Chapter: 98
Witches can’t love.
“A thousand years… is way too much time to waste on trial and error…. The potion of longing, the potion of excitement, the potion of gazing… funny enough, the more potions I made, the farther I drifted from the goal of the ‘love potion’…. Can you even imagine? A sculptor who just chips away at everything unnecessary to finish a sculpture… or, on the flip side, a sculptor who only adds what seems to be missing…. An awful artist who never finds balance and ends up either scrapping everything or leaving behind a mishmash of expensive materials fused together…. What I was doing wasn’t any different from that….”
But witches stayed true because they hadn’t changed in a thousand years.
Since they couldn’t love, they had no choice but to be blind to love.
“Because I couldn’t feel loneliness or sorrow in the absence of the one I love, I thought maybe that was love, so I brewed a potion of longing.”
When someone you love is far away, it’s impossible to miss them. Like a wanderer who’s become too far from home, you can’t be sad about not being able to stand on familiar ground. That’s why I whipped up a nostalgia potion—a brew for dredging up deep memories.
“When there’s a gap between me and the one I love, but my cheeks don’t blush, I wondered if that was love, so I created an excitement elixir.”
When you run into someone you adore, your heart doesn’t race. You can’t just let go and share a moment with them. So, I crafted an excitement potion—one that makes your heart race like it’s about to burst.
“Love is wanting everything of that person, so I concocted a jealousy potion. I made a gaze potion, believing love is about focusing on just one person.”
“……”
“I believed if I could slowly fill in the missing emotions, they would intertwine and turn into love. Even a witch’s empty soul would one day be filled with love… I had to believe it. After all, I grew up hearing such tales from a young age…. The witch’s goal is to achieve the love potion….”
Witches can’t love.
‘Eternal’ equals ‘unchanging.’
Witches, granted the promise of ‘eternal youth’ at birth, aren’t allowed to possess the ever-shifting, ever-churning human heart. Some witches, giving up on being ‘human’, transformed into beasts just to gain a heart. That’s how Beastmen came to be.
And Mary Jane remained holed up in her little cottage, still churning out her ‘love potions.’
“I still believe in it… but I think I’ve done enough trial and error… I can’t come up with any more potions, so I thought I’d ask for Writer Homer’s opinion.”
“My opinion…?”
“Yes. If it’s you, Homer, I thought you could tell me what feelings I really need.”
“Hmm.”
Love.
There’s a ton of literature on love. Some depict fiery romances, others tell tales of first loves sparked by a glance, and others narrate the fade of love and the rise of new love. Some writers even argue that every story must be a ‘love story.’
But, um…
Not that I’m some great love expert, but—
It didn’t seem like a ‘love potion’ was what she needed.
She was a Tin Man.
Just like all the characters in The Wizard of Oz–she had everything she needed already. You can’t call spending a thousand years blindly pursuing one person ‘love.’
She was already in love with someone.
And…
The “someone” she loved wasn’t hard to figure out.
“…Mr. Alchemist.”
“Yes! What’s up?”
Alchemist.
The master who created the potion of immortality.
The cheerful alchemist smiling away must be the one the witch ‘loved.’
Though the alchemist didn’t seem to notice at all.
Anyway, if this love dilemma was theirs, surely they’d have the solution all sewn up already.
“Galen, do you have a Hyde Potion… something that reveals the true essence of a person instead of hiding it?”
“Of course!”
The alchemist whipped out a small potion from his bag.
It was the ‘Essence Revealing Potion’, or commonly known as the ‘Hyde Potion,’ which I’ve used a few times before.
I took the potion from the alchemist and handed it back to the witch.
“I think this might help Mary Jane.”
“…What?”
The witch, having glanced back at the alchemist and then me, finally downed the potion.
I wonder how long she waited, probably a few minutes.
“…No effect at all.”
In the end, witch Mary Jane drank the ‘Essence Revealing Potion’ and nothing changed.
The unchangeable “essence” of the witch was just as she was.
