The Witch Awakens on Werewolf Night

You thought you had chosen the most popular major, mechanical engineering, but it turned out to be the magical specialty known as Agricultural Machinery and Bioengineering. Magic comes from inspiration, and inspiration comes from the blessings of the gods. Two laurel leaves to cleanse the eyes, a dab of golden honey to moisten the lips, and then submerging one's hands in a silver basin. A shallow pool of dew collected over three days and nights glimmers with a faint moonlit hue with a mere flick. Finally, these purified hands light seven tallow candles, slowly filling the cramped space with a warm, fragrant aroma, also illuminating a noble and luxurious statue of a goddess. The eyes of the cat's eye stone absorb the candlelight offered by the faithful. Dill watches as her reflection is fragmented into countless pieces, the goddess's piercing gaze seeming to dissect her soul. Instinctively, the girl clutches her chest, her posture becoming even more humble and devout. The goddess, half-reclining on a throne adorned with laurel, wears a moon crown woven from silver threads and gems, with carvings of forest birds and beasts below her, ready at her command. The candles around the divine seat cast a holy soft light, making the goddess's bright eyes and graceful figure seem even more lifelike. The air, thick with fragrance, makes one hold their breath, fearing that a single misstep could tarnish this brilliant moment. The pure and immaculate face of the deity reflects the beautiful and devout face of the believer, who, after holding her breath in concentration, reveals her true nature with her first words: “May the great god bless, may the opening of the egg be smooth, and the lighting of the furnace bring great luck…” Snap! A shadow flickers, and a candle is extinguished. Startled, before she can investigate, a second, then a third candle goes out… It’s as if an invisible hand, moving from afar to near, snuffs out each candle, bringing darkness closer. Dill, terrified, can think of nothing but to scramble for any weapon within reach while mumbling prayers for divine intervention. Just as she grabs the hefty "Divine Benedictions" book, ready to hurl it at her perceived threat, she locks eyes with a pair of clear, aquamarine cat eyes blinking back at her. "…Miss Poppy," Dill says through gritted teeth. The candles relight, revealing another figure leaning against the wall, trying to stifle her laughter, her thick, beautiful blonde hair neglected and her posture doubled over in mirth. Miss Poppy, the large, blue-eyed cat, easily jumps onto the woman's shoulder, its face expressing disdain even in feline form. "I thought you were too tense and needed to relax. What in the world were you babbling about? Hahaha!" Sometimes, Dill really suspects she's cursed. Dill’s real name isn’t actually Dill. The woman before her, named Amber, bought her from an Eastern merchant ship; a wailing, abandoned infant. Even as an infant, she was merchandise on the ship. Amber, after haggling fiercely with the shrewd Eastern merchants, finally settled on two dozen Dill spices for her, and henceforth lazily named her Dill. Under Amber's half-serious, half-jovial upbringing, Dill managed to grow up safely, her fragmented memories making her more mature than other girls her age, beginning to fumble through this strange world. Amber didn’t buy a baby to e*****e her, but neither did she treat her as a daughter. In truth, the village had many such pairs, with older women taking in bright young girls, usually orphans like Dill. Amber had Dill call her "Miss" and taught the naive girl everything about the world. Returning to the present, Amber, having laughed enough, remembers her duty as a mentor. With a light tap of her fingers, the air stirs slightly, and the scattered candles stand up like obedient soldiers, aligning themselves back beside the goddess, ready for command. Though Dill has seen this countless times, she remains amazed. For Amber and women like her, magic is as easy as breathing or drinking water, drawing inspiration from the breeze, moonlight, or even a drop of dew. Putting aside her playful demeanor, Amber lifts her skirt slightly, moving as if she's not in wrinkled pajamas but in a formal evening gown, assuming the posture of a dignified and mature blonde beauty. She then sets down her beloved cat and approaches the deity, adopting an even more exaggeratedly humble stance than Dill, murmuring a confession to the statue. Like everyone in this world, to them, the deity is everything, granting them power. However, the way Amber casually wields this divine power is not that of a nun or a priest. Amber’s village is secluded, worshipping not the universally acknowledged Supreme Deity of the mainland but an ancient Moon Goddess instead. Amber always proudly claims to be favored by the deity, but Dill knows how outsiders refer to their female-only group of heretics—witches. Dill, an orphan with no one to rely on, was quite fortunate to be chosen by Amber. At a glance, the golden-haired woman appears laid-back, with a fat cat in her arms and wearing a mishmash of pajamas, from whose unclear pockets she can pull out astonishing trinkets. But in fact, Dill's ability to thrive in this strange world owes much to her reliance on Amber. Amber is the high priestess of the Moon Goddess and the most powerful—and most arrogant—witch in the village of witches, essentially the village bully. In Dill’s scant memories, she vaguely remembers waiting for an owl to deliver a letter in her childhood. So, realizing the uniqueness of her situation, the girl who lived her life again adapted without any issues, diving headfirst into this fantastical world. However, she quickly felt the hostility of this otherworldly realm towards transmigrants. Only after ensuring she hadn’t displeased the goddess did Amber leisurely come over. From who-knows-where, she pulled out a small bronze telescope with a long handle; she claimed its lens was made from a crystal that condensed moonlight, enhancing a witch's sight to see through all blessings and curses and even the truth of things. Holding the telescope, Amber scrutinized the potion at the bottom of the cauldron before teasing her apprentice: “Ah, was there a need for opening ceremony praises? How little confidence does my disciple have? It’s just a simple fertility potion…” Before Dill could stop her, she glanced out the window, catching a cat’s shadow and then heard a girl’s sharp shout: “Dill is practicing potion-making again!!” Then came a clattering chaos of pots and pans, along with the sound of hurried footsteps—a call to arms, so to speak. The usually carefree Amber seemed to catch the hint, her face involuntarily showing a bit of guilt as she saw her little apprentice bury her face in her hands, no need to imagine that at this moment, all the village women were marching over with bowls in hand, ready for confrontation. Dill’s dream of practicing magic indeed came true, but with a slight deviation. This deviation was much like thinking you had chosen the most popular major, mechanical engineering, but it turned out to be the magical specialty known as Agricultural Machinery and Bioengineering.