Here rings the next bell and another step forwards towards the great beast. The bells sound, roaring a great destruction. Gothoc spires decay in the moonlight all while the Witch bleeds. Her eyes wide on the beast.
The young woman wears her emotions outward, while the Witch swallows hers down like the most horrible tonic. The Witch helps where she is able, all while trying to learn the young woman's part. But every time they're swallowed down, glass littering the floor.
Dull that pain, through any means, the Thinker says. The Witch watches on as he gathers herbs, salves, potions. A fading song in the air dances around and his ears twitch. Over time, the Witch knows the painkillers are there for the Thinkers benefit, attempting to provide any opportunity to acquire more. But the Thinker … Continue reading Painkiller
The snake had suffocated the Thinker hundreds of miles away. Her heart stood behind stone and masonry, many miles more. It crumbled and tumbled, the young Witch sat hugging her bare knees, hiding her face. Her frail hands, her nails clenched deep into her flesh, staining protein in the rust.
Though the witch loves to conjure potions, she attempts making charms, spinning stories, and teaching others. Masters before her watch in earnest of her growth. Some smile, others scowl.
The cylinders sit brewing their concoctions and potions. The witch waits nearby, taking in the sounds of a bustling city tavern. Music, lights, merriment. Different, but beautiful.
It was time to leave, into a different world. But she knew the huntsman's cabin would remain. She raises her hands, casting a blessing on the surrounding forest. The trees grow tall and green. Bushes glisten with wild berries.
The woodsman brings the witch into his world, showing her skills, survival, and ways forgotten. He watches on quietly as she attempts to construct one of the walls to the cabin, instructing only when needed. His heart swells and nods.
Crack goes the axe bit into wood, felling another dead giant. The Witch sits crosslegged upon a stump, braiding her hair, and watching the Woodsman. The Witch picks up her axe and makes her way to the Woodsman, a gentle smile on her face. He greets her with a big embrace.
Behind the high countertop, the witch peers over to see if anyone stares back at her. No one. She continues making different potions, all doing the same thing but carrying different flavors. Satisfied, she sells the popular wares and dusts off the particulates sticking to her apron.