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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

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To Covet. Yan Zhongli x Reader x Yan Xiao

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationship and forced marriage. Word count: 2.4k. Note: this is yet another addition to the first contract universe! this time, with some xiao perspective.

[The First Contract index]

Xiao always thought that he knew his place.

He was the sole surviving Yaksha, an illuminated adepti, and a dedicated follower of Rex Lapis. He owed a great debt to the Geo Archon that he could never hope to fully repay. Rex Lapis was the one who pulled him from his neverending nightmare, the one who gave him a name and a purpose, introducing him to a world of light. Whatever was ordered of Xiao to do, if it came from the lips of Rex Lapis, he would see it through to the bitter end.

That’s the approach he’s always taken, even in regards to you.

“Ah, yes, this sweet flower will do nicely,” you kneel down onto the patchy grass and rummage through the respective foliage. “Xiao, would you hand me the basket please?”

At your behest, he wastes no time going to your side and providing what you asked for. The handwoven basket is almost overflowing with the flora you’ve spent the past few hours foraging. His fingers twitch around the handle. The wicker feels foreign and scratchy against his skin, a far cry from the smooth polearm he would normally wield instead. All those decades spent shedding seas worth of blood that’s since seeped into Liyue’s ground, long forgotten by those who weren’t there for the carnage, to end up doing this. Accompanying you on a mundane task in Nantianmen to pick flowers and herbs.

You stand once more, satisfied with nature's bounty for today. It’s been a productive trip. Your lips part, as if you were hoping to speak, only to close again when you catch Xiao staring at your sleeves like they were a threat.

Xiao’s ever perceptive gaze caught the dirt that’s smudged against your hanfu’s flowing fabric, a frown curling his lips downwards as a result.

“Don’t concern yourself over this,” you lift your arm up to inspect the damage closer and nod reassuringly. “It’ll wash off easily.”

He wonders if he should even broach the taboo subject. It’s more trouble than it's worth — this is what he tells himself — and yet he can’t suppress the way his stomach churns in displeasure. Rex Lapis’ order to him hours before echoes in his mind as if his head were the expansive caves beneath Mt. Hulao.

“You will accompany my spouse wherever they would like to go, naturally, only within Liyue’s borders. See to it that no harm befalls them even if it means laying down your life. If they begin to act disagreeable, bring them back to me at once.”

Such an insignificant detail would go unnoticed by anyone else, but this is Rex Lapis; his omnipotent eyes notice the smallest intricacies like they were glaringly obvious. There’s no doubting that he’d be displeased with you for dirtying one of his favorite garments. Xiao can’t believe that he’s allowing himself to linger on something so foolish, so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

He is a warrior. A slayer of demons, devourer of dreams, the Vigilant Yaksha.

And above all else, he is hopelessly enamored with you to the point it was nauseating.

He shouldn’t trouble himself with anything above his orders. As long as there wasn’t a strand of hair on your head out of place, Rex Lapis wouldn’t consider the contract between them broken. What kind of impression would you get if he mentioned it? Would you think he was complicit in your chainless imprisonment? He supposes he is, in a way, the thought leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

It’s not like he wants this for you anymore than you want it for yourself.

No, what he wants is far different, yet just as self-serving.

“Just— just clean it off before we go back.”

Xiao’s voice cuts through the heavy silence, sharp and straight to the point. He regrets how harsh it comes out immediately, but you do not cower or flinch at his biting tone. Of course you wouldn’t. You’ve been through far more hellacious situations than dealing with Xiao’s attitude.

It poses the question: what made you bend the knee to Rex Lapis? It was no secret on your behalf that your husband has earned your scorn, a well-kept secret amongst the adepti from the mortals. Accounts varied differently. Xiao, who usually had no interest in the past, trudged through numerous sources in hopes of securing the truth. He wanted to know. He needed to know.

If not for that… perhaps you could have belonged to him instead.

The thought alone sent shivers up and down his spine. You wave him over, prompting him to follow your graceful form while searching for more ingredients. Liyue’s bright, midday sun works wonders on your skin, making it appear to him like you were glowing. Your status of divinity is well-deserved.

He’d never spared a second thought to physical appearance, but your beauty was too prevalent to not notice. Everything about you was full of intriguing extremes. Your soft lips could both say the kindest words to those you cared for, or be used to scrutinize your husband. Your hands command forth the earth to lay waste to Rex Lapis’ enemies, and delicately pluck the strings of your favorite instruments, filling your abode with ethereal sound.

The urges and desires that engulf him when it came to you were dangerous, if not borderline treason. You were in Rex Lapis’ possession. The Geo Archon’s suffocating favor upon you was evident at every opportunity, who else other than you could cross him so boldly and face no dire repercussions?

“It’s getting late,” Xiao notes, whilst taking another flower that caught your interest into the basket. “We should head back.”

The content atmosphere around you chills like a river freezing over in the winter. All sense of levity is gone, replaced with neutrality and an unreadable expression.

He swears the ground beneath his feet trembles.

You readjust the hairpin on your head which had gone askew with your activity. “... Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Without complaint, you turn around to head in the direction of Rex Lapis’ domain. There’s no longer a spring in your step, or the excited buzz in the air from you explaining the different flora’s medicinal properties to Xiao. This somber disposition was more in line with how you would be in your husband’s presence. The first time Xiao was introduced to you, he wondered if you were alive at all; you were as still as a corpse.

“Do you hate me?”

