Reborn as a witch in another world [slice of life, isekai] (ch. 81)
Blurb:
What does it take to turn your life around? Death, of course!
I died in this lame ass world of ours and woke up in a completely new one. I had a new name, a new face and a new body. This was my second chance to live a better life than the previous one.
But goddamn it, why did I have to be a witch? Now I don't just have to be on the run from the Inquisition that wants to burn me and my friends. But I also have to earn a living?
Follow Elsa Grimly as she:
- Makes new friends and tries to save them and herself from getting burned
- Finds redemption from the deeds of her previous life
- Tries to get along with a cat who (like most cats) believes she runs the world
- Deals with other slice of life shenanigans.
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Chapter 81. Interlude: The lie of Kindness
The black cat lounged on the windowsill with her eyes closed as a bird landed next to her. The cat didn't move but her whiskers twitched ever so slightly. The bird was a greyfeathered mockingbird. And it lifted its beak to poke at the cat's side.
Smokewell yelped out of her nap. “What in the name of–” she paused and looked at the bird that was fluttering next to her and ready to poke at her again. The cat raised an eyebrow. “Didn't you see who I am? I can–ouch!”
The bird had poked at her again.
The cat hissed at the bird, her hackles raised. “With survival instincts like that, you can almost pass off as a human without much problem,” she said with a glare. Then she lifted a paw to strike at the bird when the bird swept off the windowsill. “What? Suddenly scared now?”
The bird had dove down to a place that Smokewell had to lean out of the window to see. A small nest with a couple of eggs rested on the ledge below the window and the mockingbird stood blocking the eggs with its little body like an avian shield.
Smokewell paused and regarded the bird with a deadpan look. “Hm, so you have a family, so what? Next time you want to pick a fight, do it when they aren't around.” She rolled her eyes and slid the window shut. It was a shame since the air had been just warm enough to lull her to sleep where she dreamed of a three storey mansion, a carriage (a real one drawn by a horse), complete with a footman to roll out the carpet for her royal self to step out on and a dozen attendants who ran around to meet her every demand.
Even though her body was that of a cat's, her dreams were still shamelessly human and mostly about money. And why wouldn’t they be? After all, money was the only human invention that Smokewell could get behind. It was fascinating how humans had managed to assign value to something that didn't have any inherent value. And their entire world ran on this same imaginary value.
Humanity was a greedy race for that very reason. They decided one piece of metal was more valuable than another piece of metal. And they built the rest of their society by putting that piece of metal on a pedestal. But the worst sin that human greed had committed was that they didn't pay their cats.
Smokewell mulled over that thought for a bit. Wouldn't that mean every cat would get paid? Wouldn't that also mean, cats would just be smarter, furrier, more beautiful humans? Such an abhorrent way to live.
No, Smokewell was perfect because she was the only talking cat she knew. And money was only special because not everyone had a lot of it. That meant, Smokewell had to kill any other talking cat she ran into in the future. And she needed to make more money than most people in this country of Ravenwind did. The latter obviously held more importance in her heart.
She hopped off the windowsill and made her way past the large king sized bed at the centre and over to a tattered silken sheet laying by the wall. She set her paws on the cloth and dug her nails into the fabric, dragging them up and down, hearing the satisfying rip the material made under her claws.
She hadn't expected to enjoy something like this as much as she did yet there she was. While she was busy in the relaxing routine of tearing at the silk sheet, the door to her room swung open. The cat startled and jumped.
Lenora poked her head into the room. “Time for breakfast, madam,” she called out.
“I'm not your madam,” Smokewell hissed. “And what's for breakfast?”
“Why aren't you my madam?” Lenora said with a look of innocent betrayal.
Smokewell grunted. “‘Madam’ is the word used to address a senior witch among witches. You aren't a witch. So don't call me madam.”
Lenora's look shifted to understanding quickly. “Oh, I see. Well, breakfast is ready, Smokey. Don't make me call for you twice.”
“Smokey?!” Smokewell looked at her dumbfounded.
But Lenora had already walked back to the kitchen. The cat chased after her and stood in the hallway. “You still didn't tell me what's for breakfast?”
“Boiled salmon for you,” Lenora called back from the kitchen.
Oh great, Smokewell thought, boiled fish again. She padded over to the dining table and hopped onto it. Lenora laid her bowl of unseasoned raw salmon in front of her. And sat opposite to her with her own plate of sausage and beans and toast with two sunny-side-ups with a cup of coffee.
The cat watched the woman's breakfast as if Lenora had just stolen food from her plate. The woman just took a sip of her coffee as she read that morning's Orowen Tribune.
