Merida and the Witch of Arrows

Years after her mother’s curse broke, Merida wandered the highlands alone.

Peace didn’t suit her. The silence felt wrong. So when she saw a crow carrying a lock of her red hair into the forest, she followed.

The witch’s hut was waiting — untouched by time.

“You asked for your fate once,” said the witch, stirring her pot. “Would you like to ask again?”

Merida raised her bow.

“I only came for answers.”

“Then shoot, girl. Every arrow you fire finds a truth.”

She shot one — it buried itself in her reflection in the witch’s mirror.

She shot another — and heard her father’s voice cry out from the woods.

“Stop!”

The witch smiled.

“You wanted freedom, child. But freedom is the name mortals give to guilt.”

When she left the forest, her bowstring had turned to silver hair. And every time she loosed an arrow, a piece of her past disappeared.

By the end, no one remembered her name.