Xiao holds his breath, the both of you staring at one another in varying degrees of shock. The question had slipped out past the crevices of his subconscious in a way it shouldn’t have. What should he care what you think? It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he could just shove this down someplace where it would never see the light of day again. Yet it never fails to claw its way up like acidic bile in his throat.

“Hate you?” You repeat his word choice back in a whisper, blinking. “Why should I hate you, Xiao?”

“I—”

This time, he has the wherewithal to bite his tongue and grimaces. “Forget it.”

Now he’s ahead of you, rather than lagging a few feet behind like he was for the duration of the trip. He picks up on the grass rustling behind him. You sprint to meet up with him, refusing to let the conversation die a merciful death. There’s that stubborn nature of yours again. Rex Lapis had accurately described it as both your most endearing and damning quality. You then circle in front of him and extend your arms, effectively blocking his path. It would be simple to get around you, and yet he’s too stunned to think, much less act.

“I’m only going to say this once,” you take a deep breath and square your shoulders. “I refuse to let myself wallow in despair and shove the blame onto others. This battle is mine and mine alone. You are simply doing as you’re commanded — am I correct?”

You take his stupefied silence as a reason to continue.

“Then I have no reason to hate you. All the hatred in my heart is reserved solely towards the one who wronged me, so that I might never forget and grow complacent. Please, spare me your hollow pity. I have no need for it.”

It feels like Xiao is being lectured. Not in a demeaning manner, but like an understanding master to their misguided protegee. So this is the resolve of a god, he thinks.

Sensing the tension in the air, your pursed lips ease into a warm smile. “Besides, I rather enjoy your company. You make for an excellent listener.”

“It’s hard not to with how much you talk,” Xiao replies. You laugh at his honesty, your shoulders shaking and the skin around your eyes tightening. He wishes he could immortalize the sight into his memory forever. When was the last time he had seen you laugh? Or would it be more accurate to say he’s never seen you laugh at all?

You pat him on the head and he almost shuts down. “There, there. That’s more like it. If I was in need of mind-numbingly boring company, I would have brought my handmaids with me. Never lose that sharp edge of yours.”

The rest of the walk back is in comfortable silence. Xiao’s heart is running at a thousand miles per second, his hands clammy and shaking by his side. He’s been reduced to such a sorry state from a single one of your touches. For a moment, he considers praying that you both will not run into anyone; but he decides against it when he remembers who exactly would hear his prayer.

The tall, ornate walls that surround and separate Rex Lapis’ domain come into sight.

You briskly walk towards the moon gate, muttering underneath your breath what you plan on doing when you get inside. Then, you pause where you stand, catching sight of Rex Lapis who has been faithfully awaiting your return. Xiao makes a point of staying as far away from the scene as he can.

“I take it your trip was a success?” Rex Lapis inquires, his hands behind his back and eyes set on nothing else in the world but you.

You stop and regard him with a stiff nod. “I believe so. I was unable to find lotus heads that meet my standards, but everything else was passable.”

Xiao’s heart sinks into his stomach at how Rex Lapis’ stony gaze softens. He then brushes his hand against the small of your back, gesturing for the garden in a graceful movement. He carried himself in a way Xiao could never hope to.

“My dear, is that not to be expected? This time of year yields bitter lotus heads, you should know that as well as I do.”

You eye the hand placed intimately on your person but decide not to comment on it. “I suppose. I will begin to brew a new tea for us to try, as I promised.”

“The kettle is out and the fire stoked to your preference,” Rex Lapis hums. “I will join you shortly. I wanted to speak with Xiao on some matters first. Please, get started without me.”

That was the stipulation on Rex Lapis’ part. You spent a long time negotiating the right to wander about free from his presence, one of the many promises you made being that you’ll make him tea upon your return. Xiao wishes he would forget the other promises you had to make alongside that to secure your goal.

You shrug, thinking little of his comment and setting off to work. “If you insist.”

With you out of earshot, Rex Lapis takes long strides, approaching the adepti who has sworn fealty to him.

“Xiao.”

The aforementioned male hopes his companion doesn’t notice how his body tenses. “Yes, Morax?”

“Did you encounter any difficulties?”

Xiao knows what he is saying without him having to get specific. Rex Lapis is inquiring about your behavior and possible signs of disobedience, or any kindling of rebellion. He’s been through this conversation with your husband too many times to count. All the adepti that have spent time with you have gone through the same interrogation. It was expected for them to report anything that might be of note, however, nothing comes to mind in this instance.

“None.” He replies in truth.

Rex Lapis considers him for a long, seemingly eternal moment. “That’s a relief to hear.”

The two stare at one another without so much as moving a muscle. Rex Lapis’ silent authority and aura would have overwhelmed any other mortal, yet Xiao remains steadfast, refusing to crack beneath the weight.

“[First] is lovely, wouldn’t you agree?” Rex Lapis poses the question in a casual manner, though Xiao knows it’s anything but. He needs to tread carefully here or risk revealing his treacherous thoughts. Yes, he does find you to be lovely. He thinks much more than that. That you would be such a good spouse for him, greeting him with a smile every time Xiao returned home, welcoming him with open arms. You would warm his bed and acquiesce to every whim, desire, and perversion he could ever come up with.

Indeed you were lovely. However, you’d be far more lovelier if you were his.

“I have no complaints,” is all Xiao chooses to say.

“Understandably so. Few have the privilege of interacting with them.”

Was he found out? You did touch him, even if it was for the briefest of moments; was that a transgression sizable enough for Rex Lapis to try and strike him down? Would there be no coming back from this?