She looked like this in the past and would probably look the same in the future. The essence of a timeless being is just that simple.
“Miss Jane, do you trust Mr. Galen’s potion?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“This potion reveals the true essence of a person, no hiding it, no bits left behind.”
“…Are you saying that my essence can never change, just because I was born this way? Is your belief that a love potion can never be perfected… what you’re hinting at, Homer…?”
“Not at all.”
“What?”
And…
If this ‘outward appearance’ is not different from her essence.
The issue becomes super simple.
“Miss Jane doesn’t need a love potion.”
“What do you mean by that…?”
“If you can follow someone blindly, strive to understand them, and spend a thousand years just trying to meet their eyes… if you don’t call that sincerity love, then what would you call it?”
“…I have no feelings. I don’t get butterflies in love or soften up over it. Nothing… nothing changes. I can’t even smile genuinely; I have to force a grin. But can you call this love? Is love without feeling actually love? Can an action be love just because it’s similar to being in love? Can someone who whispers sweet nothings actually be in love with someone…?”
Mary Jane’s voice, while still soft and calm, somehow screamed desperation.
Even after living a thousand years….
Not being able to define oneself properly seems to be a universal human thing.
“Sure, there are people who are different inside compared to their outside.”
“……”
“So, at least this doesn’t apply to you, Jane.”
“Why not…?”
“Because Mr. Galen’s potion indicates that your inside and outside are one and the same.”
“…Oh.”
I know just how delicately Mr. Galen’s potion works.
I know how it transformed a prince born with a woman’s soul and how a plagiarist lived two lifetimes.
Galen Ranion is a reliable alchemist.
And Mary Jane would trust him more than I do.
“It was just a hunk of iron that the Wizard of Oz put into the Tin Man’s heart.”
“……”
No amount of brilliant literature from me could convince Mary Jane.
“Do you still need magic?”
“…No.”
However, with Galen Ranion’s potions, it’s entirely possible.
The thousand years she spent gazing at the ‘alchemist’ finally brought her around.
The results weren’t exactly explosive.
“Maybe I’ve been in love all along….”
.
.
.
[“I can now love….”]
.
.
.
“Eternity is immutable…”
“What?”
“Uh, no. Come to think of it, I may not be so different from the witch.”
“Are we talking about The Wizard of Oz now?”
“Um, maybe?”
I had thought I would never put anything before ‘literature’.
Even if it were love.
But… as much as I adore literature, I’d love for other people to cherish it too. Literature isn’t just piles of written works; it exists through the interactions among readers, critics, and the ever-shifting trends and issues. Without anyone else to chat literature with, it’s just an absurd daydream.
That’s why I started dating a junior back on Earth.
– “Hey, Senior!”
– “Hmm?”
– “Why did you accept my confession when books are all you seem to care about?”
– “Uhh, maybe because I liked your hobbies?”
– “Surely there’s more? Am I pretty? Sweet? A great cook? I thought I had a bunch of great traits!”
– “Well, pretty, yes. Sweet too. Cooking… not sure since I haven’t tried it yet.”
– “Hehe… So, how about coming over to my place this weekend?”
– “Hmm…”
– “I have loads of limited edition hardcovers and out-of-print books!”
– “I’m in.”
– “…I feel like I just lost to a book.”
Someone who shares my interests. Someone whose hobbies differ from mine, like movies or dramas. Someone who makes a living from my hobby. It’s plentiful humanity that allows literature to be called ‘literature’.
That’s why, instead of picking ‘the Library of Eternity’, I chose ‘the present’ when I first transcended.
Beautiful lines like those of angels and thrilling tales that can move mountains mean nothing without people.
Always the same.
Because what truly matters can only be seen with the heart….
.
.
.
“Hello, Mr. Homer. I’m Anthony, the acting Duke of Cafeter.”
“Oh, so you’re the son of the Duke of Cafeter. Nice to meet you.”
“I hear my father has been rather rude. Ha ha….”
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