They stood before a path in the thicket, framed in milk thistles, myrrh and blue lotus. A hot summer's day shaded deep within the confines of the forest; humid to frizz the hairs on Mabel's forehead where she stood left of Stan, right of Ford. Fatigue rang clear through the willows, just as silence consumed bone. Five days of nonstop searching led to desperation, which led here: The Whirling Coven.

Ford loathed dealing with witches.

"This is a bad idea." Grunkle Ford mumbled, hand placed cautiously atop his hip, which carried a fully-charged Magnet Gun. "I still say we give it a week before considering... supernatural solutions."

Mabel's skin was ashen. Near-sickly since Saturday, when the news first reared its ugly head. Scavenging alleyways, burrows and basements within a thirty-mile radius; there wasn't so much a blip of Dipper's disappearance on a Live Traffic Camera.

She smiled weakly, having skipped breakfast, and with a pin-needle look to her eye. Her hand went to pat peacefully at Ford's wrist, urging him to lower his guard.

"Aw, come on; witches aren't that bad."

"Sweetie, they stole my hands once." Stan grouched a sigh. "As much as I hate to admit- which I'm not , for the record-." He pointed hastily at either relative. "Maybe the stick up Ford's ass' got a point, and these cauldron-stirring wart-lickers aren't fooling around."

"We have to try-." Mabel scolded, to which her grunkle cut in.

"We are trying; we're here, aren't we?" Ford assured. He took a breath, gesturing at what looked to be no more than a thing of unruly weeds, leading across the path which supposedly trailed into a small community of witches; deep, deep within the forest.

A traditional bunch, he'd warned back at the shack, who wore nothing but charms to cover- at most- their wrists and ankles. Who fed off the land, stunk of poppy, and buried themselves through the dead of winter. True, the Whirling Coven was synonymous with Divination (I.e. seeking out the future, as well as common practice for tracking lost items. Or people). But they were a heinous species, and hated all outsiders.

Or, plainly put, all men. The milk thistles, myrrh and blue lotus were more than vegetation. They guarded against unwanted travelers; lost campers, lumberjacks and little boys with their hands in their pockets. No male may breach the barrier. Ever.

Witches, by nature, couldn't stand the sight of them.

"I'm just saying; It's a bad idea. You'll be all alone in there, and we won't be able to contact you as long as that barrier's up... Maybe we should postpone just a little longer-."

"No!" She gasped out, shocking the men. They jumped, as she too appeared taken aback by her own determination. But, she was ready. Mabel was (not, but how could she know that?) What good was sitting around when an answer awaited her just on the other side of that path? Her back straightened.

"He's-. Dipper's... And- and they might know. They might... I'm not gonna screw this up, okay? I'm good at poker, and you showed me how to be all investigate-y, and-. And, maybe they're nice. Maybe... maybe they'll be all "Sorry about your brother. Here's some magic sorcery-thingy." Right? That could happen."

"Mabel-."

"It could happen."

"Hypotheticals aren't what concern me." Ford sighed, rolling a hand down his face. He looked to Stan for backup, who in-turn shrugged his shoulders. "Witches are... Well, they're witches. You can never be too cautious."

"I'm super cautious-!"

"Just-. Don't get cozy. As soon as you have what you need, come right back. We'll be here." He pointed where he stood, straight as a board, though wilting at the shoulders. Mabel nodded- padded towards the path, then paused.

From her vantage point, the line only cut through forest before leading into a swallow of interlaced elms, which transformed into nothingness farther out. It appeared ominous, staring through a mouth of night, creeping darkness that pulled -with its nails- from dirt, onto the path. There didn't look to be anything beyond it, aside from where ground transitioned into black, fading until Mabel couldn't make out an ounce of land to stand on. Daunting and infinite-.

In the nose. Out the mouth (just like Dipper did). She crossed the threshold, and all melted away.

[...]

Like walking on nothing. Then uneven seas. Walking on rocks, before walking on what felt like land, but could've just as easily been a nest of spiders, what with a shivering crawl up her ankles. Mabel couldn't see three feet ahead, nor three feet behind. The forest was silent aside from static coursing the air, pricking and popping her skin. A vibration to the eyes.

In the nose.

Out the mouth.