“Morax! The tea is getting cold. I have dominion over rocks, not fire, so I won’t stand for any complaining over this.”

Your voice urges from behind the garden walls, interrupting the possible confrontation without realizing that’s what you were doing. Rex Lapis’ posture changes at once. His shoulders go lax and his face reflects his inner fondness, all signs of threatening behavior washing away. You had him wrapped around your finger, that much was obvious. It’s a shame that it was more of a detriment to you than anything useful.

“I will call for you when I require your services once again.”

Xiao nods his head at this, grateful that he could have time to himself again. There was much to ruminate over.

“And another thing…”

Rex Lapis’ eyes emit a glow for so brief a second, if Xiao blinked he would have missed it.

“Do be mindful of not allowing your eyes to wander over that which does not belong to you.”

#xiao x reader #yandere xiao x reader #xiao genshin impact #xiao #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #rex lapis x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #first contract #my stuff

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houseofekam · 2 months

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Eco-Friendly Home Decor: Why Sabai Grass is a Sustainable Choice

In an era where sustainability and eco-friendliness are at the forefront of many people's minds, the materials we use in our homes have become a significant point of consideration. One such material that has gained popularity is sabai grass. Known for its versatility, durability, and eco-friendly attributes, sabai grass offers a sustainable alternative for home decor enthusiasts.

This article delves into the reasons why sabai grass is a sustainable choice and how it can enhance your home decor.

Understanding Sabai Grass

Sabai grass, scientifically known as Eulaliopsis binata, is a perennial grass native to the regions of India, Nepal, and Bangladesh. It is primarily found in the eastern parts of India, where it grows abundantly in the wild. The grass has long, slender leaves and is known for its strength and flexibility, making it an excellent material for weaving and crafting various products.

The Sustainability of Sabai Grass

1. Renewable Resource

One of the primary reasons sabai grass is considered sustainable is its renewability. Sabai grass grows quickly and can be harvested multiple times a year. Unlike trees, which take decades to mature, sabai grass can be harvested within a few months of planting. This rapid growth rate ensures a constant supply of the material without depleting natural resources.

2. Biodegradable

Sabai grass is entirely biodegradable, which means it breaks down naturally without causing harm to the environment. Unlike synthetic materials that contribute to landfill waste and pollution, products made from sabai grass decompose and return to the earth, enriching the soil in the process.

3. Low Carbon Footprint

The cultivation and processing of sabai grass have a minimal carbon footprint. Traditional methods of harvesting and weaving sabai grass involve manual labor, which reduces the need for energy-intensive machinery. Additionally, the grass is typically grown without the use of harmful pesticides and fertilizers, further minimizing its environmental impact.

4. Supports Local Communities

The production of sabai grass products often supports local artisans and communities. In many rural areas, weaving sabai grass is a traditional craft that provides livelihoods to families. By choosing sabai grass decor, you are not only opting for an eco-friendly material but also supporting sustainable economic development in these communities.

Sabai Grass in Home Decor

1. Versatile Applications

Sabai grass is incredibly versatile and can be used to create a wide range of home decor items. From baskets and trays to rugs and wall hangings, the possibilities are endless. The natural texture and color of sabai grass add a rustic and earthy charm to any space, making it an excellent choice for various interior styles.

2. Durability and Strength

Despite its delicate appearance, sabai grass is remarkably durable and strong. The tightly woven fibers create sturdy products that can withstand daily use. This durability ensures that your sabai grass decor items will last for years, reducing the need for frequent replacements and contributing to a more sustainable lifestyle.

3. Aesthetic Appeal

Sabai grass decor items have a unique aesthetic appeal. The natural hues of the grass, ranging from light beige to golden brown, bring warmth and texture to your home. The intricate weaving patterns and handcrafted designs add a touch of artisanal beauty, making each piece a statement of elegance and sustainability.

4. Eco-Friendly Alternatives

Incorporating sabai grass into your home decor allows you to replace less sustainable materials. For example, instead of plastic or synthetic fiber baskets, you can opt for sabai grass baskets. These alternatives not only look beautiful but also align with your commitment to reducing your environmental footprint.

Popular Sabai Grass Decor Items

1. Baskets and Storage Solutions

Sabai grass baskets are one of the most popular decor items. They come in various shapes and sizes, making them perfect for storing anything from fruits and vegetables to laundry and toys. These baskets are not only functional but also add a touch of natural beauty to your home.

2. Rugs and Mats

Sabai grass rugs and mats are another excellent addition to eco-friendly home decor. They are soft yet durable, providing a comfortable surface for walking or sitting. The natural fibers of sabai grass also add a cozy and inviting feel to any room.

3. Wall Hangings and Art

Wall hangings baskets made from sabai grass are a fantastic way to bring a piece of nature indoors. These intricate designs can range from simple geometric patterns to elaborate artwork, each piece showcasing the skill and creativity of the artisans.

4. Tableware and Trays

Sabai grass tableware, such as placemats and coasters, add a rustic charm to your dining experience. Trays made from sabai grass are not only practical for serving food and drinks but also serve as beautiful centerpieces when not in use.

Caring for Sabai Grass Decor

To ensure the longevity of your sabai grass decor items, it is essential to care for them properly. Here are some tips to keep your sabai grass products in excellent condition:

Avoid Moisture: Sabai grass products should be kept dry as prolonged exposure to moisture can weaken the fibers and lead to mold growth. If a product gets wet, allow it to air dry completely.

