today's writing is a continuation of this story I wrote a while ago: witch prompt
Frances knew things had just taken a turn. It felt like that moment when you dropped your favourite mug and it shattered into pieces. You could take drinks again, but you would never use that familiar mug that fit perfectly in your hand again.
In fact, since that strange woman with eyes as dark as a moonless night had arrived, Frances had not felt at ease. She was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The shadows had strange shapes like menacing beings waiting to strike, patient and unwavering. Perhaps sleeping at an unfamiliar place was not helping. Hilda had suggested that both Frances and the other woman stayed at her home that night. The room was not huge, but there was enough space that it felt comfortable. It was very different from her little room at her own house. And the smell was also different. At Frances’ home, the air was dry and stale and smelled of dirt and wheat. But that cosy room in Hilda’s house smelled like wood and fresh air and an assortment of dried flowers that Hilda kept in a small bowl made with green and red-coloured straw. And despite the endless list of questions and worries running around Frances’ mind, she gave up to the comfort of the room, and fell asleep. The next thing she knew, the early morning sun was seeping through the window.
She woke up disoriented and with a slight headache, a faint throbbing pain above her eyes. Soon enough, she remembered the events of the previous night, and with her memories came her troubling thoughts. Who was that strange woman dressed in black and what was that world-ending problem she had been talking about? And what did any of that had to do with Hilda? But, most importantly, who was Hilda, really?
Frances splashed some cold water on her face and went outside, hoping that stretching her legs would make her feel less brittle. It was a crisp, clear morning, and she walked along Hilda’s garden, looking at the herbs and the tomato plants and the apple trees. She arrived at the gate, and looked ahead, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach urging her to run away. But her legs were frozen, as if she had grown roots that kept her tied to that moist earth of Hilda’s garden. She knew she wouldn’t run away, so she turned back to the house and sat on the porch, just existing, just breathing.
The door opened and Hilda sat next to Frances, handing her a warm tea. “Here. It will make you feel better, dear.”
Frances accepted the tea, but stared at it blankly without drinking. The steam floated before her eyes and the cup warmed her hands, but she did not move.
“Frances, love, I know you must be upset” said Hilda with a mellow voice. “Things have taken quite a dark turn, even if it seems so far, even if today the sun still shines and things are still the same” Were they, though? “What’s going on, what this girl told us about… It’s a serious issue, Frances. And I won’t lie to you, this is not going to be easy. But you’re smart and strong, and you have the most exceptional soul I have ever seen”
That last sentence gave Frances a tingle that went from the pit of her stomach up to her chest, and she felt her cheeks burning. She let out a shaky sigh, and the tea trembled in her hands. “Hilda, what does that mean.. What… Why was she looking for you? Why you” There was a very direct question she wanted to ask. Who are you? But she thought it would be rude to ask that.
Hilda looked at her, and took a few seconds before answering. “Hm. You do remember she was looking for a sorcerer, right?” Frances nodded. “Well, it’s true that I am a sorcerer. But I have been… retired, for a while. You know that people don’t like sorcerers around here, that’s why I never told you. I’m very sorry, dear. I never thought this day would come, but here we are. But we must do our best to help”
Frances looked at Hilda and nodded again, then took a short sip of tea. “Hm. I’ll go see if our guest has woken up and I’ll bring you some warm breakfast, alright?” Hilda squeezed Frances’ arm reassuringly, and then went inside. Frances was a puddle of emotions. She did not know what to think or what to do, so she stayed there looking at the garden with a blank stare, and sipping her tea, staring at a small crack in the cup’s handle.