Ford had instructed to travel East; the space was akin to a wormhole. It operated as a concentrated field of dark magic which transcended direction. It got the wrong kind of people turned around, and the right kind at a witch's doorstep. For Mabel, it should mean walking straight ahead- even if the Coven was just left of her, or underground, or on a boat off the coast of Argentina- and still reaching her destination, regardless.

She hadn't considered how long that might take. She certainly hadn't accounted for how eerie stumbling through darkness without a watch would be. It could've been an hour as easily as a day, confined within this space, which- where stepping- felt smooth and barren of wildlife. The sensation was surreal; like dreaming wide awake.

"You got this, Mabel." She told herself, even at the sinking rock in her stomach. There should be a break somewhere in the field; a blinding light to signal her in. Nothing but darkness trailing her on all four sides, pressing her shoulders. Mabel couldn't help but gnaw her lip (A habit developed over the last few days). Because- Ford hadn't outright said it, but the matter seemed plain as day when he panicked, letting slip there was a Coven, and they could find Dipper, and Mabel demanded he lead her to them- perhaps she could get lost.

Mortal women were a controversial subject amongst the Whirling Coven, at least as Ford explained. Most rejected the concept of union between man and woman. "Unnatural," they would call it; the Whirling Coven had their own tradition of reproduction under midsummer moon, where they waded through a pond of lily pads and (once struck by the particular design of one) would pluck a water lily from its stem, reach low between their own legs, and replant it within themselves. The offspring should be an exact copy of the host.

Still, begrudgingly, they saw kinship amongst women of all species, and accepted few who wished to escape the filthy presence of man. Which (Mabel gulped) wasn't what she was trying to do...

It didn't matter. She wasn't worried.

"I've got this. I've got this." Mabel whispered, feeling cool across the lips; frozen breath. It was strangely cold in this place.

She bundled herself up, pulling close the fabric of her woolen sweater. The echo of her footsteps through a seemingly empty, black space. Could've been an hour. Could've been a day.

In the nose. Out the mouth.

Or, was it the other way around?

"Turn. Feh, turn!"

Mabel stopped dead in her tracks, jolting at what sounded to be a distant, low growl. Deep in the belly, rising slow before crawling over the tongue. The tone was elderly; feminine. A harsh chill down her spine, rounding herself to the snap of a twig, feet shuffling closer. Mabel's hands went out to feel through darkness. Not even the naked bark of a tree under her palms.

"Hello?" She called out. A distasteful grunt reproached her.

"Get out. Go, go."

"Who's there?"

"Costmary."

"Costmary...?"

She reached out just as a wisp of hair tangled between her fingertips, coarse and brittle as salt. There was a step back. Mabel blinked- blind- scrunching her hands to recapture the lucid presence before her, though the voice was farther off again.

"Out now. Shoo, shoo, you half-thing." Costmary, as they referred themselves, urged on.

"Where are you? Turn on the lights."

"Lights not off; half-thing blinded."

"I'm blind?!" Mabel's hands wove through brown curls, pulling taut so her ears poked through a sheet of hair. Still, her knee-jerk panic was only as prevalent as her reassurance; looking where her hands should be- where legs connected to hips, elbows to forearms- she could still envision a white outline of limbs bending how she instructed, which calmed her instantaneously.

"Leave. Out. I show you out. Out, out, out; you stink of man."

"Wait. I need help. Which way is the Whirling Coven?" Mabel called to the voice, gripping blindly ahead, eyes squinted through darkness.

"Ye human?"

"Yeah, I-."

Costmary growled.

"Shoo, shoo, away. Lucky I take pity, or you stay stuck in dark."

"But-."

"We ne'er give potions to human; turn, then. Use medicine." The tight, gurgled splat of spitting on the ground. Mabel grimaced.

"I don't need a potion-." A cold, calloused hand wrapped around her wrist, and she gasped. It yanked and urged her in the direction she'd been headed, though Mabel reminded, direction meant nothing in this place.

"No curses either. T'is a waste of spell. Waste, waste-!" Costmary was all suddenly too close. She swept Mabel off like a fox caught in a farmer's chicken coop, paying little mind to the girl digging her heels into dirt. From the angle of which she was pulled, Mabel could easily tell this witch was as short as she was shrill, and yet directed her with sole-purpose.

She tried reasoning with the woman (as there was no doubt Costmary's hatred for the ladder), but all she received back was a "feh" and a "Go, go, out, half-thing." Still, desperation rang heavy in her throat. Mabel felt her skin tingle with a sensation opposite to that of breaching the Coven's barrier, and in a sudden panic realized she was soon to be cast back out like nothing. Hurriedly, she wrenched her wrist from Costmary.

