/ A WITCHES DREAM 1

# # Chapter ONE # #

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I woke up with a sense of finality.

I could feel my body, every inch of it, with extreme precision. I did not know why, but I

could guess.

I was supposed to be dead.

Someone or something had brought me back from the realm beyond, for whatever

reason. A feeling of strangeness crept into my mind. A lack of belonging, a sensation of

otherness. I felt wrong.

I took a deep breath, and confirmed that my body did exist and I was in it. I felt the

heavy blanket hug my shape. My fingers felt for the tips of my hair. I could not recall its color,

nor did I remember it being this short. Despite there being barely any of it, it felt soft and

gentle. Everything did, as though I was wrapped in cotton. My memories especially.

The only thing I could recall was a shape and a voice. The shape of a person, I had to

guess. Mist obscured its face, and the sluggishness of sleep hid it from me further. The canvas

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of my closed eyes refused to accept paint.

The sound of wind invited me to engage with the reality around me. A tree somewhere

outside rustled its leaves, and a bird sang, I imagined in protest of involuntary agitation. I could

relate. I hadn't asked anyone to bring me back, and now my mind and body felt disturbed. I had

rested in peace.

My eyes opened slowly, letting in only a sliver of light at first.

Above me was a dark wood roof, to my right a window, slightly ajar and at the foot of

the bed a door. The room opened up to my left, and if I wanted to see what was inside I would

have had to turn my head. A task that seemed meaningless, a task I lacked the power to

complete.

I simply wanted to continue sleeping, let myself sink into the inviting warmth of the

blanket. It occured to me that sleep and death were quite similar, potentially explaining my

longing. If falling asleep meant death, I would stay awake. Even if the lure back to the beyond

was tempting, I was not foolish enough to squander a second chance. I could always chose to

stop playing, but rarely did one get the choice of playing again.

With newfound strength, I turned my head, and absorbed the bounty of new

information.

I was in some kind of circular room. Strings attached to the ceiling carried herbs and

leaves. A shelf at the far end contained nick, nacks, books and food. A table at the center of the

room took up most of the space, decorated with planned chaos. A teapot supported an open

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book, that threatened to slide off and slam onto the table any second. Steam rose from a

miniature cup and artfully meandered up to the ceiling, only to be trapped there, it's journey

void of meaning.

The floor was inscribed with sigils of a moon. Despite not seeing the floor in its

entirety, pattern recognition and experience told me there were a dozen depictions of it. From

new to full and full to new.

At the center of the room, on the opposite side of the table was a shape that I felt was

significant. For some reason I refused to look at it, only ever observing it from the corner of my

eye. I wasn't yet ready to acknowledge it, so I turned back around to the window, and let my

gaze wander outside.

I learned that I was on the second floor, as the ground was far beneath me. The source of

birdsong revealed itself to me as well, as a few rods purposefully placed, were currently

occupied by three flying creatures. I could not recall their name, but their striking green

coloration, and red beaks made me think that they must be called something like red-beak or

green-feather. Although, my instincts told me that human nature would refuse to use such an

obvious name, and instead call them purple-foot. Even if that was not the name others called

this kind of creature, it would now be mine.

The purple foots stared back, then one of them tapped at the window, as though it was

trying to learn more about me. The sound it made startled itself, and by extension the two

others, and off they flew.

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There was more to see outside, a collection of trees and plants, and the ground was

decorated with other things, but I no longer had interest in exploration. My mood was

dampened, my resolve brittle. So I closed my eyes, and tried to let my thoughts wander. But

there was nothing to find. No paths that I had walked before, no memories to recall,

embarrassing or otherwise.

Humans were supposed to have names, but I had none. I knew that I had to have parents,

but there were no faces that I could see. No names to call out to.

I turned to my left again, and focused on the shape I had previously blocked out. It

matched the memory of a stranger that I had. A body, hair, legs poking out from underneath the

table. Another person. She had copper hair, long and braided. So long its end curled up on the

floor. I imagined that it would drag behind her if she walked and thought to myself, how

impractical. Her head was buried in her arms, her breath slow and measured.

There was a distinction between sleep and death, I remembered. She was very much

alive. Still, no one could promise that I would wake up if I fell asleep again.

This stranger very much felt like she belonged here. Even in her sleep she was at ease.

This was her space, there was no question about it.

I wondered if I should speak, or wake her. Time didn't mean anything to me. The

serenity of her sleep however, was valuable. So I got comfortable and stayed quiet.

