The Old Woman or the Wise Old Witch

 Once upon a time, there was a wise old witch.

    She was very clever, and very old, and very important. In the Enchanted Forest, anyway.

    Outside the Enchanted Forest, she was an old woman. People didn't care very much about her, outside the Enchanted Forest. Those other people. They didn't know her.

    But inside the forest, the Enchanted folks knew her. Inside the forest, she was fierce.

    She healed, she counseled, she potioned and poulsticed. She sat in quiet. She danced in Fae revels. Any magic being in the Enchanted Forest would give their life for that of the wise old witch. And the little girl who was magic enough and imagined enough to make her way to the Enchanted Forest on any given afternoon thought there was no one so wise, nor so old, nor so witch-like, which, of course, is to say that she adored the wise old witch. For there were never such tea parties and potion lessons as those given by the wise old witch.

    When the Enchanted Forest faded away, as all enchantments do over time, the wise old witch was left on the outside. Only an old woman. 

    She didn't offer much on the outside. Not that people could see, anyway. Not other people.

    The little girl, though, she knew who the wise old witch was. Even though she had grown into a regular woman. She remembered. She had imagination enough to offer the witch a home. 

    The woman, she was more fortunate than other people. She got to live with a witch. Her world was all magic.

    Poor other people.

    

    

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