"I'm trying to find my brother!" Mabel cried.

"Brother? Brother. Oh, oh the sickness! Share a womb with he? Share a mother? You stink of it! I cast you out, then. Away with you!" A pair of hands pressed into Mabel's back, prompting a sensation like teetering off a cliff. Tippy-toed against the edge, on the skin of her teeth, just barely fighting back. This was not a push, but a pull. The outside world wanted her, as this one wanted her gone.

Mabel side-stepped the pressure, all too close. The witch's palms slid from her back, as she could only imagine Costmary tripping over herself as a result.

"Please, I'm just asking for a little-!"

"Take with you your smell! Oh, the stench. The stench!" The scraping of soil. Costmary's nails dug deep and, rising to her feet, hurled a fist-full at the young girl's face.

"Hey! I don't smell that bad-!" Mabel shielded herself a moment too late, only sensing the dirt once it landed sharply across her cheek.

"Yee smells awful."

Mabel rolled the back of her hand against her cheek, smearing what- in light- looked to be red clay.

"Listen, I need you to track him for me. His name is-."

The witch covered her ears, clapping her hands over her lobes, howling nonsense.

"Do not say. Do not, do not! I could not care. I do not care." The witch babbled.

"Well, someone has to!" Mabel stomped, rearing on Costmary's voice.

"Nay. Be gone, or turn to stone."

Mabel threaded her hands together, a sudden plea to her tongue.

"I'll pay you! Please, just- Even a little help; I'll take anything."

"You annoy me. Why do you not leave?"

"I have stickers, or- or money if that's what you want."

Mabel padded her pockets just as the words escaped her, quick to snatch her wallet. (Grunkle Stan wasn't lined with cash- he'd staple his clothes back together before considering replacing them- but he'd gotten into a habit of slipping small bills into the twin's personal items. It was better having the cash on-hand and not needing them to come for him and beg; even more important they did not realize (Though they definitely had) he enjoyed spoiling the two, as limited as it was).

"Ha! Linen? For what? I need it not." There was a pause then, and perhaps Costmary was waiting for Mabel to sweeten the pot. But, what could Mabel give her? She had no idea. The witch, in all this darkness, tilted her head up, nose wrinkled in dissatisfaction when the young girl only slipped five dollars from her wallet, placed it before her own feet and pulled away like feeding a lion. Costmary- bare, as Ford had warned- circled her foot over the currency with a grunt; nothing she couldn't find in the forest.

"Rot here, then." She passed tiredly. Witches didn't often leave women stranded, lest they be seeking love potions or romantic charms that may benefit their male lovers. This, Costmary decided, was close enough. The witch turned away.

Mabel's hand found the edge of what felt to be a naked shoulder, bristled in moles and warts, cold with curls of hair adorning the flesh. Perhaps it was fate that guided her to grab Costmary. And, perhaps luck the witch didn't hex her to sit on needles for it. Costmary whirled on her, a cawing hiss on her tongue, though Mabel was much faster.

"I'll give you anything . I mean it."

She clasped her fingers over the witch's shoulders, too uncertain to search out Costmary's hand in the dark. (Where she stood, the witch only came up to Mabel's hips). An initial "yack," before Costmary rationed with herself. She couldn't step foot outside the Coven, after all. Sage and rosemary and chervil at her fingertips, but lacking luxurious ingredients for her more complex spells. To have someone stumble through the barrier was a rare opportunity, one she reminded herself held a thing of benefits.

She had hoped the girl would upgrade her previous offer (Costmary had no use for money), though asking for specifics seemed such a bother. The witch smacked Mabel's hands off with a grunt, and then a cackle.

"Pretty eyes." Costmary played with a rub of her chin. "Give one, I show the way." Mabel laughed awkwardly.

"Can we... uh, can we negotiate?"

Costmary grumbled, but quickly abandoned it. Mabel felt the witch's attention turn swiftly to her left, where she poked a boney finger into Mabel's gut. Pinched the skin of her knee and tested the give of her shirt before rounding herself.

"Feh... Nose. You have child-nose. Good for conjuring." Costmary suggested, as though she were settling. Mabel cleared her throat.

"How about something... detachable?"

