Three days ago, I took a trip up to Georgia- in Atlanta. I didn’t do much that was very memorable except for one very harrowing experience. And that was the Panther Creek Hiking Trail. We were trekking from 10 AM to 6 PM! And let’s also note that the pathway was definitely not made by sensible or patient people. We had to crawl over a log, jump over rocks, and take off our shoes to cross streams. Also, so many people left their dogs unleashed (and I have a huge fear of dogs)! Why even bring your dogs here at all, people?! At some points, I felt my entire body pull me down. All of me hurt so much, and every minute I was praying that the trail would be over. But also, I will say that there was an aspect of the trail that was wildly interesting, and that was the adventurous feel of it. I knew I was only maybe a few miles away from the nearest freeway, but it felt like I was an explorer in the middle of nowhere, in incessant danger. It’s almost thrilling if you think about it that way. But mostly, it was just exhuasting. The waterfall at the end was pretty though. Was it worth hiking for like the entirety of my day? No, but it was pretty. Anyway, here is the first part of a story I started on today. I’ll post the second part tomorrow, because otherwise this post would be like a million scrolls long. It’s called ‘The Wilting Witch’ (honestly, a working title) and it is about a witch and her relationship with her daughter being severely jeopardized. Or really was it already jeopardized to begin with…? Oooo. Enjoy. (1320 words)
Delicate, honed little brambles were placed just perfectly so that each one stung her legs in a different place. Each prick she felt at her soul, and yet she sat, picking buds. That day, it was roses, for the love serums. Love serums for the desperate boys and girls who longed for each other’s devotion. Edith did not sit there in coercion, or in torment; there was no room for bitterness in a life resolved to solicitude. Because what was a wilting witch, with so much light in her heart and power at her fingertips to do, other than devote herself to others? And that’s not to say her history was completely faultless. Once, she had so much hatred in her- an acidity that came from a place of youthful pride, a will for destruction. But, when she had her Mireya, all of her resentment for the world tumbled out of her. Mireya was her miracle, her life, the needle of her compass. Mireya was such an important part of Edith’s own self, that she often failed to recognize her as her own being. And as oblivious to this fact she acted, she knew that one day Mireya would want to grow up, leaving her to regress back to the broken mess she used to be. Each day she felt her beloved daughter slipping away from her, and she did everything in her power to stop it- or even just to slow it down, to let her hand grasp at the water for it to eventually slip through her fingers. What a sorrowful life it is, to await your coming decrepicy.
Soon, she had gathered enough roses, and her feet were covered with a deal of pricks, so she walked back down the mossy cobblestone to the cottage. Once she got inside, the blazing fire’s warmth rushed at her face, and she sat down on her rocking chair. She swung back and forth, pushing off her toes lightly, each movement releasing a cry from the old wood. She flipped through the pages of her book, as she waited for Mireya to arrive home. She waited and waited. The words started getting blurry, it was so late, but she kept on waiting. Finally, she was about to doze off when the door flung open with a slam. She heard inconsistent footsteps and unkept giggles. She lifted her head to see her daughter staggering in, flinging herself on the couch. It was 3 am, and there was a flush to her cheeks to the likes of which she’s never seen before. Her eyes were bright with excitement and something else entirely. Edith wondered what had her so shaken.
“I’m in love, Mama!” Mireya breathed out. Her voice tinkled and chimed with bells of pure, young affection. Edith smiled at her daughter,
“That’s lovely, dear.”
No part of her felt that it was lovely, but what else could she have said?
Nonetheless, it was still very late, and so Mireya’s eyes were slowly dropping. She almost automatically got up, resisting the urge to scold her for getting home so late, and covered her with a woven blanket. “What am I going to do with this girl?” she sighed.
She sat back down in her chair, stopped swinging, and rested her eyes. Her jeopardized love and grief clouded her dreams. The next morning, she would talk to Mireya about staying out so late. But the soft chirping of birds awoke her the next morning, and Mireya was nowhere to be found. All the disparaging ladies in her town wondered why she lets her get away with everything, why she doesn’t just forbid her to be so reckless- she is a witch for goodness sake. But what they do not understand is that as much as Edith wanted to keep Mireya safe and well, she also did not want her to hate her mother. That would only drive her further away.
So, with not much else to do, she began making her love serums. She counted 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 bottles on her countertop. Each bottle filled with soft pink, glowing liquid. She went back out to her garden to pick more herbs for her next batch of potions. She spent the whole day outside, till she came back in at 10 pm. She looked at her countertop and counted the love serums once more. 1,2,3,4,5,6.
Mireya. Almost as soon as she thought it, Mireya ran inside the door, and into her room, crying. She slammed the door shut, and Edith could merely guess what had occured. She thought about going in her room as well, to comfort her distressed daughter, but she decided that the need of some alone time was likely implied. Worrying about her precious Mireya all the way, she began to walk to their village’s market. She turned the corner to the little stand of fruit, and placed a few glossy plums in a basket. Surely, a little treat would help cheer Mireya up from whatever was causing her all this anguish. As she brought the plums to the front of the stand to pay, she heard the troubling whispers and mumbles of the town ladies. She sighed in an act of exasperation, but her ears betrayed her to listen in.
“Dear, I don’t know what would even move her to do such a horrid thing!” one woman tutted.
“What a disgrace…” another remarked, “and to think- all the rest of our lovely girls! Their utter patience and obedience.. just for that spoiled daughter of magic to wreck havoc!”
Edith felt her body freeze up as she realized who exactly they were muttering around about.
“Well, I’ll say one thing. The girl will get her comeuppance, that’s for certain.” the stand keeper chuckled, “You don’t go around casting faulty love spells and murdering a Castelle boy. His family’s all in a riot now, from what I hear.. There’s no recognized crime without a consequent punishment here, ladies.”
“And just what kind of comeuppance do the Castelle folk think my daughter deserves?” Edith’s nervous voice seemed to awaken them, and bring out some fruitless apologies.
“Death, I reckon..” the store keeper mumbled, and one of the ladies jutted her elbow at him.
Edith didn’t want to believe the stand keeper, or any of those ladies. She wanted to convince herself that it was simply a part of the silly gossip that got passed around daily. But a small pit planted itself in her stomach, and she had no will to stay in the market, or away from home for any longer. She rushed back up to her cabin, so quickly her feet stumbled over the stone pathway. Just as her anxious feeling had foreshadowed, there was the Castelle boy’s father, Richard Castelle, right on their doorstep. His firm fist banged against their door in a manic sort of way, with no pause. He didn’t even seem to notice her arrival. Edith shuddered, but she knew she had no right to be afraid. What she was thinking when she made those love serums, she did not know. Cautiously, she approached him, and as soon as he heard her, he turned around. He looked enraged, and a chill ran up her spine. She had never felt more remorse and regret in her life. He insisted that action must be taken against her daughter. She will pay for her crimes, he roared. And deep down, she too knew that it was only just and fair that she have consequences to her actions. But her mind’s gears ticked, and spun. She then realized how it really wasn’t her precious Mireya’s fault at all! It was Edith who made the faulty love serums in the first place. So who was this man to threaten her innocent daughter? She couldn’t bear to lose her compass, her rope that holds her to sanity. And so, finally, Edith knew what she must do, and smiled.
Well, that’s it for now. Don’t take this story in at the surface level please. Or, well, maybe I don’t have to tell you that. Maybe it’s obvious. It should be- I hope it is. I hope you can tell what I’m trying to do in this story. Or what I’m trying to mimick, at least. Hint, hint: Edith is not the gracious hero of this story, people! Ah, I’ll go more in depth about this tommorrow, I guess.
💛 Dia