“Aren't you hungry?” Lenora asked, her eyes still moving over the newspaper.
“You mean am I not interested in my bland bowl of salmon?” Smokewell scoffed. “Of course I am! Breakfast of champions.”
“If you want something else, you can just tell me and I'll whip something up,” Lenora said, still oblivious of the cat's deadpan attention on her plate of breakfast.
The cat tilted her head. “Like what?”
“Like boiled ham or boiled chicken or boiled beef,” Lenora said.
“How about beans and sausage?” the cat said in the voice of someone who was asking for something they knew they weren't going to get.
Lenora finally put her newspaper down. “You've said you have a problem digesting that kind of stuff.”
The cat gave a quick hiss. “I can digest anything! I've fought against immortal beings in an immortal realm after all! My muscles can bulk up in a blink when I absorb human souls. You think I can't eat some human gruel?”
“Then what’s stopping you from just eating it?” Lenora said.
Smokewell looked down at her bowl of boiled salmon. She mumbled something that could've passed off as gibberish.
“I beg your pardon?” Lenora said.
“I can't taste it,” Smokewell repeated, still averting her gaze from the woman. “I might be eating sand for all I know. There is just no taste. It's something of a benefit for this body. Cat sìths strengthen their body by ingesting souls they had snatched. And souls don't really taste like red wine, you see? You can't bring yourself to swallow no matter how much you try to ignore their taste. So my tongue is numb to just everything that touches it. What’s the point of eating the good stuff when you don’t even know what you are swallowing?” She idly poked the salmon in her bowl with a paw.
Lenora rested her chin on her palm as she looked at the cat. “Can't you just turn it off while eating maybe?” she said. “There must be a way to do that. You are a witch.”
The cat wasn't amused. “You think you can just snap your fingers and make anything happen with witchcraft?”
“You can't?” Lenora asked, surprised.
“No, we can't.” The cat grunted, dragging her paw over her face in frustration.
“What about cooking? Maybe we can cook for you in a certain way that will allow you to feel the taste? Maybe there is something you can drink or a spell you can cast over your food so it will taste the way it is meant to.” Lenora said.
Smokewell paused, just staring at the woman.
“What?” Lenora said.
“Your marriage was crappy, wasn't it?” Smokewell said.
Lenora perked up. “Why are you bringing it up all of a sudden?”
“How long were you married again?” Smokewell said.
“Um, six years, I believe.” Lenora nervously ran a finger through her hair.
The cat nodded. “Six years, eh? That's long enough.”
Lenora huffed. “Long enough for what? Will you stop talking in riddles?”
The cat hopped off the table. “Come with me. I might be onto something as always.” She started walking away from the dining table without looking back, as if sure that Lenora was following her. She wasn't wrong.
The cat led the woman up to Lily's room. “Look through her drawers, there must be a charcoal chalk somewhere in there,” Smokewell said, hopping onto Lily's bed and making herself comfortable.
“Um, I don't really feel comfortable snooping through Lily's belongings,” Lenora said, scuffing her foot against the floor nervously.
“This isn't snooping, dimwit. I'm just telling you to find a charcoal chalk. Go through her desk,” Smokewell said.
Lenora hesitantly did as she was told, opening the drawers in Lily's desk. “What does this charcoal chalk look like?” she said.
“It's a chalk made of charcoal. You'll know it when you see it.” Smokewell licked at the back of her own paw while Lenora obediently searched for the chalk.
“Does it look like this?” Lenora held up a small black cylindrical object with a tip that was jagged from use.
“Yes,” Smokewell said. “Now draw a twenty inch circle on the floor and then draw a five pointed star with an empty space at the center.”
Lenora obeyed once again.
“So, were you this subservient throughout your marriage?” Smokewell said.
Lenora frowned. “Subservient?”
The cat scoffed. “You know what it means–hanging onto every word that people utter, carrying their expectations on your own shoulders like it was some debt you inherited, scrambling to meet those expectations with all you have and apologizing for falling short. Ring any bells?”
Lenora's mouth was one thin line as she kept drawing the pentacle.
“Knock once for yes, twice for no,” Smokewell said.
Knock!
“Yeah, it seemed to be the case,” Smokewell said. “And let me guess, your husband never really saw you as his wife. Just someone who jumped through hoops for his sake?”
Knock!
“Yeah, predictable.” Smokewell nodded. “And let me guess further, you never confronted him, never put your foot down. You just rolled up your sleeves and kept fighting to get his praise, his acknowledgement, even if he just threw scraps of it.”