"Nose is detachable."

"What about... uh." Mabel padded herself down; empty pockets. Then up around the neck (do witches take hair?), landing around the cheeks. She melted at the cool metal pressed between her fingers, though (with a sigh) proposed the one thing she had. "-my earrings? They're really shiny."

Really, really shiny, Mabel thought sadly.

"Mmm. They are." Costmary tapped her chin, admiring the small set of stars which adorned the young girl; colors trailed before them in rainbow pattern. Oh, the witch thought. Do not have those colors in the Coven; can never find the right herbs. She hummed. "Shooting stars; mean happy travels... I take these, then, I do." Her hands were instantly overtaking Mabel's.

"Okay, well- ouch! Careful!" The backs popped off when Costmary gave a heavy pull, thankfully, though her ears soon began to throb. She placed her thumb and index over the afflicted areas, staring sadly out into a birth of nothingness.

"Dipper bought those for me..."

"Do not say the name; I care none for he."

Costmary examined the material curiously; clear film kept the metal underneath from rusting... Clever, she had to admit. And, the tips were a bit crusted over in dead skin from where the nubs were inserted into the lobes, which could make good on a small potion or two. A fair trade, Costmary decided, padding the jewelry under her arms which- being a witch amongst nothing but women, saw pointless the concept of clothes- stuck firmly to the gristle of her skin.

There was a knock, then a snap of her fingers, and darkness was swiftly stripped from Mabel's gaze, retreating faster than she could chase. The sudden assault had her shrinking, covering her eyes. She crouched as, shaded amongst the deep green of trees, light burrowed into her corneas. Which surprised Mabel, who'd only moments before been wandering about a space so empty- so barren of life. Now it was a matter of brooks, and creeks, and trails laden in acorns, and what looked to be a small village of tents just west.

Mabel stood, rubbing her eyes helplessly to blink away what felt like artificial blindness. She looked pleasantly towards Costmary. A frog's features, droopy and hunched. Haggard with skin the shade of a dark Mangave, with hair that strung out over a large bump on her head. Costmary had claws. Curls of hair on the knuckles. Stubble on her upper lip, and teeth like a rat's.

"You'll help me find him then?" Mabel asked eagerly; Costmary was already making her way along the trail leading into a community of Tipis. It was only a short distance away.

"The jewelry is tacky. Tacky wards off evil spirits." The witch commented flippantly. She looked over her shoulder at Mabel only to wave her off. "I give you to someone else; they stand the smell of half-things. They are poor, dirty creature, too."

It didn't really break Mabel's heart, thinking she'd be passed off to someone else, though the disgusted look on Costmary's face gave her concerns.

"Who?" Mabel asked.

"Beast is she; nasty, pitiful imp."

"Her name is... Beast?" Mabel questioned, to which the witch once again waved her off.

"I cannot remember she real name; we call she Beast."

"Why?"

"Oh, why? Why, oh why? Because. Her mother- oh, oh the strangeness." Costmary began enthusiastically; she'd told this story many times over. "We did not like she; were a whore before Beast were born. Named Herbaceous. Would sneak out to mingle with those ghastly things outside. Those- those manotaurs, and serpents, and- feh.

Herbaceous did not despise the male. Dreadful thing would not charm the lilies in midsummer, and one evening, we did find her lying with a cyclops. A cyclops! She were with child soon after- that be Beast. The child were Beast; did bare a third eye from her father on her temple, and stared very strangely. Beast, then. We call she Beast."

Mabel and Costmary emerged from the woods into the Whirling Coven; a small, dirt-paved plain of tents with animal skins for roofs. The walk-way lay open, though many (naked, as Ford cautioned, and rotting smells like curdled milk) witches sunbathed in the meadows, and crouched around bushes to pluck the ripe berries, and- so violently, so happily- padded the dry earth in crowns of marigold, just a way's off from their tipis. They paid little mind to the human and Costmary. Mortal girls often came and went like pleasant visitors.

"That's kind of... awful." Mabel spoke honestly, though hesitant. Costmary replied unaffected, steering them towards a small, darkened tipi.

"Unimportant; the Coven works well without her." She explained.

"But... is she any good at deviation?"

"Divination; she-." Costmary paused, overcome with a thought so heinous, she couldn't help but cackle. Her smile was down-right offensive. "Fine. Just fine. Much potential in youth."

"Will she be able to-?"