Regular Cleaning: Dust your sabai grass items regularly using a soft brush or cloth. For more thorough cleaning, gently wipe with a damp cloth and allow to air dry.

Store Properly: When not in use, store your sabai grass items in a cool, dry place. Avoid placing heavy objects on top of them to prevent deformation.

Handle with Care: While sabai grass is durable, it is still a natural material and should be handled with care to prevent breakage or damage to the woven patterns.

Conclusion

Incorporating sabai grass into your home decor is a sustainable and stylish choice. Its renewable nature, biodegradability, and low environmental impact make it an eco-friendly alternative to synthetic materials. Furthermore, by choosing sabai grass products, you support local artisans and communities, contributing to sustainable economic development.

The versatility and aesthetic appeal of sabai grass decor items allow you to create a beautiful and environmentally conscious living space. From baskets and rugs to wall hangings and tableware, there are numerous ways to incorporate this natural material into your home. By caring for your sabai grass products properly, you can enjoy their beauty and functionality for years to come.

In a world where sustainability is becoming increasingly important, sabai grass stands out as a beacon of eco-friendliness and craftsmanship. Embrace the beauty of sabai grass decor and make a positive impact on both your home and the environment.

#sabai grass wall decor #wall hanging baskets #handwoven grass basket #sabai grass baskets

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schuylerpeck · 2 years

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Hey, satellites pass overhead and I love you.

My brother came home for what's left of summer, all different and still the same. My mother had him bring me mangoes and a hug, but I only fully realised he was home late in the evening, when I saw his toothbrush next to mine by the sink.

Now it's late and the neighbour's kids splash and scream in their pool and I can't even be mad: the heat has been terrible all day long and I don't mind the sound of their joy keeping me from sleeping.

Being away from the city makes me patient again, makes me calm again. I chuckled when little Anne said Green Gables gives "so much scope for the imagination" but here I've been for days, sitting in the grass, caught in a whirlwind of creativity, daydreaming about long lost friends and still unmet ones.

Everything here can become something else: brambles turned into baskets, flowers into crown, wisteria bark woven into faerie traps, old books holding hidden treasure boxes and me into my childhood self again.

And this thread of creativity, these endless metamorphosis possibilities turned into a handwoven firefly~lit lantern, are my gift for you today, for no other reason than we're here in this world at the same time.

I hope you sleep tight, when night reaches you. I don't know you but I love you.

Hey, I watch the morning pass through the light of the leaves and I love you.

these past few weeks have felt more lived in; wiping my mouth of the day after taking a deep sip. I let the sweat pour out on a twelve-mile bike ride, then feel the crisp river water break the heat’s pressure when I jump in with my friends. we drive up the jagged coast to watch the waves for whale fins, taste the salted air when the fog creeps in, and are so spent by the evening, I fall asleep before 7. still, I feel somewhat out of practice. the constant fear of “should I know what to do with this time by now?” but here, leaning against the docks, cackling like the crows, or heading out early to smell the flowers just as they’re waking—maybe the slow steps are okay, too. some days, I cling to the kite tails of life, rolling with every exciting change of wind. others, life waits impatiently at my door and I roll over in the blankets again, telling it I’ll catch up later.

I know that more balance will come—between feasting on the young excitement of summer and feeling the steadier pace of happiness. the older I become, I loosen the fist of an image I had of how life might look. to let the edges fuzz, the fine lines blur, and hold hope to find joy in whatever the years might bring me. it feels less like surrendering a dream, but finding that the smaller things have always been precious. this ease of feeling your place in the unmonumental but cherished moments, with river-wet hair and plenty of laughter, is my gift to you, if for no other reason than we’re here in this world at the same time. maybe we can count the weeks by what we notice, every evening a love letter to one more small detail in the world; where we found our place in what the day unspooled before us.

I hope that you sleep tight, when night reaches you, that you let rest fill your cup again. I don’t know you but I love you.

#I don't know you but I love you #poetry #poems

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artsofindia · 3 years

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An Overview of Sustainable Kauna Grass Products for Eco friendly Environment!

Mostly found in the wetlands of Imphal, Cyperaceae, commonly known as Kauna grass, acts as the raw material for weaving local Eco friendly baskets. Usually, the Kauna grass is cultivated along with paddy and once they grow to a height of around 6 feet, they are cut at their full length. The drying process is quite lengthy as they need to be completely dried before weaving to prevent mould. Often, the baskets are sold in their natural colour and at times, are dyed in various bright hues. The inner portion of the grass has a soft and spongy texture. A spongier texture will produce a better quality product. Other products made from Kauna grass are bags, boxes, Kauna baskets, mats, shoes, and so on.

The Kauna grass Natural Straw Products from Arts Of India is unique, 100% natural, sustainable and handcrafted with the highest level of craftsmanship. It is harvested, dried & then weaved into Kauna Bags & Baskets, mats, etc. Women Empowerment is in the core of it, as 100% Kauna Artists are rural women, who are completely dependent on the work we provide to them for their livelihood. Every purchase through Arts Of India creates meaningful change for artisans, their families and communities.

