#maybe a big glass jar with a dried out frog in it

[eggwishing]

wip Development of mindy's room. not a whole lot of details in yet but i'm gonna try to create a sense of cramped isolation. her room is filled with some of the more interesting things that wash up from the sidh-- bones, books, blankets/rugs and all sorts of contraptions and baubles for her to pick apart

[snapefiction]

Could I request a Snape x Reader where they are married but she works at a Herbology Shop/Florist and Severus visits (to primarily pick up an order of ingredients for his potions class) and gets a chance to flirt with her? Something super fluffy please ~ love your work!!

A/N: Thank you so much and sure!! Let me know what you think! :)

❤️ Please remember that English isn’t my native language and that my Writings will include Mistakes and maybe weird formed sentences. ❤️

Pairing: Severus Snape x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Kissing, Flirting

Word Count: 1163

Working at the little Florist Shop down the road close to the Leaky Cauldron was always your dream. It was so beautiful on every aspect. You were still so close to the wizarding world, could make your hobby your job and still got known to a lot of new People on a daily Basis. Could anything make it even better?

Putting on your apron you quickly slid out your wand to unlock the front door of the shop only to wait for your Co- Worker Josie and your Boss Henry to arrive just five Minutes later. Josie was a young Girl, she freshly graduated at Hogwarts and Henry was an old friendly Man who owned the Shop which he simply named after himself. Henry´s Flowers and Supplies- he got it straight on the point.

Walking behind the Checkout you went straight to the Herbology Section. This was only available for Wizards and Witches as Muggles wouldn’t want to buy dried Frog Legs anyways. Sorting all the new Ingredients you just got delivered you almost got lost of the Track of Time. Throwing away old Cardboxes, advise some Customers, taking care of the flowers growing in your small Greenhouse you could hear Henry talk to the Customers and how the Cashbox rang whenever it got opened and how Josie talked to him about the newest Gossip from her Clique.

Past Lunch as it was almost Time to restock the Flowers at the front of the Shop you still refilled the small Jars in the Herbology Section as you heard your new Co- Worker Josie run towards you.

,,Y/N, He's here. Oh, Merlin. He's here!!" Knowing exactly who she meant you instantly put the Jars down you just held.

,,No way? Which one is it?" You bowed up again and tried to spot the mysterious Quidditch Player she talked about since Months. She pointed to the Boy standing next to the Lilies. He wasn’t looking too bad, he matched her quite well.

,,Do I look okay?" She quickly asked and you couldn't help it but smile widely as you admired her beauty.

,,You look beautiful. Now go talk to him before he changes his mind!" Nodding she quickly took off her Glasses, slid them into her side pocket of her Apron and went up to the front. The brown haired Boy quickly took notice of her as he got suspiciously shy. She talked to him, showing him around the store. He asked her some Questions and they eventually got lost in Smalltalk.

,,She’s so in love with him.“ Henry sighed. ,,Oh, what I’d give to be young again and fall in love with a Quidditch Player.“ He joked as he winked and laughed only to sign me that he’d head home now. Taking over his Place at the Cashier you began to read in the book you borrowed Josie which she left here.

As another Customer came in you read the last sentence of the page only to wipe away some dirt of your cheek and welcome the new Customer with your usual Catchphrase.

,,Hey, welcome at Henry´s Flowers and Supplies. How can I-“ Looking up from the Counter where you quickly laid the Novel aside you spotted your Husband of five years standing in front of you. His black Hair was slightly wet from the rain outside and his Lips presented you a big smile. He still managed to take your Breath away.

,,Actually I just wanted to pick up an Order. But may I tell you that you look beautiful today, dear?“ Smirking he leaned against the Counter. Jokingly he decided to play games with you.

,,Well Thank you, Mr.- ? But I must warn you, don’t attempt to flirt with me.I am a married woman.“ He chuckled. ,,Plus my Husband can become very jealous.“

,,Snape, Severus Snape.“ Blushing you played along with it as he held out his hand to shake yours. ,,Your Husband must be very happy then?“

Shrugging your shoulders you pouted slightly. ,,I hope so. But whenever he’s at work I’m so lonely- I dearly miss him.“ He reached over the Table to lay his hand on your Cheek only to brush his thumb over it.

,,Hmm. I hope he buy you Flowers and treats you right?“ Chuckling you took the Novel you borrowed Josie from aside the Counter and placed it on top to show him the Title: ,All the Flowers in Paris.´

,,And every now and then he buys me my favourite Flowers: Peony´s. I´m Sorry Mr. Snape, but I’m already taken to the best Husband I could ask for.“ He removed his Hand from your face and nodded.

,,Again, what a Pity. But could you at least help me get this Order wrapped up?“ Nodding yourself now you waved him over to lead him to the Herbology Section. Grabbing everything he asked for you tried to play your role but as he finally grabbed your shoulders to turn you around your Lips finally collapsed against each other. Sighing on his Lips you laid your Arms around his neck and he held you close. How you missed him! You saw him every Weekend and could stop by at Hogwarts whenever you felt like it but it still wasn’t enough for you. Thats why the both of you leaned against one of the greenhouses walls and kissed for ages.

,,I missed you, Angel.“ He whispered. ,,Had to see you.“ Chuckling you looked him in the eyes.

,,I love you and I missed you too. You really caught me off guard.“ His Fingers brushed through your hair.

,,After I received your Owl this Morning I knew I had to see you.“ You kissed him again. ,,Also I really needed some Ingredients so it’s a Win-Win.“

He kissed your lips again. He was just like you touch starved. You felt like a Teenager again. Hiding between the Shelves, making out. You truly were a lucky Wife.

,,Y/N! Who was that Man flirting with- Oh my God!“ Josie walking right at you. You let go of Severus. ,,Oh- shit- I´m sorry.“ She swallowed a lump in her Throat and just looked at you with big eyes. Smiling you tried to hide your Blush.

,,Well, uhh- that’s Severus. My Husband.“ You introduced, trying to hold back your laughter as her eyes almost seem to leave her head out of Shock.

,,Professor Snape- Of course- um- hi?“ He just waved and you both watched her hurry away as she was excusing herself with left over work.

,,I bet she wasn’t expecting that.“ He joked and pulled you back closer to him.

,,Of course not. Who’d expect their former Potions Master to kiss their Co-Worker between the Shelves? Especially when she didn’t knew that we are married.“

,,I once spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime kissing after the Yule Ball, that wasn’t fun either. She will surely survive it.“

,,It simply shocks your Students every time. Now shut up and kiss me.“ You demanded laughing.

Taglist: @deepperplexity , @monstreviolet , @wow-life-love4 , @lizlil

Let me know if you want to be added in my Taglist. :)

[agnezztealeaf]

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.