"Hush now. You annoy me." They appeared in front of a compact, simple tent dressed in white stars, a blessed sign of Clementia, sage and symphytum. "Her home is this one. Hurry. In."

Costmary swept the curtains aside to reveal a dark, stuffy room. Potions hang from the ceiling. Constellations across the curved, cone-shaped walls, with yet another blessing, this time dawned by Kallisto, overseen by Artemis. Unlike the unwashed murk outside, it smelled of Feverfew. A stark contrast to the sun bearing down on them when entering the dark room. Costmary held out her hand, eliciting a small flame.

There, entangled amongst many blankets, lay a woman of sheeted-white skin; such an unhealthy paleness. Her head sprouted curls of red with rings wild and angry, and a face mirroring that of a boar's. Nose wide with a brow that sagged the skin over her eyes, providing a perpetually exhausted quality to her features. Dotted in moles. Her lower canines were overgrown and lapped over her lips like tusks. Haggard, just as Costmary, even asleep as she was.

"Beast! Beast, rouse! The day is half-gone, you slag!" Costmary stumbled into the mess of blankets, shuffling furiously against the sleeping witch's side so her shins banged into her ribs. A startled sound. Beast curled away before leaning on her elbows, hair smeared crazily against her face, droopy-eyed and discontent. She blinked sadly, rubbing away sleep.

"You've come again? Oh, Costmary, leave me bee." Beast whined before turning away tiredly. "I've no more entertainment today; torture a different sister." She tried tightening the blankets around herself, only for Costmary to reach down and yank them from her person.

"Here, Beast, here. I bring a customer." Costmary chanted shrilly. She shook the poor woman, eager to encourage Beast into a sitting position, which she soon brought her to do reluctantly. The blankets pooled at Beast's waist, while a thin black sheet curved over her hair, down her chest and shielded away what was surely another unsavory display of nudity. A bandana wrapped tightly around Beast's forehead, hiding what Costmary gossiped was a third eye. She noticed Mabel as Costmary addressed her, nodding slowly, with much confusion in her gaze.

"Tell. Must be sad, it is, losing your thing." Costmary spoke to Mabel, a cruel calculation to her features. She curled her fingers over the girl's shoulders. Mabel frowned.

"He's not a thing. He's my brother." She nudged the witch away, turning towards Beast. "Please, can you help? I heard you guys were really good at the whole abracadabra-pizzazz. I'm looking for my twin brother, Dipper. He went missing a few days ago."

Beast's face shriveled, and she let out a whine.

"Costmary. Why must you torment me?" Beast turned to her fellow witch with pleading eyes, lower lip curling against the tusks of her mouth. Costmary tried not to grin, but the satisfaction in bringing this woman such sadness only brightened her day. Mabel hadn't the slightest clue why that might be. She looked expectantly at Beast for some sort of answer, only for the woman to dive for yet another sheet and fling it over herself.

"Do not look at me." Beast commanded pitifully.

"Hey! Please, just-. Come on, I already gave Costmary my earrings, but, um-. I have really long hair, see? I'll trade you, and you can do the thing, right? I have, like, so much hair."

"You do not want my services. It is of no use to you." Beast rolled on her side, facing away. Mabel dropped to her knees, shuffling close and, without thought, tugged away the witch's blankets to reveal her face. She leaned in, hand on her heart, even as Beast turned onto her stomach.

"I do want your services, though! I really, really, super-duper do! I promise!" Mabel assured. Costmary let out a chortle.

"Yee, Beast. Show her then. You are talented for a half-thing."

"Absolutely! Don't sell yourself short. Just try, please." Mabel, sadly, missed the seering mockery in Costmary's tone, only adding to the mounting pressure of compliance. This Beast-woman was a gentle soul, and found so easily to melt under the girl's plea, so that- even though it was a horrible idea- she soon caught herself propping back up, letting the clothes slip from her figure.

" "Try" is not the problem..." Beast warned slowly. Her eyes were fixed away, fingers toying idly the loose strings of her rug, before sucking in a tight, pained breath. "You are heartless, Costmary." She seated herself more properly, cross-legged, edged between incantations and thyme. Beast petted the spot in front of her. "Sit then. Sit here." She instructed Mabel.

Beast appeared vacant when instructing her forward- did not smile- and Mabel threw a confused look over her shoulders at Costmary, who couldn't quite conceal a nasty grin behind her fingers. Here, Mabel thought, Dipper would probably get suspicious. She cleared her throat.