Latest collections of beautifully handcrafted kauna reed products from Arts Of India:

1) Sustainable Kauna Planters for Home Décor

2) Latest Handcrafted Kauna Grass Baskets

3) Sustainable & Fair Trade Kauna Grass Bags

4) Unique Handcrafted Natural Straw Products for Multipurpose Storage

5) Eco friendly handwoven Kauna Grass Planters

6) Unique handmade Water Reed Products from Arts Of India

#ecofriendly #kaunaproducts #kaunabaskets #kaunabags #sustainable

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cottage-fairy · 5 years

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Types of People: Cottagecore Edition

🐥Cozy Farm: honest and reliable, bakes their own bread, sheep and little ducks, has handwoven baskets, goes on so many picnics, creaky floorboards, sleeps with an old patched quilt, loves stargazing, wooden bowls and cups

🦋Soft Fairytale: so shy but so kind, goes barefoot in the grass, soft giggles, all of the flowers, tiny cookies and candies, loves bugs and little critters, painted teacups, mossy stones, music box lullabies, loves spring the best

🔮Magical Cabin: very witch-y, deep dark forests, seems mysterious, usually quiet, loves the rain, bats and ravens, has lots of cats, ivy covering window shutters, old books, wears darker colors, is loyal forever once you earn their trust

#cottagecore #meadowcore #nature #gardencore #types of people

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agnezztealeaf · 5 years

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To Unmask a Witch - AroWriMo 2020

@arowrimo

Language: English (though not my first language so sorry about potential errors)

Category: Short story

Prompt: Friendship/Week 3

Genre: Fantasy

Word count: 4457 words

CW: Discussions around amatonormativity and heteronormativity, references to blood and violence

To Unmask a Witch

It wasn’t that the cottage at the outskirts of the village was actually run-down or dilapidated, but if you squinted and looked at it through your eyelashes in dim light, you could imagine that it could be. It wasn’t that it was a ruckle, it was that the children thought it should be one.

You see, if a witch lived in a cottage, then that cottage should be falling apart, its windows murky with mould, the roof broken and roof shingles scattered on the garden path and in the flowerbeds, and the garden a mess of weeds and rotting greens. It felt insulting, the children thought, that an otherwise perfectly scary and threatening witch should live in such a charming and well-kept little house. So, when they hid in the forest near the cottage, staking it out, or walked past it on their way to a friend’s house, they squinted and imagined what should have been there, instead of what really was.

The children were lying on the ground, stomachs flat against the musty dirt of the forest floor, wet, brown leaves sticking to their clothes. Five of them there were: William – the team leader, Siv – the clown of the group, Vers – the sensible one, Ty – the troublemaker, and Mouse – their newest recruit. Mouse was seven years old and had quite recently lost both her front teeth on the upper row, a fact she was secretly delighted by. Her sister hade bestowed the name Mouse upon her, courtesy of her greyish-brown hair and her big grey eyes. Mouse hadn’t yet decided what she thought about this nickname.

“Look!” William exclaimed. He pointed excitedly at the cottage that they all wished was a ruckle. In the garden, they could see the old witch moving about, poking at flowers, pulling up weeds, gently pushing her cats away with her feet when they ran in front of her. The children all watched her intently – they wanted to see her do something witchy, something that would once and for all confirm their suspicions about her being an old, evil hag. She was peculiarly dressed. She seemed to be wearing multiple skirts, all made from fabric of different material and colour, her neck was heavily weighed down by a cluster of necklaces – chains made from silver and gold, wooden balls of various colours and sizes, and some that looked like they were nothing more than string. Under all the necklaces she was wearing a tightly laced tunic, and on top of them, she was wearing a cloak in a mild, green colour, though she was predisposed to take it off if the sun as much as showed its face through the clouds. Her long white hair was pulled into a sturdy braid that snaked down her back. They watched her as she once again discarded the cloak on a nearby tree branch.

Ty claimed that she lured children into her cottage to cook them up in her cauldron and eat them (Ty had no basis for this statement, but he felt like it was probably true. That was what witches did, after all, wasn’t it?). Siv claimed that she had once seen her dancing naked at midnight under the full moon out on the moors north of the village (Siv had not, she wasn’t allowed outside after nine o’clock in the evening). Vers claimed that she had isolated herself from society when she at a young age had realised that magic was far better than having friends (Vers wasn’t sure she disagreed with this sentiment). And William claimed that she had turned to dark magic after she turned down a man’s romantic advances and he cursed her to never find love (William’s parents owned the village grocery store, and as with a lot of small villages, they did not only offer goods, but also a friendly face to exchange a few words with. It had become one of William’s favourite pastimes to sit hidden under the counter, listening to the local gossip. The rumours that reached his ears were many, but that did not mean they gave an anywhere near accurate account of reality).

Mouse claimed nothing at all about the witch. As a newcomer to the group, she held no authority on what the witch might or might not do. Not that she minded, she was thrilled to hear what the other children had to say about the witch. Every time they told Mouse a new story about her-

(“Do you remember Hugo, the kid that disappeared last year, that they said got lost in the woods? Well, I saw the witch talking to a toad that she kept in a glass jar on her windowsill, and she called it Hugo. She totally turned Hugo into a toad!” This was also a story brought to her by Ty, who seemed to take great delight in the concept of the witch turning her evil tendencies towards children, which was peculiar, as Ty himself was a child. Hugo had indeed disappeared in the woods a year prior, though whether any witches or, in particular, this witch, had had anything to do with it was dubious. To be fair to Ty, the witch did have a toad called Hugo. She did not, however, keep it in a glass jar.)

-Mouse could feel her stomach curdle up with excitement and fear – a delightful feeling to have as long as she was on a safe distance from the witch.

They watched the witch walk back into the house, open one of the windows, apparently to put a batch of pastries out on the windowsill to cool, and then exit the cottage with a handwoven basket rested in the crook of her arm.

“She’s probably left to collect toadstools and wasp stingers for the potions she brews at night,” Siv said with an excited grin.

