Crimson embers softly glow,
Where autumn’s restless breezes blow.
A witch once proud, with fire bright,
Now wanders through the Halloween night.
Beside her rival, spell for spell,
Their ancient tale they always tell.
Not foes, but friends who dared too far,
Now burning like an autumn star.
Where Tricksy laughs beneath the moon,
Prudence answers with a fiery tune.
Long before anyone spoke of Tricksy Pye with a smile, before stories were whispered of glittering mischief on Halloween night, there was another apprentice whose name was spoken with equal parts admiration and caution.
Her name was Prudence Brimstone.
If Tricksy was curiosity wrapped in laughter, Prudence was discipline forged in fire.
The old coven hidden deep within the crooked woods had trained many young witches over the centuries, but none learned faster than Prudence. Every spell was memorised after hearing it only once. Every potion simmered to perfection. Every enchanted sigil she drew seemed almost unnaturally precise. The elder witches often said that if magic could choose its own master, it would have chosen Prudence.
She believed them.
While the other apprentices laughed around the cauldron after lessons, Prudence stayed behind to practise. If the others slept, she read. If they celebrated, she worked. She measured her worth not by friendship or kindness, but by mastery.
She intended to become Head Witch one day.
There was only one problem.
Tricksy Pye.
Where Prudence followed every rule, Tricksy questioned them.
Where Prudence studied every page of every spellbook, Tricksy somehow stumbled upon magical discoveries through sheer curiosity.
It drove Prudence absolutely mad.
More than once she watched Tricksy accidentally solve problems that Prudence had spent weeks trying to understand.
An enchanted broom that refused to fly?
Tricksy simply asked it politely.
A stubborn potion that wouldn’t change colour?
Tricksy sneezed into it by accident.
It worked perfectly.
The elders chuckled.
Prudence did not.
Every laugh felt like another reminder that talent alone wasn’t enough.
The rivalry quietly grew.
It was never cruel.
Never openly hostile.
But every lesson became a competition.
Every spell became a contest.
Every Halloween celebration ended with one trying to outshine the other.
Their greatest difference lay in the magic they loved.
Tricksy adored illusions, moonlight and playful enchantments.
Prudence preferred fire.
Not destruction.
Control.
She studied every spell involving embers, candle flames, forge fires and volcanic glass. She could make a single candle burn in seven different colours. She could heat a cauldron without lighting a flame. She could write glowing runes in the air that floated for hours.
The magic stained her fingertips a permanent crimson.
The elders warned her.
“Fire is loyal only to itself.”
Prudence simply smiled.
“So am I.”
As Samhain approached, rumours spread through the coven of a forbidden ritual hidden beneath the roots of the oldest oak in the forest.
No apprentice was ever to perform it.
No apprentice was even to read its words aloud.
Naturally…
Tricksy wanted to know why.
Prudence suspected she would.
She had watched Tricksy asking too many questions.
Borrowing books she shouldn’t.
Disappearing after sunset.
On the final evening before Halloween, Prudence quietly followed her.
Keeping just far enough back to remain unseen.
Eventually Tricksy stopped before an ancient stone altar wrapped in twisted ivy.
Moonlight bathed the clearing in silver.
The old symbols glowed faintly beneath centuries of moss.
Prudence almost stepped forward.
She almost called out.
She almost stopped everything.
But pride whispered one final thought.
“Let her fail.”
If Tricksy broke the oldest rule of the coven…
She would surely be expelled.
Prudence would finally stand alone as the greatest apprentice.
So she waited.
Hidden behind the oak.
Then Tricksy spoke the forbidden words.
The forest screamed.
The earth cracked apart.
The altar exploded in scarlet light so bright it turned midnight into dawn.
Prudence had only enough time to realise her mistake before the fire she loved rushed towards her like a living creature.
It did not burn her.
It became her.
When the light finally faded…
The coven was gone.
The altar lay in ruins.
Silence filled the forest.
Neither apprentice remained among the living.
Yet neither had truly disappeared.
Tricksy returned first.
A gentle ghost dusted with twilight colours, forever carrying the playful curiosity that had always defined her.
Prudence emerged moments later.
Her spirit glowed with deep crimson light, the colour of glowing embers and cooling iron.
The fire magic she had spent a lifetime mastering had woven itself into every part of her soul.
Even now, centuries later, the air grows warmer whenever Prudence appears.
Candles brighten.
Fireplaces crackle unexpectedly.
The scent of woodsmoke drifts through empty rooms.
People often assume the heating has come on.
It hasn’t.
Prudence has simply arrived.
For all her determination, something curious happened after becoming a ghost.
Without the coven.
Without lessons.
Without expectations.
Her anger slowly softened.
She still competed with Tricksy.
Of course she did.
Some habits outlive death itself.
If Tricksy caused pumpkins to grin, Prudence made their candles burn brighter.
If Tricksy filled the air with silver sparkles, Prudence answered with showers of crimson embers that vanished before reaching the ground.
Their contests became less about winning…
And more about reminding one another they still existed.
Visitors lucky enough to witness them together often describe seeing tiny flashes of red and violet darting around a room like playful fireflies.
Books slide from shelves.
Candles flicker.
Leaves dance indoors despite closed windows.
Some claim they hear faint laughter.
Others insist they hear two witches arguing about whose spell was more impressive.
Neither version has ever been confirmed.
Every Halloween, they are said to return to the old altar.
Not to repeat the ritual.
Simply to remember.
The forest has reclaimed the stones.
The oak has grown larger than ever.
No trace of the coven remains.
Yet two little ghosts still drift among the roots.
One wrapped in twilight.
One glowing like burning embers.
Friends.
Rivals.
Family in everything but blood.
Neither would ever admit how much the other mattered.
And perhaps that is why their story has never truly ended.
Because some rivalries are far stronger than hatred.
Some are built upon admiration.
Upon respect.
Upon the quiet understanding that without the other…
Neither would have become who they are.
So if Tricksy Pye ever appears on your shelf, leaving behind tiny sparkles and impossible smiles…
Do not be surprised if, a moment later, the room grows pleasantly warm.
Prudence Brimstone has arrived.
Not to haunt.
Not to frighten.
Simply to remind Tricksy that after all these centuries…
The competition is still very much alive.