"Just sit? Don't you want my, like, um, fingers and toes or something? Not that I want you to take my fingers and toes! Just that-. Um. You said here, right?" Mabel shuffled onto a pillow stuffed with cornmeal, dressed in woven hay. Beast nodded, directing her attention to a compact shelf of greenery and pots.

"Hand me that vile. Yes, now the wormwood." The witch placed said herb into the container, then handed her a long slab of wood with a rounded face; the base fit perfectly against the floor of the curved vile. "Crush for me." Beast instructed, and Mabel did just that, a bit sloppily and not knowing to roll the wooden, round rod around the container's edges, instead stabbing into the bowl, leaving behind clumps of un-crushed wormwood. Beast did not complain.

She instead plucked a single red hair from her head. Pulled the bandana from her brow, and- oh, the vibrant green of that third eye. It blinked out of time with her other two, though observing like it saw the world in every color, in every capacity. Mabel tried not to gape, instead throwing herself into her little work. Beast plucked a hair from Mabel's head and intertwined the two strands, lifting them so her third eye could see, with the added catch of daylight slipping through her tent.

Mabel's hand began to cramp. She paused to watch the witch staring blank at the two hairs, twisting them mindlessly and with a subtle expression of horror, though that could have just as easily been Mabel's nerves deceiving her.

"Is this a magic potion thingy? Or more like an oracle thingy?" She addressed the wormwood.

Beast jolted in her position, though her voice was soft.

"It is neither. Is busy work for you."

"Oh." Mabel replied dumbly. "I mean, I can help if you want-."

"Only quiet. Please."

"Uh, okay. Well, I'll just- um. Keep crushing these wormwood-guys."

"Thank you."

The tipi was silent aside from Mabel thumping down the wooden rod, turning wormwood to mush. Beast was meticulous about her work; slow to turn the hairs around her finger and bend the fibers near snapping. She observed with a critical eye, which shifted ever-so-often to check up on Mabel and her progress. The wormwood was firmly crushed after twelve minutes of stabbing. Still, Beast examined the strands until the gritty sludge was more like paste, occasionally casting her gaze at the girl in sympathy and grief. Mabel didn't notice the expression.

Costmary sighed at the display and, tiredly snuffing out the flame she'd elicited from her palm, let out a groan after nearly thirty minutes of silence.

"Beast, liar." She scolded. "Takes not this long to find him. Not even half. Knows the boy; where he is. True?" Costmary harshly accused. She stood more boldly before Beast, hands on her naked hips, glaring down at the woman. Beast lowered the hairs. She turned to Costmary, then Mabel, who'd abandoned her direction to obliterate the wormwood in her bowl. There was hope in those eyes. Beast wilted.

"...Yes."

"Wait, wait, wait; Already? Really?!" Mabel shot to her feet, hands clasped over her heart, beaming brighter than the sun. She knelt before Beast so quickly, it nearly swelled all the blood to her head. "Oh my gosh! Where? Where is he? How is he? I just- I just- Where?"

"Cannot say." Beast replied.

"Oh, thank you, I-." She stopped cold. Beast lowered her head. "Can't...?"

"No."

Mabel's smile dropped.

"...Why not?"

Costmary, in her battle to fight back a cruel, shrill laugh, finally lost out, doubling over in tight giggles and snorts. Something cold melted over Mabel's shoulders, watching with startled gaze the witch fall to her knees, onto her side, in cackling hysterics.

"T'is hilarious! Hilarious, stupid human!"

"You are so cruel, Costmary." Beast reprimanded; she pinched the hairs between her fingers, having them engulfed in flames.

"O-ho-ho! Is a joke, it is! Such fun, such fun, see she so excited, then! Did look so happy, to think she find her awful boy-kin; serves half-thing right, it does!" Costmary went on and on, rolling across the floor with teeth bared in a green smile. Her laughter filled the small tent.

Shaken, Mabel brought herself to stand. Her stomach swooped at the dread filling her lungs, and when she went to gulp, her throat wouldn't quite close all the way. Mabel's eyebrows kneaded into tight, hopeless sorrow, gaze trained on Beast.