###

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###

By the time she woke, the sun had set.

The image of her posture, aloof and intentional, had burned itself into my retinas. I

could see it with my eyes closed. A new, first, and treasured memory.

Her eyes opened slowly and gently, and sleep was still grasping at her when she looked

my way. A smile found its way onto her lips, and she stretched. I noticed the smallest details.

Her eyes were blue, both them, but different shades. Her left invited imagery of the clear sky,

whitened by a passing cloud, while her right reminded me of wet and rainy days, despite not

remembering what rain meant.

Her fingernails were a green coloration. Not painted on, but underneath them. Neither

were they sickly, I got the sense that it was a natural consequence of something she had done. I

looked to my own and found them clear and colorless. A blank canvas.

Chair legs dragged over wooden floor and startled me. Her smile faded, replaced by

worry. She made to approach but stopped herself, and waited. For what I did not know, and so

we looked at each other with tense expectation.

"May I?" She asked.

She had wanted permission to step closer. Speech seemed like an impossibility, I gave

her my permission with a nod.

While she approached I pondered her voice, and found that it's sound awoke something

in me. As though a memory had been jostled and was fighting to be free. It failed, and as the

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stranger took a seat at the foot of the bed an intense pain flashed throughout my body. I moved

involuntarily and clutched at my forehead, trying to soothe the pain any way I could. My eyes

closed.

I found my voice, just in time to scream. More memories were fighting now. Not just

with me, but with each other. I could see a face, trying to tell me words. Sometimes the face

was different sometimes the words were. Nothing of it all made sense.

Something grasped my wrist, and something else took a hold of my shoulder. My eyes

opened, but I was in another place altogether. I saw myself, through the eyes of another.

She had taken a hold of my hand, and tried to reassure me with a gentle touch. Now she

was prying... no we were prying my own hand away from me. We sighed, annoyed with ourself

and disappointed.

"I'm sorry," We said, and I knew she was speaking to me, "But your body is not yet safe

for you. I hope you do not mind staying in mine for a bit."

We felt my approval, and we relaxed. We could feel our fingers flexing and relaxing.

We relished in the touch of soft clothes all over us. There were scents in the air now, we could

smell the herbs. The steam rising from our cup, her mind told me it was rosemary. Somewhere

downstairs was a fire, we remembered it, and we could smell it.

We blinked, and I grew conscious of the fact that we could finally see myself. We liked

me. The me that was currently without a soul, it looked peaceful now. Her hair had been cut off

recently, only tufts of it were still there. Her mouth was agape and we felt the desire to close it

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for her.

We rose to our feet, and vertigo overtook us. Too soon, we thought, and took a seat once

again. The bed creaked, and we smiled. Euphoria overcame us, I knew it was mine, then was

dampened by... we didn't know. Something between us was sad, and something longed for

another time. A time that we had no memories of, but plenty of feelings about. We meant to

apologize, but the mere desire to do so was enough for the both of us. Then we spoke again,

broken and strained as I was not yet used to our voice. "Than-k y-ou."

We felt annoyed, but also grateful. Then we agreed to let her speak.

"I will let you experience the world around you, then you can go back." Then we said a

lie, to protect me. "You were dead for quite some time."

The sensation of walking was upsetting, but worth it. It no longer overwhelmed us. We

grew accustomed to sharing, and I could predict what she wanted to do, and what I felt we

needed to do.

Our identities separated and I could once again tell my thoughts from hers. She reached

out to a small bundle of herbs above her head, and I could tell her intention was to ease me into

the sensation of smell. There was anticipation and a certain hope that I would enjoy it.

While she was untying the bundle, my thoughts of tea and drinking distracted her, and

she fumbled the piece, letting it drop to the ground. While we crouched to pick it up, the

ground suddenly seemed much friendlier than before and I wanted to feel it again. She agreed,

and we sat down, next to a half-moon sigil.

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At first she let her fingers run over the wooden floor, to let me feel its texture. It was

coarse, but warm. Then she took the piece of herb, on closer inspection the leaves of some kind

of flower, and pulled one of them from the rest. It was dry and had a sting to it. As she crushed

it between the tips of her fingers, a new scent found her nose, and by extension my mind. Sweet

and smoky. I reached out to her memory, and she let me know it was lavender. I brought to

mind the imagery of tea, and she quietly agreed to brew it for me later.

One of the purple foots returned, and she closed her eyes. We waited and listened.