Ty’s eyes were firmly on the open window. “We should break in,” he said suddenly, impulsively. “Find evidence of what she’s doing in there.”

“Don’t be daft!” Vers replied without even really listening to what he was saying, that was just her standard response to anything Ty suggested.

William looked at Ty, and then back to the open window before looking at Mouse, a wicked grin spreading over his brown-freckled face. “Mouse,” he said in a very serious voice, “for you to be a part of our gang, we need to know that you’re brave.” Mouse’s stomach lurched, but she sucked in her lower lip through the gap in her teeth and kept her big grey eyes firmly at his. “We need you to break into the witch’s house and find evidence.”

Siv laughed a burst of delighted, shrill laughter, and Ty made an exasperated gesture with his hands. “Come on! There’s no way she can do it! I mean look at her!”

William silenced him with a look. “If you really want to be a part of our gang,” he told Mouse, “you need to do this.”

Mouse swallowed and looked at the open window. It wouldn’t be very hard for her to slip in through it, she was slight, and the window was big, and they’d all seen the witch leave, there was probably no risk of being discovered rummaging through her drawers. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

Both Siv and Ty laughed uproariously. William nodded, clearly pleased, though whether it was with himself or with Mouse was hard to tell. Vers was twining a blade of grass around her index finger, her attention placed firmly on the ground (if you knew her, you would be able to tell that this was a sign of discomfort on her part – a sign that she didn’t agree with the plan being made – but no one asked her what she thought and she kept silent).

Since waiting would only increase the risk of the witch returning from her errands, Mouse slowly pulled herself up to her feet and started moving down the hill, from the edge of the forest towards the cottage. She could feel her knees shaking under her, but didn’t dare to stop, in case one of the other children would think her a coward. She reached the window, and after firmly lifting a cat away from the windowsill she nimbly slipped inside, making sure not to touch the pastries lined up on the plate on the windowsill (though she was pretty sure the cat had already gotten to them).

Who would have known it would be that easy to break into a witch’s house? As Mouse looked around the kitchen she had just entered, she was first struck by how tidy the room was. She’d thought a witch’s home would be grimy and gross. Imagined tables covered in burn marks and blood, the walls lined with jars filled with things of dubious origin, like dead frogs and eyeballs floating in transparent liquids, and maybe a few dried up fingers hanging from the roof beams. At the very least she’d have thought there should be some dust and dirt, and maybe the occasional spiderweb in the corners.

But the cottage was tidy and as cosy on the inside as it was on the outside. The floors were covered in maroon-coloured stone tiles, in places covered up by hand-woven carpets in natural colours, and the biggest window had an almost excessive amount of plants in front of it. The bookshelves were filled with books and teacups with floral patterns, and an orange teakettle stood on the stove. There was something hanging from the roof beams, but it seemed to be dried plants and flowers, rather than something interesting to Mouse.

Looking around the room, Mouse realised that she had not asked what kind of evidence the other children required her to bring back, as she had thought it would become obvious once she discovered what devious plots were taking place inside the house. As it was, the most devious plot there seemed to be, was a teacup sitting on the table without a coaster, and a book lying next to it, its spine bent completely backwards as if the reader had been holding it open with one hand.

She swept her gaze over the kitchen, wondering where she should start looking for the requested evidence. Her friends seemed to have very clear ideas about what made a witch a witch, and Mouse felt sure that they would have known where to look for corresponding evidence. As it was, she timidly walked over to one of the kitchen cabinets and pulled it open. It held nothing interesting, just jars of flour and sugar and conserved beets. She opened another cabinet, this one filled with spices. In a third, she found a book with recipes, and she opened it in the hopes that they would detail some wicked witch-potions, rather than normal human food. (They didn’t, though it could be, and had been, argued that the chicken soup on page 37 was more poison than food). Chewing on the tip of her braid, she flipped through the book, her gaze skipping over the longer, more complicated words – her reading wasn’t that good, and she just needed to find some suspicious words or pictures to prove her theory.

She didn’t hear the door open behind her, or the floorboards creak under the weight of a person, but she did hear the startled “Oh! Hello.” Mouse spun around where she squatted on the floor, the recipe book falling from her grasp with a dull thud. In front of her stood the witch, a surprised crease between her eyebrows and her mouth hanging slightly open. “I’m sorry,” she said, still looking confused. “But what are you doing in my house?”

Mouse shrank back against the cabinets, trying to distance her body as much as possible from the witch. The witch put down the basket she was holding and hung her cloak on a hook by the door. Then she took a hesitant step towards Mouse.

“My friends say you’re a witch!” Mouse squeaked out, sounding about as brave as she looked. To her surprise this made the witch laugh. A big, burly laugh that seemed to start in her stomach and run through the entire length of her, before tumbling out of her mouth in a series of short, powerful thrusts.

She bent over her knees, laughter shaking her body, and when she straightened again, she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh really? Is that what they’re saying about me nowadays?” she asked, still chuckling.

“I’m here for evidence,” Mouse said, stubbornly sticking out her chin and slowly getting to her feet.

“I’m sure you are,” the witch replied with a smile, raising an eyebrow. “So,” she walked over to her kitchen table and started picking green, fresh-smelling herbs from her basket, “what’s your name then?”

“Mouse,” Mouse said. She wondered if she should make a run for the door, but the witch fascinated her, and this close up, where she could see the crow’s feet around the witch’s eyes and the dimple in her wrinkled cheek when she smiled, she found that the threat of the old woman cooking her and eating her didn’t feel as present as it had in the company of the other children.

