prompt: foist
The witch is unnecessary.
Unwelcome, the way she worms herself into your fight, knives and beasts and gods-damned magick all at her disposal. You already knew the gods wouldn’t let you die, but these labors were yours. The only thing your life was worth.
So you swing your club with no regard for whether she’s on the other end. It’s what Her Majesty does to you; you’re just being what she made you.
But when the witch comes to you, offering you Nectar and salutes — companionship — you wonder if it’s always been her who welcomes you.
You, who is necessary.