Finally it began singing again, a light chirp with a cold and harsh tone. From somewhere else a

warmer reply called out to it, and after some back and forth, a second bird landed on the

windowsill. They tweeted at each other, in monotone conversation. Then, she did something for

me, gave me access to another part of her mind, and I could understand them.

They told each other about food they had found, where they could get more. The shrill

one asked many questions, the warm one ignored all of them and simply told it of its day. They

were loud and obnoxious and I didn't want to listen to them anymore, so we stopped.

"Do you want to go back now?" She asked.

I didn't want to, her body was comfortable. It felt more alive than my own, more vivid

and agile. It felt possible to leap trees with her legs, or crush mountains with her arms. If I

could I would have pushed her mind aside and taken it for my own. But with her there, it felt

cramped, and I began to suffocate. I told her all this, wordlessly, and she understood. I had to go

back now.

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Her eyes closed, and then mine opened once again.

My body felt cold and ancient, an abandoned husk. But there was space here, so much

space.

"I feel empty." I whispered, discovering my voice. It was weak and raspy, but I could use

it. I remembered how she had done it, no, as she had taught me to.

She was still sitting on the ground, and looked up to me. Her expression was hard to

interpret, something about it made me sad. The lack of connection bothered me now, I wanted

to know what she felt, what she knew, what she wanted. I wanted to ask her all those questions

and many more.

"Why?" Was the only thing I asked, I didn't know about what.

"Because you had untapped potential." She answered and took a seat on my bed once

again.

"Is that why you brought me back?"

"It is."

It wasn't the only reason. I had gleaned that from her memory, but the others had been

hidden from me, as so many things had. I accepted the answer, and wondered what it said about

her, to answer an ambiguous question with such a specific response.

"Why do I feel empty?" I asked.

"Because I made a mistake." She answered, and touched my thigh through the blanket.

There was a feeling, but faint and distant. As though someone had taken my leg to another room

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and poked it there. She frowned. "There are breaks in your soul, because I took too long. There

are parts of you missing. What is here, is damaged. It will take time to heal. But we have time."

"Why did I die?" I asked.

She looked me in the eyes, and smiled a sad, faded smile. "That is not for me to answer.

Not yet, anyways. I hope you will never find out. For your sake, and mine."

I didn't feel like asking questions anymore.

"Here." She got up and fetched the small cup of tea. No steam rose from it anymore, it

had cooled and was on the brink of wasting away. "It will help."

I took a cautious sip, and indeed, I felt better. Tasting was a sense I had not yet

rediscovered, but it felt good to experience. I wasn't overwhelmed. Progress had already been

made.

"Now, try to sleep." She whispered. "I will leave this room, but I will be nearby. If

something happens, I will know."

"Will I wake up?" I asked.

She chuckled. "As long as I watch over you, always."

###

Since I woke up, the sun had risen three times and set two times.

The first day had been sunny and bright. I had to put my pillow in front of the window

to protect my eyes from its rays. The first night arrived soon after. My sense of time was

disturbed, I could tell. Still, it felt like mere minutes. The day after had been cloudy, and until

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mere seconds ago the third day had been rainy.

This third day was moving more slowly than the others, the sun felt almost frozen at its

zenith.

I did not feel hunger or thirst. Nor did I see her or hear her. I didn't sleep either, nor did

I feel the desire to. I barely felt anything. Simply the overwhelming dread of missing

something. The yearning to be complete again consumed be.

The sky became my best friend. It changed much, and change soothed me. A new cloud,

that rushed across the blue jostled my imagination. I had never seen a horse, but this one looked

just like it. A rush of wind, invisible to my eye, inspired change and now there were claws

growing from its side. I saw a snake somewhere else, it's tongue tasting the blue infinte.

I thought of her eyes, their differing color and their likeness to the sky. I wondered how

long I would need to look, for my own eyes to change.

I thought back to when I had seen myself, and remembered that my eyes had been

closed. I wondered what color they were now, and what it said about me, if anything at all.

Then I simply thought of her, and remembered that I could ask her. The sensation of

sharing a body with her was still fresh in my mind, occupying it at every possible juncture.

Now I yearned for her and I yearned to feel as complete as I had then.

Ever since my second birth, as I had come to call it, I had been lying in this bed. I hadn't

even attempted to move my legs, for fear of overwhelming my mind. Now, inspired by desire

and curiosity, I dared to try.