Knock!
“I can see that.” Smokewell nodded again. “That's why everything you cook is perfect. The house always remains clean. This morning, the floor was so slick from your mopping, I almost slipped.” The cat paused and threw a piercing look at the woman. “But am I not right? When someone tells you to do something, you make it your responsibility to do it for them better than they can do it themselves. Don't you?”
Knock! Knock!
“You think I'm an idiot? Lenora, I'm a cat. Which is just a humble way of saying I'm smarter than you. And when someone erects a wall of bullshit in front of me, I can see right through it,” Smokewell said.
“I drew it!” Lenora blurted and stood back up. “Does it look good?”
The cat just stared at Lenora who stood next to the pentacle that she had drawn immaculately on the floor. Smokewell felt a mix of pity and annoyance at the innocently expectant look in the woman's eyes.
“No, it looks like crap. I can draw a better pentacle than you. And I don't even have a thumb!” Smokewell snapped.
Lenora froze in her spot, staring at the cat with a remorseful look. “I-I can draw a better one if you–”
Smokewell raised a paw at her. “That right there. That apologetic sound you are making. Isn't that how you always were when you were married?” the cat said. “And if I’m not wrong, you were like this even before you got married.”
Lenora froze again but not in the way she had when Smokewell attacked her with her harsh words. Lenora's current state looked similar to someone who had been caught walking naked in the backyard. The woman couldn't hold the cat's piercing red gaze anymore. So she looked away, reached out towards Lily's desk with her knuckles and knocked once.
Smokewell sighed and spoke in a much softer voice. “Just step inside the pentacle and stand in the empty spot I told you to keep.”
Lenora still couldn't meet her gaze. But she stepped inside the pentacle without any hesitation or doubt.
“Think about the times when this behaviour of yours backfired on you,” Smokewell said, walking up to the woman. “All the times when you thought being subservient would get you through all your problems. Instead it didn't.”
“Why are you telling me to do this?” Lenora asked nervously.
“Oh, so you can ask ‘why’? I was starting to think you would jump out that window if I asked you to.” Smokewell snorted, circling the pentacle slowly like a predator. She saw Lenora's fingers begin to twitch and the woman clenched them into fists at her sides. Smokewell held back a smirk. “You really think you have control over your life if you are just nice and helpful enough to others, right?”
“I don't…want to…answer that…” Lenora spoke through clenched teeth.
“I remember when you brought that rich girl home and offered to help her out of her problem. You also dragged Lily and Elsa into that stupidity with yourself just to help out the Radcliff girl,” Smokewell said.
“That's called an act of kindness,” Lenora said. “Maybe you won't get it because you aren't a human.”
“Kindness is such a sweet word for it, isn't it?” Smokewell said, keeping her eyes focused on Lenora's body, that had gone stiff within the pentacle and her knuckles were starting to turn white. “Let me give you some wisdom I've gathered over my years as a human. Kindness is a lie. A sweet, beautiful lie that a soulless person tells themselves. They offer money to the homeless, food to the stray animals and warmth to someone trapped in the cold. Why? Because they are kind? No, because they can't accept that they don't have anything to make them feel better about themselves. Kindness is just one’s excuse to pat oneself on the back. The truth is, every kind person is just a hollow shell starving for someone else’s approval on their character.”
“Shut up!” Lenora screamed. “I don't want to hear your vile words any more!” Her eyes were burning with rage and her voice was thick with contempt. “You think kindness is a lie? You think every act of selflessness is just a way to gain someone else's approval? What if it is?! What's wrong with hoping for praise for doing a good deed? Doesn’t a good person deserve to be praised for being good? What kind of twisted world you live in where a kind person is just an egoistical monolith looking for validation, huh?!”
Smokewell didn't respond to the woman's tirade. Because the pentacle she had been standing in instantly caught fire as soon as her outburst concluded.
Lenora cried in shock and covered her head with her arms, as if afraid her hair would burn in the fire. But the fire disappeared on its own in less than two seconds. All that was left behind was blue ash in the shape of the pentacle that Lenora had drawn with charcoal.
Smokewell just smirked as Lenora’s earlier anger had completely disappeared and left her staring around herself in a daze of confusion. “W-What…happened?” she mumbled.
The cat touched the blue ash around the woman with her paw and scoffed. “Would you look at that now? Blue is the color of approval. Which means the test was positive.” The cat looked up at the woman with a twinkle in her red eyes. “You have malice in your bones, Lenora.”
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Posted Oct 29, 2025, 6:21 PM UTC