye?”

“What are the other ways?”

“Hmm?” The banshee’s eyes flashed with anger, but Autumn held the cooling gaze with steel of her own. In the end, the banshee relented reluctantly.

“The second is through the river Styx. The river travels through all realms, so it’s possible to traverse its waterways into whichev'r realm thee care, but only the ferryman’s cautel can doth so safely, and I don’t needeth to bid thee of the cost.

“The third is via charm, a powerful spell yond the Finger-Eater just so happeneth to hold.” 

The banshee grin terribly at her ploy. Two of Autumn’s solutions involve dealing with the hag, so even if she didn’t take the ghostly fae’s deal, she’d likely kill the hag anyway.

Autumn didn’t need to ask the fae if she’d keep to her deal. By now, she’d learned enough about how binding these sorts of pacts were and the consequences of breaking them. She was only worried about the things she might miss and the things omitted. It was evident to her she had no option but to accept, as the banshee had ambushed her alongside her vulnerable companions. The banshee’s wail had deafened her before; at this distance it’d likely just kill her outright.

The banshee watched her with a hungry gaze. 

“What is your name?” Autumn asked.

An amused and annoyed look was born and died upon the ghostly face. 

“A clev'r dram witch thou art, but I knoweth not. Stolen wast mine own name by the hag. Killeth yond hag and claim it for thineself.”

Autumn breathed a sigh out to calm herself. No other question rattled about in her mind, yet she knew she was missing something. That’s how these deals aways go right? But what choice did she have?

“A pact spoken: I, Witch Autumn, shall kill the hag Mildred, the Finger-Eater, so thoroughly and completely that she shall never rise again. You, nameless banshee, once fae of the Autumn Court, shall in return offer me up your heart, name, and guidance for all of entirety and a day. Shall we agree?”

The hauntingly beautiful fae banshee grinned. 

“Thou art named Autumn? How humorous and fated art we? I concur with thy terms.”

As Autumn’s first pact resonated in the fabric weave of magic and existence the oaken amulet rose from her pocket. It expanded into a orb of weaved together branches like a cage and the pact emblazoned itself upon it. The banshee cocked her head at the magical item.

“A soul-cage? How quaint. Very well I shalt maketh myself at home within.”

The ghostly fae drifted in the swirls of magic into the soul-cage now known to Autumn. Slowly, the glow faded, and it fell into Autumn’s palm. The seemingly ordinary amulet now burned with an icy touch, and as she strung it around her neck to rest between her breasts, Autumn swore she could hear the banshee let out a restful sigh at the sound of her heartbeat.

Autumn stared out over the frozen pond before letting out a long sigh. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck me.”

Reaching over to companion, Autumn woke Nethlia up for her watch. The berserker’s eyes instantly snapped open and took in the sweat-drenched witch. Alarmed, she quickly sat up. 

“Trouble?” 

Autumn stared into the bright orange eyes a beat before laying her head in Nethlia’s lap with a hat full of enough fear to build a palace with. 

“Yeah, but it can wait till morning. Goodnight.”

Nethlia looked down at Autumn, confused. A short distance away, the frozen pond cracked.