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I started with the leg she had touched, and prodded at it in the same space she had. True

to her word, time had already done some work, and it felt more real, more present than it had

then.

I moved a toe and felt the sinew and muscle stretch to accommodate my command.

Rolling my ankle took some effort at first, as though something in the joint had set to stone and

needed reminding it was supposed to be movable. Not a pleasant sensation by any means, but a

necessary one I felt, so I continued pushing my limits. My knees popped with a disconcerting

sound, but it moved without pain. Encouraged, I rushed the next stepped and lifted my entire

leg from the bed.

It took effort, a considerable amount, but it worked. I watched, mesmerized by my own

achievement, as the blanket moved.

My leg complained, the muscles already strained and at their limit, so I let it recover

and repeated the motion with my other limb. It worked, faster and more efficient as well. To

walk felt like a daunting task, so I broke it into small steps.

I managed to sit up, using the pillow and wall behind me as support.

My eyes closed, and I relished in the feeling of change. A different perspective. My eyes

opened once again and I let my gaze wander across the room. She stood in the doorway that

lead to the stairs. How long had she been there? Had she seen me struggle to lift my leg?

Something akin to shame washed over me, yet more nuanced. I should have waited for her.

Maybe she had wanted to see me try, help me even. I had taken that from her, in what amounted

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to selfishness. I could have hurt myself. I thought back to the fight of memories I had

experiences before, and shuddered- at the thought of experiencing it without her aid.

She didn't react, she merely watched. I averted my eyes, let them drop to the floor. My

shoulders sagged, my enthusiasm stifled, suffocated.

Steps announced her coming closer, and she stopped at the table, taking a seat atop it.

"You did well."

Her praise eased my worries.

"I missed you." I said. My heart tinged at the sight of her frown. "Was that the wrong

thing to say?"

She was still wearing the same. A black skirt, a verdant top and a necklace of black

stones. I only noticed the stones, because she was idly playing with them instead of speaking.

Her eyes were focused elsewhere, as was her mind.

"No, it was the right thing to say. You couldn't have known you'd remind me of

someone else."

Her eyes sought mine, and she smiled. The same sad and distant smile she smiled when I

had asked for my cause of death.

"Do you miss them as well?" I asked.

"I do. But I must ask you to understand something. I don't do this because of them. I am

not helping you because you remind me of them."

"I understand, I think. Maybe," Her smile grew more earnest, encouraging me to speak,

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/ A WITCHES DREAM 14

"But then I have a question of my own. May I?"

She nod. "Always."

"Doesn't every death waste potential?"

"For the well prepared soul, death is but another journey. Neither was your soul ready,

nor was the world ready to part from you. If not me, then someone else."

"I don't understand." I answered in earnest.

"In time you will."

I glanced out the window, seeking solace and understanding in the sky. "Time is weird."

I whispered.

She chuckled, and agreed. "It is indeed."

The sun was still where I had last left it and even the clouds had stopped changing.

"Time works differently here." I observed to myself.

"I make it so." She answered.

I liked that she simply confirmed or denied. I said more things. You are a witch. Yes.

You live alone. Yes. This hut is made out of tree. Yes. That tree has green leaves. Yes.

I continued to state the obvious and she simply said yes. She helped me ground my

perceptions in reality, helped me understand that my senses weren't lying to me. Then I began

to say things that I didn't understand.

You have only one bed. Yes.

I heard the birds talk. Yes.

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/ A WITCHES DREAM 15

You haven't made the lavender tea. I have not.

I didn't dream. Thanks to me.

I haven't eaten. No.

I'm not hungry. You will be.

You are human. I used to be.

Eventually there were no more statements to make, none that I thought were significant

enough to ask anymore. They weren't questions, not in the literal sense, but I thought I learned

more than I would have, had I asked. She seemed content just to spend time with me, a faint

smile playing around her lips. Looking at her, I managed to come up with another statement.

"I don't know your name."

"A witches name holds power." She answered. The first ambiguous answer she had given

me all day.

"How much power?"

"Enough that there is no one alive who knows mine."

"So you don't trust me?" I was pushing the issue for the sake of conversation. She could

tell, thankfully, and took my question at face value.

"I trust who are now. I don't trust who you might become."

"I don't like that thought." I whispered

"Why not?"

"I don't want to be your enemy."

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There it was again, that sad smile. "We all change. You don't know who I might

become."

The sun had begun moving again, a slow crawl across the sky. I didn't find the snake

cloud again, instead there was an owl, and another that looked like a big hat.

