Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

After work, Hestia carried her dinner box in hand.

Walking through the familiar corridors, she returned home, swapped into breathable, comfortable slippers, and lightly hopped onto the sofa, bouncing gently.

First, she closed her eyes and lay down for a short while. Then she sat up, opened the dinner box in front of her—a T6-grade vegetable and cod rice set meal she bought on her way back.

Since she returned home late, Hestia didn’t want to spend time cooking and occasionally bought ready-made meals.

The cooked cod fillet rested quietly in its white compartment, with a small amount of sauce underneath, emanating an enticing aroma. In the other compartment were sliced and stir-fried vegetables, including celery, carrots, and eggplant strips, vibrant in color.

Sitting alone at the dining table, Hestia crossed her legs, resting her feet lightly on the horizontal bar under the chair. She ate the still-warm dinner in small bites with her chopsticks.

With no one else around, the hall was particularly quiet. The dusty objects and corners of the house hinted at a time when this place was once home to a complete family.

After finishing her meal, Hestia tidied the table quickly before returning to the sofa. She picked up her personal terminal to browse.

It was June 8th, just four days until the gathering on the 12th. Looking at the calendar, her gaze shifted to the bedroom. She suddenly thought about whether she should prepare something, like buying a couple of new outfits.

It had been a year since she last bought clothes. While her remaining wardrobe was still wearable, this rare reunion with old classmates made her feel it wouldn’t hurt to look a bit presentable. Even though Hestia wasn’t one to care about appearances, she didn’t want to seem pitiful, especially now that she had saved up some money.

She opened her personal wallet and checked her balance.

About 30,000 Federal Credits—most of which she earned assisting Haures and Forneus, two senior colleagues. Occasionally helping other maids also brought her some income, but it was less significant.

After all, the food and beverage sector was the main focus of Crystal Dream. Other operations existed but were scattered and less concentrated.

Although 30,000 wasn’t a huge amount, seeing the balance gave her a sense of security. Even if she lost her job immediately, she estimated she could sustain herself for two years.

Hmm, tomorrow after work, I’ll go shopping for clothes.

She recalled tagging along with Lina and the others on shopping trips before, where she refrained from buying anything to save money. Now, she finally had the freedom to choose something she liked.

Having made up her mind, Hestia stretched and headed to the bathroom for a bath. It was already past 8 PM—getting late.

…

The next day, Hestia continued helping Botis in the morning.

After feeding the small creatures, she carefully extracted venom from each one, then sat at the desk for a brief rest.

The white-scaled tree viper, fond of Hestia, slithered over to her chair today. It circled her seat, hesitated at her slender legs, then decided not to coil around them. Instead, it climbed up the chair’s backrest and peeked out from behind her shoulder.

“Ah…” The girl, lost in thought while taking notes at the desk, was startled by the sudden appearance beside her ear before realizing what had happened.

“Being mischievous again, you little one,” she said, lightly tapping the snake with the pen in her hand before continuing her notes.

Her notebook detailed the recent conditions of the jungle’s venomous creatures. Most were normal, but a few showed unusual behaviors, likely due to mating season or the need to shed skin.

When will you shed your skin? Hestia thought, glancing at the inquisitive little snake near her ear. Though it couldn’t read, it seemed intrigued by her writing.

Setting the pen down, Hestia picked up the white-scaled snake, unwinding it from the chair back, and placed it on the desk. She opened a refrigerated drawer nearby, retrieved a boiled quail egg, peeled it, and fed it to the snake.

The snake, its head smaller than the egg, slowly swallowed it. It then coiled up on the desk, looking so comfortable it seemed ready to nap.

“Eat and then sleep, huh,” Hestia teased softly.

The large spider that usually clung to her hadn’t appeared today. It often perched on the desk while she wrote, and she had grown accustomed to idly tapping it with her pen during breaks.

After finishing her notes for the day, Hestia closed the notebook and started contemplating what style of clothing to buy after work.

Her taste in clothes was heavily influenced by her mother. When she was younger, her mother often took her and her sister shopping. However, after entering high school, Themisia began choosing her own outfits, favoring rebellious gothic styles over their mother’s preference for graceful, oriental-inspired designs.

…

The hours ticked by, and afternoon arrived. It was still a trial run for Hestia’s business. Compared to the previous day, fewer maids showed up today, as most were still at work. Only a few with more flexible schedules came.

“Today, we’ll talk about the story of ‘The Song of the Seven Kingfishers.’”

Opening a vividly green picture book, its pages were adorned with lush leaves. These leaves, vibrant and varied in shade, appeared scattered beneath the forest canopy but faintly formed the shapes of seven birds.

“Seven sisters, with seven distinct personalities and fates, ultimately meeting the same end…”

“Forest spirits, floral fairies—seven sisters called ‘Nymphs’ faced misfortune one by one. They transformed into seven lamenting kingfishers, singing their sorrow and vow of vengeance against the legendary mightiest hero.”

Under the gentle sunlight amidst blooming flowers, the seven girls grew up, revealing their unique charms. Like birds, they eventually flew off in different directions.

“The white kite with pristine wings…”

“The flame-winged bird with fiery orange feathers…”

“The pitch-black owl of the night…”

“The azure-browed bird with deep indigo plumes…”

…

“In the end, the white wings were stained with blood, the flame feathers extinguished, the black wings shattered, and the indigo brows disgraced. Yet their sorrowful song endured, circling the trees endlessly. They transformed into thorny curses, falling to the ground.”

“Scarlet and pale green intertwined; the thorns became a cursed scar, turning into the Mourning Spear of Wailing Knots.”

“That spear, like withered branches hidden in the night, pierced the almighty hero trudging on his journey, rendering his face ashen and causing him to collapse by a cliffside, dying of thirst.”

Unlike the almost historical “Crowned Maiden,” The Song of the Seven Kingfishers carried a mystical and distant mythological aura. While poignant, it didn’t evoke overwhelming sadness, perhaps reflecting the beauty of myth and fairy tale.

Closing the vibrant green picture book, Hestia’s storytelling gradually concluded. The shifting scenery around her faded into the white glow, eventually becoming an unnamed hillside with a gentle breeze. The girl in her black-and-white dress sat under the dappled shade, her eyes slowly opening.

“That was wonderful! A bit melancholy, but still carries a ‘bittersweet’ feeling,” Belphegor applauded.

“Just the right balance. Fairy tales really do make the perfect medium.”

“Yes, I understand now,” Hestia nodded slightly, clutching the book. A sense of measure quietly took shape in her heart.

“Let’s finalize it then, Dantalion.”

“The first official opening starts the day after tomorrow!”