Agnes Pagewell — Witch, Historian, Edinburgh’s Oldest Guide.

Hello, curious humans. I knew you’d end up here.

I’ve left my quiet mountain life to take over Timeless Edinburgh — apparently the city needed someone older, wiser, and significantly more sarcastic to run a tour company. I’m now responsible for the website, the social media, and all those videos where I attempt to educate humans before they wander into traffic.

And because mortals are endlessly curious, Timeless has insisted I create this “introduction page.”
So here you are: a little more about me, my past, and why I’ve decided to supervise Edinburgh once again.

My Timeline (Because Apparently You Need Things in Order)

Fine. Here’s my life, summarised for humans who panic when there’s too much text.

A LITTLE MORE ABOUT ME

My name is Agnes Pagewell — yes, Pagewell, like a well of pages. Fitting, considering how many centuries I’ve spent reading while the rest of you ran around making poor decisions.

I’m 463 years old, in case my wrinkles didn’t give it away.

I was born in 1562, on a small farm near Aberlady, between Edinburgh and North Berwick. My childhood was surprisingly ordinary: laughter, mischief, mud, crops… and absolutely no idea I was a witch. My mother, Janet Pagewell, kept that from me until I turned twenty-five — the age when she finally began teaching me the old secrets: herbs, potions, spells… and, most importantly, how to stay hidden.

If only hiding had been enough.

In 1590, the North Berwick witch trials took my mother and my sister from me. They were burned at the stake — betrayed by my father, Andrew Pagewell, who exchanged them for his own safety and a pathetic handful of coins.

He didn’t know I had magic too. Mortals rarely know enough.

My sister, Isobel Kirkwood, was the brave one. Born in 1555, fiercely protective, first initiated into magic, and determined to shield me until her final breath. She walked into the trial voluntarily to stop them from searching for me. She died beside our mother.

No one suspected me. So I fled — straight into the woods.

A very old witch found me wandering through Woodhall Dean and decided I was worth training. For the next 150 years, she taught me everything she knew: plants, runes, potions, history… and the fine art of rolling my eyes at stupidity.
A surprisingly useful skill.
After her death, I retreated into the mountains for a long, peaceful exile from 1750 to 2024. I read, studied, observed… and watched humans repeat the same mistakes for centuries. Exhausting.

Now I’m back.

I’ve returned not because I missed humanity (I didn’t), but because I’m tired of watching from the sidelines. Edinburgh is full of history — real history — and someone needs to tell it properly.

So yes: I create tours, teach lessons, narrate chaos, and manage the website and social media for Timeless Edinburgh. You may have seen me in the videos, trying to explain the past while holding on to the last shred of my patience.

If I share what I know, perhaps humans will finally learn something.

Though… I’m not optimistic.

My Personality (Since You’ll Ask Anyway)

I’m not sweet. I’m not charming.
I stopped pretending centuries ago.
I’ve watched five hundred years of human nonsense, and frankly, it shows.