"Then what do I call you?"

"Just 'the witch' is fine."

"What if I meet other witches?"

She laughed, a bright and happy laugh. "Then I'll just be the witch you know."

"I like that."

The hat cloud drifted towards the owl. It looked like the owl was wearing it, for a few

moments at least. Then they merged and became something different. Maybe a fish.

"Do I have a name?" I asked.

"I don't know. Do you want one?"

"I do."

She got up from the table, and dropped to her knees beside the bed. She was close to me

now, close enough so I could see myself in her eyes. On a whim I decided that I liked her left

eye, the bright one, better.

"Do you want me to give you one?" She asked.

"Yes."

"Are you sure? I will know it. I will have control over you."

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/ A WITCHES DREAM 17

"You returned to me my life. It is the least I can give you."

Her eyebrows furrowed with worry. Then she relaxed, and reached out to take my hand.

"Alright. Then let me ask you some questions, so I know what name suits you."

I gave her my hand.

She began talking, in a low voice. "You see a lake. The moon reflects in its surface.

There is something on the other side of the lake. What do you want it to be?"

"A person."

The ethereal image of a puppet appeared above our joined hands.

"Who are they?" She asked.

"It's me." I said. "Me from another time."

The puppets eyes began glowing a golden color. I wondered if that was the color of my

eyes, or simply the color of her magic. Maybe it was both.

"The future or the past?"

"I think she's from the past."

She nod, and then tilt her head. I got the sense this next question would decide my name.

"Is there something you want to tell her?"

"No. I don't want to speak with her. I want her to drown in the lake."

The puppet lowered, and sunk into our skin. I felt nothing, but she shuddered. Her eyes

closed, and she spoke with a voice that commanded authority. This was more than just a name,

there was magic at work.

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/ A WITCHES DREAM 18

"Your name is Lorelei."

I felt my name more than I heard it. I also felt what she meant by power over me. If she

gave me a command alongside my name, I would be compelled to complete it. I didn't regret

my choice. Not yet.

"I like it." I whispered.

She smiled, though I could see signs of exhaustion. Her eyes dropped, her shoulders

slumped. Her clutch on my hand weakened. She had not told me it would be such an exertion.

"I'm glad," She gasped and straightened out. I could tell she was hiding how bad she felt

from me. Then she asked, "It's for you to tell me, but before I go, I have to ask. Why drown

her?"

"Because I don't want her. I don't want to be her. If I could, I would forget her. I can't

ever go back, and I don't want to try."

Her reaction was peculiar. Her eyes relaxed, she leaned back. She seemed satisfied with

my answer. Relieved even.

"Then where will you go?" Her tone indicated a challenge. As though she was hoping to

catch me out.

"Wherever life takes me." I whispered. It was a weak answer, I knew that. Even quieter I

added. "Maybe I will become a witch myself."

The sun had rushed across the sky, and was close to the horizon now. The first hints of

pink colored the clouds. One of them looked like an eye.

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# # Chapter TWO # #

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I woke up at night.

I had managed to fight my way onto my knees, and was staring out the window, the

blanket tightly wrapped around me. Stars dotted the endless black. Just as I had done with the

clouds, I tried to look for patterns. Yet whenever I had managed to find a constellation that

seemed to fit, I blinked, and it vanished. The stars were still there, but the imagined connections

I had spotted between them had lost their meaning.

It wasn't a conscious process, but a game of noticing and remembering. I was good at

noticing, bad at remembering.

Eventually the moon rose, and shone its light through the window and onto me. Just

bright enough to create a reflection of myself in the glass. I leaned closer and opened my eyes

wide, to try and see them.

Both were blank, completely white, safe for a small golden dot. My left eye had it at its

center, my right had it slightly misplaced. I would ask her later if they had appeared after my

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naming, or were already present. The image of a doll with glowing eyes still vividly haunted

me.

Lorelei. I whispered my name, and felt its power. It had allure to it, as though speaking

it more often would change me. Maybe even create a new me.

My first memory returned, her sprawled out body sleeping at the table. I wondered

where she was now, what she was doing, where she was sleeping, what she was thinking.

I hadn't dreamed again. Thanks to her, she had said. I wondered why I wasn't allowed to

dream. I missed it.

A new feeling overcame me. A sensation of isolation. Every breath reinforced a feeling

of suffocation. The blanket seemed heavier and heavier until I felt forced to brush it away. I

needed her.