“Mouse!” the witch said, sounding delighted. “That’s a solid nickname right there!” She reached out her right hand towards Mouse. “Nice to meet you, Mouse, I’m Amica.”

Timidly, Mouse took the witch’s hand in her own, shaking it once before quickly letting go. Amica chuckled. “Well, Mouse, do you want some raspberry juice?”

Not knowing what else to do, Mouse nodded.

“Sit down.” The witch pointed to one of the chairs at the wooden table. Slowly Mouse walked over and sat down on the edge of the chair. It was a bit low, so the table reached all the way up to her chest, but she leaned her arms against it and watched the witch pour two glasses of juice.

Resting her chin on her arms, Mouse asked, “Did you turn Hugo into a toad?”

“Who?” asked the witch, looking mystified.

“The boy that disappeared last year.”

“Ah. No. He managed to disappear all on his own.” The witch’s mouth became thin, thoughtful. “It was all a very sad story.” She put a glass in front of Mouse. “Do you want a Danish pastry too?” she asked, waving towards the pastries on the windowsill.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Mouse was sure someone had definitely warned her about this exact type of situation – something about not taking sweets from strangers – but she still found her mouth forming the words “Yes, please,” before her brain had had any say in the matter.

The witch put a plate with a Danish in front of each of them, and then sat down opposite to Mouse.

“So,” she said, looking serious, “did your friends put you up to this? Breaking and entering?”

Mouse squirmed in her seat, “A bit,” she admitted, but then, because she didn’t want to pin all the blame on her friends, she hastily added “but I wanted to, too. I-” She looked down. “I just wanted to know if you were really a witch.”

“Well. You can’t let your friends bully you into doing things that are illegal.” Amica bit down into her Danish. She did not add that she herself had partaken in more than one illegal activity when she was young. And in a few of them when she wasn’t that young anymore. “Oh, go on,” she said, waving towards Mouse’s plate. “Take a bite, I’m not trying to poison you.”

Timidly, Mouse took a bite of a corner of the Danish (her thoughts brushed briefly against the memory of the cat she had lifted from the windowsill, but what child would say no to something sweet, just because a cat might have stepped on it?). She had to angle her head in an awkward position to take the bite, as half of her front teeth were still missing. The Danish tasted sweet and greasy and wonderful, and she hastily took another bite. The middle of the pastry had a hollow filled with jam (also raspberry, Mouse noted), and Mouse stuck her tongue into the jam, revelling in the taste it left in her mouth.

Amica smiled at her. She reached for a napkin and handed it to Mouse. “You have some jam on your cheek.”

Mouse reluctantly took the napkin and patted it to her cheek. “My dad says I’ll never find a husband if I don’t learn to eat like a lady.”

“Dear Lord. You are a child. The prospect of finding a partner should be nowhere in your mind. Honestly, I think everyone would do well if they thought a bit less about finding a spouse.”

Remembering what William had said about the witch, Mouse dug deep into her courage and asked, “Is it true that you can’t fall in love?”

The witch looked surprised. “Who told you that?”

“One of my friends,” Mouse murmured. “William Steel.” She added when her first answer felt inadequate.

The witch laughed her deep belly-laughter again, wiping her mouth on her shirtsleeve. “William Steel, of course! That boy needs to learn to be more source-critical when eavesdropping on his parents’ customers.” When Mouse kept looking at her, she continued. “I’m in love with so many things it’s hard to keep track of them. I’m in love with how dew-wet grass feels under my bare feet. I’m in love with how the earth smells after it’s been raining all day. I’m in love with the way ice crackles under my feet when I walk an unthreaded path in the winter. I’m in love with mist, and deer, and the moon, and mushrooms, and bugs. I’m in love with the way my friends laugh, and the way cats always move around to find sunny spots to sleep in and the way the plants in my garden grow even when I’m bad at taking care of them. I’m in love with the entire world!” She finished, her eyes shining.

Mouse frowned. “That’s not what I meant! I meant, like, with a person! Don’t you have a husband?”

The witch laughed again. “Oh, dear Lord, no.”

“A wife? You have to have someone.”

“My dear girl, in this world, everyone will always tell you that you need to find someone. Someone who will make your half a whole, as if you’re not a whole person on your own. And I want you to hear me when I tell you that they are wrong. There are more things to life than romance.”

Mouse was not ready to let the subject go. “So, you’ve never been in love with someone then?”

The witch smiled kindly at her. “No. I haven’t.”

“Because you were cursed?”

“Dear Lord. Is that what they’re saying about me? That I’ve been cursed to never fall in love?”

Mouse just stared at her intently, her chin resting uncomfortably against the edge of the glass in front of her.

“I haven’t been cursed. That’s just how I am. I don’t fall in love.”

“Doesn’t that make you… sad?”

“No! I find happiness in other things. Like my friends, and nature, and my cats.”

“And you’re not lonely?”

There was a beat of silence, the witch’s eyes fixed at Mouse, and for a second Mouse wondered if she had pushed too far. Then Amica gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I wouldn’t say that I’m lonely, no. I have a lot of wonderful friends, and my cats, and sometimes,” she leaned closer, her smile growing, “a child breaks into my home when I’m out.”

Mouse flushed and hastily took another sip of her juice, but Amica just laughed her burly laugh again and leaned back in her chair, the sombre expression gone from her face.

Mouse thoughtfully swirled her glass in her hands, making the juice still left slop against the sides of the glass. “I don’t think I want to marry anyone either.”

