So yeah. She found us.
Of course she did.
Because apparently when a swamp hag says "better find me before I find you," it's not just folksy murder-chatter. It's a promise etched into the bones of reality.
Next full moon, on the dot, she comes creaking up the hill like mold in human form. Stick tapping the ground, eyes twinkling like she just caught two kids defiling a sacred relic—which, okay, maybe she technically did.
Dragon's still not talking.
Still stuck in full-blown emotional shutdown mode.
Auntie-Petrified-Crystal-Caldera meltdown status: ongoing.
So who has to deal with it?
Me, of course. Always me.
I drag the crone to the side, away from where my partner in dramatic grief is sitting and staring at clouds like they insulted his bloodline.
I grab the bundle from my pack, unwrap it, and slap the thing into her hands.
"The tea cup," I say, gritting my teeth. "Here."
She looks at it. Blinks. Doesn't say a word.
I jab a finger at it.
"Not a scale. No. But it's hers. Theirs. Whatever she was. That ancient she-witch dragon goddess thing you clearly had something going on with back in the age of bronze and bad decisions."
She raises one eyebrow.
I keep going.
"It's not just her tea cup, okay? She touched it every day. For eternity. Sat with it. Judged empires with it. Probably cursed it at least five times. So don't tell me it's not enough."
Crone still silent. Of course. She's enjoying this.
I fold my arms.
"Don't ask how I got it. Don't ask what happened. Just… don't.
She's gone. Your… whatever. Your old flame. Your eternal rival. Your tea partner in blood and cryptic erotic tension.
She's stone. We found her like that. We left her like that. So take the cup."
Still silent.
So I jab her shoulder now. Yeah. I poke the hag.
"Take the cup. Take the magic. Take the memory. And forget whatever unfinished cryptic swamp-flavored tragedy you two had hanging between you. Just… forget it. It's done."
I step back.
The crone looks down at the cup again. Hands wrapped around it like it might burn her. Or like she already knew. Like maybe she felt it the moment it happened.
She doesn't say thank you.
Of course she doesn't.
But she nods.
Once.
And that's enough.
I walk back to the dragon.
He hasn't moved.
Still staring at the sky like it owes him an apology.
I flop down next to him, sighing.
"Deal's done," I say. "She's gone. Hag's gone. Tea cup's gone."
He says nothing.
So I lean back against him and mutter:
"You owe me so many cheeses for this."