"Are you there?" I called out, expecting no answer at all.

"I am." Her voice was muffled, somewhere on the other side of the window. A light

flickered to life on the ground, just below me, and her shape stepped out into the open. There

was a haunting beauty in darkness. "What do you need?"

"I want to talk." I lied.

She took a running start of two steps, leapt into the air and then descended onto the

windowsill where she took a seat. I could not see her features, only a silouette, but I hoped she

was smiling. The glass between us bothered me less than I thought it would.

"Do you want me to guess what about?" she asked.

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I hummed agreement.

"You want to talk about time. The future. Am I close?"

"Very." I lied.

"Your future?"

"Yes. Let's talk about my future."

One star in particular caught my eye. It sparkled past her shoulder, as though her

presence encouraged it to be brighter.

"Do you still wish to become a witch?" She asked.

"I don't know enough. What else could I be?"

She reached out for the night, and fetched a star from the night sky. Her palm opened, to

show the faint light of a firefly. "You could become anything. You could become a knight of the

king to slay beasts. You could become the beast that slays knights. A bard who sings the praises

of others. The Hero whose praises are being sung. You could become the wizard who breaks

magic. You could be the witch to end the world."

"Is that why the world couldn't let me end? It needs me to end it?"

"I don't know." She admitted. "I hope not."

The firefly flew off into the sky and vanished. A new star appeared where it had

dissapeared.

"Then why would you suggest it?" I asked.

"My sisters. They want it. They say this world isn't right. They say they could do

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better."

"Could they?"

"Maybe?" She whispered. I knew she wasn't smiling now. "I just know they are waiting

on someone."

"Do you think that someone is me?"

Her silence was answer enough. I tried to pluck a star from the sky, just as she had done,

but nothing happened.

"Why am I not allowed to dream?" I asked. I hadn't minded the silence, I had merely

been afraid she would leave again if it continued.

"Because dreams hold power, just like names do. To let you dream, would invite all the

evil on the world to influence you. You've been doing well, but that is too great a risk. One day,

when you can step outside my home again, you will dream again."

"Why are my eyes golden?"

"There is a saying. The eyes are the windows to the soul. Your window is cloudy, the

soul behind it juvenile. You will grow. They will change. Once upon a time, mine were the

color of lavender."

"You haven't brewed that tea yet."

She chuckled. "We have a visitor tomorrow. I'll make it then."

"Am I allowed to meet them?"

"If you want to."

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###

The first floor of her home was far more interesting than the second

Two curved shelves, to fit the curve of the room, filled with books flanked a third shelf,

filled with teapots. Each pot had a unique design and precisely two cups that matched it. On top

of each of the shelves sat clay pots, from which grew herbs and flowers. One in particular had

attached itself to the ceiling, and was draping the room, like a blanket of green.

A table commanded the right side of the room, dividing it in two. An open fireplace was

conveniently put right besides the table, so the Witch could tend the tea, while a visitor spoke,

for whom a second chair was at the ready.

Near the door stood something resembling a nightstand. On top of it sat a mortar and

pestle, and various pouches of dried herbs, mixed and matched with each other.

A central carpet brought the circular room's design to a close, on it depicted a tree. It's

roots fanned out and mirrored the branches above. If not for the leaves, I would have guessed it

to be a dead or dying tree. It's roots resembled skeletal fingers too closely to be a coincidence.

The last thing of note was a trapdoor, shamelessly visible and only obscured by its

casual presence. Without her memory of something dark behind it, I would not have given it a

second thought.

My legs still struggled to hold my weight. I had to rely on her help, much to my

chagrin.

She had changed clothes, to a more pristine black dress. A pattern that snaked across her

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whole body flirted with the idea of revealing what lay underneath, but refused to do so. Her

guest must be an old and admired friend for her to wear such an outfit. Maybe my presence

wouldn't be appreciated.

With her support I reached one of the chairs. I was thankful for the wood to hold my

weight.

"Thank you." I whispered, eyes averted.

She gave but a faint nod of acknowledgment and then began her preparations, her mind

now in another place altogether. She picked out a pot, a largely blank design except for purple

accents and a pink flower bud, about to sprout. The matching cups then blossomed into glorious

designs in stark contrast.

The mortar and pestle which I at first deemed merely decoration were put to good use,

as lavender leaves were ground down to a fine powder. The scent created an assault on my

nostrils more so than anything else had before.