"I-. I don't understand... Why can't you tell me?" Mabel fought back the urge not to ask; not to know. Gravity Falls wasn't some two-dimensional town. It was cognisant. It self-manifested weirdness like homemade moonshine and had a habit of trapping people like Dipper, who connected with the town and loved its erratic behavior. It had a way of (for lack of a better word) eating them alive. She almost couldn't bear the thought that- maybe- he was someplace unreachable. It struck her cold. Still, her gnawing need to hear it rang through the entirety of her body.

"Go then, Beast! T'is a funny tale!" Costmary jeered.

The witch, Beast, looked on in defeat before bending her head to the dip of her lap. She took a shallow breath, letting out something akin to a gurgle; painful and slow. Her hands did find their way into her hair, where she pulled them into two fist-fulls, lining out her curls to reveal the back of her neck. There, the stamp of Aidos. God of Shame.

"I am hexed." Beast said, like it was some simple little thing. She raised her head, to which Mabel shook her own.

"I-I don't-." She tried to wrap her head around the notion, but it didn't strike Mabel how Beast's predicament might affect hers.

"When young. I were not liked by the others."

"Is not liked!" Costmary called, having eased out of her laughing fit. Now it was a bubble of hiccups here and there, the ghost of her smile-lines, and what lingered of Costmary's rancid breath. Beast ignored her.

"What are you saying? What... Can't you find him? Don't you know where he is? What's the problem?" Mabel interrogated.

"I know. Yes, I see he... In much pain. Waits to be rescued-."

"Then tell me, and I'll go!"

"Cannot-."

"Why?!"

"If I tell you, he will be unfindable." The witch's tone was riddled with pain. She leaned out in defense of herself, pressing Mabel to understand. A hand curled across her thigh, the other clutching the rug, and Beast's brow set in a stern gaze. Mabel's expression mirrored her own, though tinged in confusion. Again, she shook her head.

"What does that even mean?" Mabel challenged with a step forward.

"Hee-hee! The hex were mine!" Costmary, forgetful of her hiccups and lightheaded with laughter, stumbled to her feet. She took center-stage, pushing Mabel back. Proud, with a bow. "Yes, yes, she know where he be. She know the location, but- oh-ho-ho! Do not say where, Beast! Do not! Or he never seen again. Is the hex! The hex! Clever, is I! So clever, this curse!" Costmary sang joyfully, clapping her hands to a rhythm non-existence. Beast hid her face behind her hands.

"Is true..." She mourned. "I tell, and he is lost. Is unfindable. Is the nature of this curse."

"No... No, that's-." Mabel tried finding the word to properly describe it, but none of them existed. They were all inhumane noises, and flashes of vibrant color, and wrists and ankles snapping under the force of a 100ft drop. They didn't fit her throat. They were active, violent words she felt incapable of saying. And, when Costmary let out yet another howling laugh, she feared the word might only really be her.

"Is true!" Costmary cheered.

"But, it can't be! She saw him!" Mabel reared on Beast. "You can see him!"

"I can." Beast shifted on her knees, fingers drumming her thighs. "Cannot say-."

"Then don't say it! Just-. Write it down, or-or text me!"

"Is the same thing. I cannot tell; is impossible."

"Nothing's impossible!"

If only Mabel could get this witch to understand. If only she could just show her how badly she needed this. It felt like her heart was pushing up the lungs; pushing down the liver. Her throat filled with it, and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe. Was she the only person in the world who could possibly love this much? Was she it? Mabel wished to pour out the contents of her chest, in that case. She hoped to rid of this feeling, where it tethered aimlessly to the soul of her brother, and slowly ripped itself in two.

"Twas my idea! It were, it were! So clever, is I!"

"Leave, Costmary. Out. Have done enough." Beast shot up, the drape around her shoulders sliding away, and a heavy, sour smell from where she had sat. She brushed past Mabel who stood, teetering on uneven stilts, red in the face, flushed at the gills, to confront the other witch. Beast was at least three Costmaries tall.

"My idea, yes it were! It were, it were-!" Costmary danced on the balls of her feet, side to side like a jest, only to make an affronted noise at Beast's hands on her, hauling her through the gap of her tipi.

"Go!" Beast threw her out. Literally, threw her. Costmary landed on her ass with a thud before scampering off like a rodent. Beast huffed, peering out to watch the wayward witch on all fours steer into a pasture of poppies and end on her back. She felt pride; Beast didn't often have the courage to disrespect Costmary as she had, and would surely pay for it in kind, but at the moment felt something warm bloom in her feet.

