When the Mistress made me she was full of angry things, that’s why so am I.
She pulled red threads over skin too tight and she couldn’t turn me, so all the ugliness I was supposed to hide was out for all to see. Like little crisscrossing scars. But that’s alright.
She messed up my head a little bit, stitch, stitch stitching. She fixed it as much as she could, and in the process she found pause.
She looked at me, me, for the first time. And sighed.
She rubbed her eyes and let go of me almost completely, and I thought she would forget about me.
She put more gentle things in me this time. Not for the sake of the enemies of our Kingdom, but for mine. So I wouldn’t feel so alone.
Instead of nails she gave me a hawthorn berry for a heart, and soft, soft cotton.
And then she brushed her thumb across my cheek and clothed me.
And then she gave me a sword, the only sword, and I felt special.
“You never send a soldier to war unarmed.”
She pressed her lips against my forehead and her warm air filled my head.
“A witch’s kiss is a blessed thing,” they said.
She tugged on the seams of my pepper filled legs and the rosemary in my chest swelled. Maybe the mint in my cheeks blushed, but just a little bit.
She gave me hematite so my will would be strong and shiny, and then she whispered it was my duty to look after the Junglegreen.
“Protect us all, my brave little soldier.” And before she left she turned and over her shoulder blew me a final kiss.
There are no other soldiers. I’m the one and only. I protect the Junglegreen and the Mistress day and night. I march between the Pottedplants and am a diplomat with the Faepeople, I see who can visit the kingdom or not, depending if they’re good at heart.
When the Mistress made me she didn’t have to love me, but she did.
-A poppet and his witch, by Semiramis Magpie.