The nightstands drawer had hidden a vase, inside of which appeared to be some kind of

paste. The lavender was added to it, then she rolled it into a small ball, about the width of my

thumb. Then she made a second and third, placed them on the windowsill and left them there to

dry.

"Do you want to try and braid my hair?" she asked, a content smile playing on her lips.

I looked at her, remembered how pristine her braid had seemed the first time I had seen

her, and how messy and open it looked now. Then I looked to my own hands and saw the

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motions before me. I had braided hair before.

"I could." I whispered.

"Then please."

She approached, and knelt before me, with her back turned my way. I got to work

undoing the old braid, and while I did my thoughts wandered.

"Who is our guest?" I asked.

"I could tell you," She teased, "But it'd be more fun if you find out yourself."

"Not fair." I pouted, playful.

The braid opened and her hair seemed even longer now. It was a tricky task to seperate

it into three bundles without introducing plenty of knots.

"How often do you have guests?"

"Whenever someone has needs of my services. Which is to say, often enough so I have

yet to turn someone down."

"So not often."

She didn't correct me.

"There's only two chairs. Will you stand?"

"It would be rude to let a guest stand, and you aren't strong enough. So I suppose so. I

don't think they will mind."

Her hair was thick and strong. Easy to braid. At the half way point I took a moment, to

create a sort of square pattern. It would break the monotony of a simple braid, and hopefully

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shorten it just enough so It wouldn't drag on the floor.

"Are you nervous?" She asked.

I stopped braiding for a second, to notice how badly my hands trembled. My breath had

quickened, the concept of a stranger invading our space nestled in my mind.

"I think so." I whispered.

"You don't have to meet her."

"Her." I echoed. "No, I want to. I do."

She heaved a breath, a sort of resignation I thought. "Fine."

I finished the braid, tying a knot into its end. She felt it, along its many twists. I curled

into the chair, retreated into it, away from her and her judgment and the thoughts of intrusion.

Still turned away from me she mumbled. "You are... precise. Efficient. Brutally so, and

you are..."

"...cold." I finished for her. At least I thought I did.

"No. I wanted to say gentle." She turned to face me now. "Why did you think I was

going to say Cold?"

Concern clouded her eyes.

"I didn't think." I replied. "I spoke out of the moment. I assume my past self had been

told she was cold hearted many times."

"A sad thought, but one rooted in truth."

"Truth? Which truth? How do you know?"

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My curiosity had been peaked. In the heat of asking questions I leaned forward, leaving

the safe space the chair offered me.

"A witch's most important skill is to see. To observe. When I look at you I see many

things."

She reached out, touched my shoulder. Let her fingers run down until they rested above

my heart. "I can see it. It's small. Hasn't filled the vacancy around it. You've never experienced

Love, not in its truest form," Her fingers painted a little cross onto my chest, "and yet you've

experienced heartbreak. You were treated unfairly in your previous life. As much as you have

forgotten, your soul and body remember. They will never forget, they may only forgive. In

time, you may fill that vacancy with other things, but unless you take your previous self, hug

her tight and let her tell you what she suffered, she will always be a weight on your soul."

I took a hold of her fingers, and pushed them away from me. The thought of a crippled

soul made my body ache. I could feel the weight the witch was talking about. Someone or

something holding onto me for dear life. To shake them off would mean to lose something

forever. To pull them up would be to admit defeat. A return to an identity I did not want.

"Where else am I broken?" I asked with a kind of morbid curiosity.

She placed her hand on my thigh, the same spot where she had first prodded my soul.

"Here. There is a break in your leg. Your trust, it has been betrayed. There are cracks. Not one,

but many small betrayals, until you could not take it anymore."

"By who?" I asked not out of lust for vengeance, but out of curiosity.

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"I'm afraid I can't tell you. No one can, but your memories, and those who betrayed it."

She glanced away from me, outside. At a plant, that I was not sure had been there before.

"She will soon arrive." She mumbled. "But before she does," her eyes returned to me, her

hands grasped for mine, and her voice lowered. "I want you to know that our souls remember

the bad and ignore the good. I know that in spite of whatever happened to you before, you had

moments of Joy and Laughter. You had times when you were happy. You will heal. You will be

happy again."

###

I took from her tone that she was scared for me.

###

Our guest was decidedly not human.