Mabel settled herself amongst the blankets, looking expectantly at Beast when she turned back around. The witch offered pomegranate and sweet wine. Mabel wasn't hungry.

"Isn't there..." Beast's features were apprehensive to the question. Bracing and scorned. Mabel bristled. "Don't say it's impossible... Don't."

Beast drank the refused wine. She pulled open the flap of her tent, looking out into the Coven. She knew just as well, though surpassing all in terms of divination, the hex prevented her from disclosing any real information. And, though she was outcast by her own people, The Whirling Coven was always rather fascinated by half-things like Mabel.

Perhaps if the girl left now, the other witches would never know she'd even come to ask for Beast's help. She would still have an open window to strike a bargain with some other member of the Coven. For a price, Mabel might still find him yet.

"May get help from another, you trade your teeth." Costmary suggested. Teeth were a fancy thing in the Coven; strong enamel made for weeks of hallucinogens and regeneration potions. It was only ever a matter of waiting, but for those whose teeth did fall out, they were usually rotten and hollow, unlike Mabel's, which were strong as a horse's. Surely, someone would help her in exchange for a fistful.

Mabel didn't want that, though. She couldn't afford to pay that price. Not yet. Beast wasn't much, but at the very least, she was giving her services for free, which was something.

Mabel took a shaky breath.

"You saw him... You can see him. Please, there has to be something you can do."

"Can wish for safe travels." Beast replied solemnly.

"Is he far away?"

"Cannot say."

"What can you say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

Beast paused. She wished to disclose his location, but was barred from doing so. Even then, Dipper hadn't ceased to exist. She saw him clearly as a TV stand. It was dark where the boy lay. Beast, from the view of her third eye, could make out prominent bruising around the throat, blood pooling in his mouth where he bit his tongue. Stricken in tears and caged like an animal. She wasn't cruel. She wouldn't say those things.

Beast shook her head slowly, then firm, making Mabel curl into herself. Mabel hoped to starve off the tremor of her lower lip; it wouldn't sway the circumstances in her favor. All she could do was face it head-on. She trembled, but stood.

"I'm-... I'll give them my teeth, then. Just point me where." Mabel replied conclusively. She met Beast's gaze without a hiccup, who then motioned her to the mouth of her tent. Beast pointed down the line of tipis to the very end where a high, proud tent stood skyward.

"Mugwort live in red tent; she do it for the fronts."

"Okay..." Mabel peered out in worry; it was blood-red, and shrieked horrible things at her. She repressed a shiver, turning to Beast with a nod. "Okay." She said again, louder. Mabel stepped out of Beast's tipi, straight-backed and shaking. Even so, she tilted her head over her shoulder, locking eyes with this Beast-woman, and smiled. "Thank you. Goodbye."

Beast looked on. She'd been raised by the Coven as little as possible; hardly knew her mother, never met her father, and hadn't the urge to wade under midsummer's moon for a child of her own. She prided herself on not being so cruel. She spoke softly. She was hospitable to her many sisters, the few of which came to visit at all, and knew no other family.

Perhaps something touched her. Mortal women gave much when they entered the Coven, but none ever chanced parting with their vanity. They offered pearls, emerald earrings, and the intricate frills of their socks, but never something as permanent as teeth. Beast never knew a mortal girl willing to part with them. Something struck her then, which opened the floodgates to a small, naïve idea. This girl was not in love, but she loved purely. It was an enchanting display.

"Wait." Beast called out to Mabel, who'd already made it halfway across the path. She turned slowly, returning Beast's outstretched hand with a look of anticipation. Beast wet her lips before beckoning the girl back over. Mabel came, and the witch spoke softly.

"Is... warm there." She began. Beast heard Mabel's breath hitch, her eyes widening when she leaned into the witch's voice, silent as a stool. "Feel the sun... Smell of sea. I smell... fresh."

"Is he in the states?" Mabel blurted, pulling back to look Beast in the eye. The witch shook her head, not in answer of yes or no, but a warning not to ask at all. It would only devastate the girl, come she realize there was little else she could say. Still, she went on.

"Green. Many trees. Very tall trees." Beast amended.

Mabel gripped the woman's shoulders, unfazed by wrinkled skin under her young hands. She pushed her inside the tent with a smile, quick to pull the tipi's flaps shut.

"What else can you tell me?"