The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis

The pavilion was tucked between two garden walls, shaded by a crab-apple tree just beginning to blush into bloom. It smelled faintly of rain and moss, like the courtyard had been waiting too long for something—maybe someone—to happen.

Maybe we both had.

Twelfth Princess Liang Yiran sat across from me, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the curve of her back too perfect for someone raised outside this world. But her eyes—those hadn't changed. She still looked at people like they might say something wonderful.

Her robes shimmered faintly with embroidered clouds. Her hair was pinned with soft white jade. Everything about her said gentleness, grace, poetry. But I remembered the girl who once tripped over her own laptop cord and spilled bubble tea all over my final presentation slides. The one who offered to take the blame because, in her words, "your GPA has further to fall."

That girl wasn't gone. She just sat behind more layers now.

"When I sent you the invite, I wasn't sure if you'd come," she said, her voice soft enough that even the birds didn't interrupt. "I mean, I was hoping, but I wasn't sure."

"I almost didn't," I admitted. "You were hard to recognize. Honestly, it was only your taste in music that made me realize who you were."

She smiled at that. "You weren't, but I was surprised that you chose that song to sing. I really thought you would have picked something more… appropriate… like 'Make a Man Out Of You'."

I let out a quiet breath. "Was I really that bad?"

"No," she said gently. "Just… unmistakable."

The corner of my mouth lifted. "You always did like to start conversations like a poem."

"And you always rolled your eyes when I did."

"I still do."

She laughed, and it wasn't the polite tinkle I'd heard at the banquet. It was the real one—slightly wheezy, unfiltered, like we were back in our shared dorm, sitting cross-legged on the floor with too much ramen and not enough heat.

Shi Yaozu stood behind me like a shadow, quiet and unreadable. Across from him, Yiran's guard leaned against a carved pillar, arms loosely crossed. The two hadn't spoken, but they were aware of each other—two sentinels measuring weight and silence.

Yiran reached into her sleeve and set down a small round tin. I knew the shape before she even lifted the lid.

Cookies. The kind with lemon cream and stale preservatives.

My throat tightened before I could stop it.

"Still can't finish a whole pack," she said. "Even here."

I took one slowly, brushing a thumb over the smooth aluminum. "You used to sneak these into the lab."

"And you used to eat half before the professor even finished roll call."

"Only fair. You borrowed my notes for three semesters."

"And you kept correcting my grammar."

"You needed it."

We both smiled.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind that came when two people finally sat still after surviving very different storms.

"I didn't think I'd see anyone I knew again," she said after a while. "I hoped. But I didn't think…"

"I didn't either."

"I was never the one who adapted well," she admitted, brushing her fingers lightly along the tea tray. "I cried the first time someone called me 'Your Highness.' Thought they were talking to someone behind me."

I studied her a little longer. "Did you cry when they gave you a palace?"

"No," she said with a small laugh. "But I cried when I burned the rice."

That made me laugh too—an actual laugh—and she looked up, like she was proud of herself.

"I'm getting better," she said. "They don't know I boil the eggs myself when no one's looking."

I looked at her more closely. The silk, the jade, the way she held herself like someone used to being observed. She wore the skin of a princess now. But she still talked like the girl who once bought matching mugs for us and broke both in the same week.

"And the Emperor?" I asked carefully.

Her brow creased, but not with worry.

"For someone not of his blood," she said thoughtfully, "he's been kind. He listens when I speak. He even… laughs sometimes."

"That's rare."

"I know." She glanced down. "I don't think he sees me as a threat. I think that helps."

"And the harem?"

She sighed. "You mean the world's most delicate cage?"

I raised a brow. "So you're learning."

She snorted. "I miss people saying what they mean. Here, everything's a mirror trick. I just want to be able to tell someone their outfit looks like a curtain without being declared an enemy of the state."

"You didn't."

"I did. I told Lady Wei her sleeves looked like stage drapes. I thought she was going to faint."

"You always had a talent for subtlety."

"It's not a talent," she muttered, "it's a coping mechanism."

I bit into the cookie. Too sweet. Too dry. Exactly how I remembered them.

"How did you know it was me?" I asked quietly.

"The song," she said. "I recognized it. And the way you held yourself. I don't think you've ever once looked lost in your life."

"I've been lost," I said. "I just never let anyone see it."

She nodded. "That tracks."

Another silence, this one softer.

"I missed you," she said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

I didn't look at her. "You missed an idea of me."

"No. I missed you." She took a breath. "I know we were never the closest, not really. But you always made me feel steadier. Like I wasn't the only one trying to figure things out."

"That's because I wasn't trying to figure anything out," I said. "I just did what had to be done."

"And now?"

"Now I still do."

Her fingers traced a small circle on the stone table. "I'm glad you're alive. Even if we don't talk again after this… I'm glad I got to see you."

I met her gaze. "We'll talk again."

She blinked. "We will?"

"You brought lemon cookies. That earns you at least one more conversation."

She grinned, and this time her teeth showed. "Next time, I'll bring chocolate."

"You always did know how to bribe me."

"I still do."

Behind us, the guards shifted slightly. A breeze carried the scent of mint and stone. Somewhere in the palace, bells chimed the hour.

I stood first. She didn't rush to follow.

"We're not on the same path anymore," she said.

"No," I agreed. "But maybe we're not on opposite ones either."

She bowed lightly, the court form just a touch too stiff to be native. "Until next time, Xinying."

"Until next time."

I walked away without looking back. But I didn't stop smiling for a long time.