She appeared to be some kind of manifestation of nature. Her olive green body was

covered in leaves instead of clothes, in a manner that left little to imagination. Her anatomy

was human adjacent, but inaccurate. Clearly she had taken liberties in creating her appearance

and found the human body to be constricting. Ribs for one and a spine for another were not

present. It showed in her movements, in her posture.

She stepped closer, and pulled the witch aside. Maybe she had not yet seen me, or was

ignoring me, but they wanted to discuss something. To see them side by side, it became obvious

that the newcomers body was but an imitation of hers. Every curve, every valley and hill was

perfectly replicated. Although the guest did not have the same lushious hair. No, that had been

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replaced by branches and brambles.

I didn't understand why one of nature had chosen to model herself after a human, or I

suppose a witch that used to be human. I understood humans and nature to be enemies. Perhaps

the preconceive notion that my fractured memory told me was incorrect, or this entity was the

exception to the rule. I remembered there being a rule about rules, and how they cannot exist

without exceptions.

I watched wordlessly as they spoke in hushed tones, no doubt about me. They were

close, their relationship tight knit, although imbalanced. The guest grasped at the witch, wanted

her to be closer, while the witch politely redirected her efforts and attention to more appropiate

places and topics. Maybe her fascination wasn't about humans at all, but only this one

particular one. I remembered the witch telling me of Love, and I thought to myself that this was

not the kind of love I wanted. I could do without.

After what felt like mere moments, but might as well have been an eternity, they turned

to me, both of them. I got a first look at her eyes, and found them to be voids. Certainly, they

were eyes, green ones, and made like humans, but they lacked all emotion. The imitation of an

eye. Worse, a mockery.

"So this is the one you wanted to save?" The guest asked. To hear her speak of me as

though I wasn't present wasn't surprising. She had the air of someone who thought herself and

only herself to be worthy of attention. Her voice interestingly enough was far removed from

the witch's. Where the witch was soft, she had harsh tones permeating every word. Perhaps her

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imitation was merely skin deep.

"She is." The witch replied. Her voice shook with the same fear that I thought to have

heard before.

The guests looked at my frail body with her twisted interpretation of an eye. I felt weak

before her, weaker even than when I had first woken up. There was some kind of bond between

us, a primal one. I reached for it, through water and mind. A feeling akin to grasping for

something in a dream. Despite not moving a muscle I took a hold of it and tugged. Her eyes

widened in astonishment. Then a smile spread across her lips.

"Fascinating."

Then she tugged back.

I felt her rip something out of me, pulled it free. Through our connection I felt hunger,

and she would have eaten it if the witch hadn't torn it away from her and given it back to me.

There was a new break now, in my arm. I didn't need the witch's eyes to see it, or for her to tell

me that it was there. The pain was fresh and livid.

"You will not hurt her." The witch hissed, in a tone I had yet to hear her speak.

I believed to see fear in the guests eyes, for a mere split second, but it vanished in the

blink of an eye. In a matter of heartbeats she had regained her composure and turned away from

me again, as though I had been put a painting to study and then move past.

"Believe you me, I had no intention to do so. I merely overestimated her strength. She

has a gift, this one. Teach her my ways."

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My eyes fell to the witch, searching for comfort, but only found her panicked stare.

"I will not." She gasped in response.

The guest smiled. "Oh, so I am to understand she is not your student then? That means

she is but a mere intruder, someone who you revived out of boredom? What would stop me

from killing her then? Your guilt? Your anger? You will teach her my ways, or she dies."

Strangely, her words seemed hollow to me. As though there was no emotion behind

them. She didn't mean them. The witch however believed them. Before she could decide on

either path, I whispered. "She's bluffing."

Both of them turned to me.

"She means no harm to me." I elaborated and turned my aching body to face the guest.

"You understand my value. You understand death would not keep me. To kill me would be to

throw me away and let someone else have me."

Her mouth fell agape and told me all I needed to know. By trying to force her ways onto

me she had lost me. Now I had to make her believe she still had a chance, give her hope.

Otherwise there would be nothing to hold her back from killing me anyways.

"I will see for myself what your ways are. What your magic can achieve. And I will

decide whether I will be taught them."

I wasn't sure if I had lied. Maybe her ways were what I wanted, but even if they were I

would not want to learn them from her. The nature of this foregone conclusion likely meant

that I had lied. But neither of them had caught on.

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The guest overcame her shock, and smiled. "You play well." She whispered. Perhaps the

first genuine statement she had made since entering the witch's hut.

"Very well. Now then, Tea Witch, time for tea."

# # END # #

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