“And you don’t have to,” Amica said decisively, emptying her own glass.

Mouse finished her Danish, and dried off her hands on her trousers, leaving streaks of powdered sugar and grease down the length of her thighs. “You know what? I like you.”

The witch laughed again. “So, you’re not thinking I’m a witch anymore then?”

Mouse bit her lip. “I don’t know… but I don’t think you’re an evil witch, even if you are a witch.”

“That’s good,” Amica said with a chuckle. “So, what about your friends? Are you going to tell them that I’m not evil?”

“I suppose so…” Mouse said hesitantly.

“Or,” the witch said, a conspiratorial smile spreading over her face, “we could play a little prank on your friends…” She laid out a plan that was far too cruel to be justified, but Amica had never really managed to get rid of that mischievous streak that had made her such a menace in her youth. Faced with Mouse’s big grey eyes staring into hers, she winced, and her smile disappeared in a blink, replaced by a worried and slightly bashful look. “Oh Lord, I’m sorry. Is that too ghastly? I forget that you’re a child.”

But an excited smile was taking over Mouse’s face, her cheeks turning flushed and alive, and her eyes shining with an impish glint.

Up on the hill, the other four children were arguing. They had seen the witch return home, and no Mouse emerge from the house, and they were starting to get worried.

“What were you thinking, sending her in there alone?” Vers asked, pushing William in the chest so that he stumbled backwards.

“She’s probably dead by now,” Ty muttered, his eyes big and anxious.

Vers swirled around towards him. “And you! Why did you even think breaking into the witch’s house was a good idea? You’re all idiots! Now our friend is gone!”

“I’m sorry!” Ty cried. “I thought it would be funny!”

Siv stood clinging to a big oak at the forest’s edge, her brown eyes wide and white in her tanned face, her gaze almost compulsively fixed on the witch’s cottage. Her lips were pressed tight, and she had been silent in a very un-Siv-like manner ever since Mouse had entered the house.

William sniffled. “I didn’t think she’d actually do it.” Tears were clinging to his eyelashes and as he spoke again his voice broke. “Now she’s dead, and it’s all my fault!” This took them all aback enough to stop the arguing. They had never seen William as much as second-guess a decision, much less cry. He looked past the trees, to the house, his shoulders shaking.

Vers took a step towards him. “Okay, that settles it. We need to get the police.”

“What?” Ty said, questioning. “We can’t go to the police! We’re the ones who broke into her house!”

Vers turned towards him, her eyes burning with intensity. “Ty, she might be dying in there! We need to get some adults here!”

Siv suddenly gasped. “Wait! I can see someone moving down there!” They all ran out to the edge of the woods and screamed with delight when they saw little Mouse running towards them, her braids bouncing against her back with every step she took.

“What is she holding? Why are her hands all red?” William asked, confused. It was true, her lower arms and her white shirt sleeves, all the way up to her elbows, were covered in red, and when the thing in her hand glinted in the sun, they realised that she was holding a small pocketknife.

They all startled when the door to the cottage opened with a slam, and the witch stumbled out, clutching her stomach, where a great, big, red stain tarnished her tunic. “Get back here!” she growled, panting as she stumbled after Mouse.

Mouse was already almost at the other children, the knife still clutched in her hand. “I stabbed her! I stabbed the witch!” she screamed. “She wanted to cook and eat me, and I stabbed her to get away!” The other children stared in horror, at the blood and the knife, and the witch, now on her knees in her garden, panting heavily. Then the witch threw her head back towards the sky and started chanting, a low guttural song that seemed to come from deep in her throat. She reached out her hand, covered in red blood, towards the children and Mouse bellowed “RUN!”. Without further questions, the children all sprinted into the forest, howling with fear.

In the garden, Amica chuckled and slowly got to her feet. She was too old to be playing these kinds of theatrics anymore. She looked down at her ruined tunic. Turned out that in a pinch, raspberry juice worked as a rather convincing substitute for blood. The juice would probably be a pain to get out of the fabric though. Now that she considered it, she would probably be receiving a stern telling-off by Mouse’s parents for ruining Mouse’s white shirt sometime in the foreseeable future. Not to mention the rest of the parents of the children she had probably slightly traumatised.

Oh well, she didn’t like bullies and found that she didn’t feel too sorry for them. Either way, apologies would have to wait. She went back into her cottage, exchanging her stained tunic for a clean one, and leaving the old one in a bucket in the washroom to soak. She fastened her cloak around herself and put on a hat, making sure that all loose strands of hair were firmly kept out of her face. Picking up her bag, she for a second mourned the loss of her pocketknife – she’d need it the next time she wanted to pick mushrooms – but maybe she could convince Mouse to return it when she got back. She grabbed her broom from the closet and went out into the backyard. The thought of her friends – sweet Valter with his crooked grin and endless nonsense-monologues, Farah, their bag always heavy with books and their thoughts with knowledge, and wonderful, wonderful Gwen with her long spindly fingers tracing lifelines in palms and pulling tarot cards from hidden skirt pockets – sent joy singing through her. The broom handle was firm and polished in Amica’s hands, and as she swept one leg over the broom and soared up into the air, she felt her stomach surge with excitement. Her heart swelled with the thought of seeing her friends again, and she felt like despite what she had told Mouse, she might be a little bit in love with all of them after all.

#Sorry this somehow turned out really long #and not super aro-focused #aroace #AroWriMo #AroWriMo 2020 #aromantic #writing challenge #short story #witches #my writing

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