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A Witch's Order

 There was once a boy who, at times, tended toward the depths of despair. The tendency made itself known around 4pm on a Wednesday, which was the day and time his father sent him each week with bread for the old witch. The boy was not at his best around old witches.

    He had seen that a witch's potion could bring back someone from the brink of death. Too, he had seen what a witch's curse could do. Just last year the blacksmith had been cursed for letting his wife suffer illness without remedy too long. He would get an anvil to the foot, the witch had said. It was no surprise when it happened three weeks later. And just last week, the tailor had turned away a widow who could only pay half. The witch had given him a verbal shake down, and the next day he had sewed himself by both trousers and drawers right into the suit he was making for a lord. His assistant had to cut him loose. What, the boy often wondered, might she do to him? 

    The boy took care not to give offense to anyone, and to give extra bread to those who could only pay half. Just to make sure. But you never knew, did you, just what might spark the ire of a witch...

    His feet dragged as he approached the cottage. The old witch opened the door. She smiled a toothless grin, and the boy breathed a sigh of relief. The bread was accepted with thanks, a sweet given, and the boy walked away with light feet. He often had light feet around 4.15 on a Wednesday.

On Beauty

 What she wanted was this: to add beauty.       What that meant was confusing.       Beauty in print and practice was wise and witty, without obnoxious overtones. Clever, though not obviously so. Beautiful in essence and form, while both hinted at sultry. Old enough, but not to look it. Gentle, with gravity. Sarcastic, with levity.      Exhausting, she thought.       Why? she wondered.      Did anyone care enough about all this to form it?      Oh, she had tried. Trying that came from peeking out from behind corners and wanting to avoid the bitter. In her first moments, she had thought that beauty was something else entirely. Print and practice gave her the recipe, and try as she might, the cake fell, was too dense, not light enough, not sweet enough. All of it lacked the new thing, the clever bit that made all attempts seem like oil in cracks, the authenticity that was yet anot...
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A Living

 There was once a woman who was lucky enough to have a small, quiet space. She could also, should the mood strike her, go down the street and purchase a bagel of a mid-morning. Her small space had a small herb garden, and from it she brewed many a potion. And of a night, she could attend a lecture in a great hall if she walked down the street a bit further. Her low walls were lined with comely bookshelves, and too, if she had the mind (and she often did) to put on a pair of boots and hike a bit, it wasn't far to the grand library. Not too far from anywhere at all, and nowhere to go to have a cup of tea.      I suppose this is what they mean by having it all?      And I'm afraid leaning in had nothing do with it. 
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After the Wanting

There was a woman who got what she wanted. It came without warning, and when it landed in her lap, she didn't know what to do with it. She juggled it around a while. Then she tossed it out the window. After that, she felt better.       But she did wonder.      She peeked her head out of the window, and looked down.      There it was, all perfect, just as she had wanted it.      She went out and picked it up again, looked at it carefully, and gave it the kind of glare that withers kings. It didn't fight back. And she was still herself.      So she shrugged and made up her mind to enjoy it. 
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The Truth of Ghosts

 They said a ghost lived in the house. Or a monster. Either the woman was screaming in the night, or a banshee was doing it. The conjecture was accurate, in the sense that if a coin must flip, one can be assured that it will be either heads or tails. Which is to say, the woman screamed most nights from the pain.      In the light of day, she sat by the window, or, on a rare occasion, outside. She drank tea calmly, or sometimes hot water if her pain had lessened her ability to sew for other people. She did not know what caused the pain, only that it was there and that during the day it was more difficult to bear.      When the wizard past through, tipping his hat to the woman as she sat drinking tea, he was unaware. He stayed in the town long enough to hear the screams and tales of ghosts and monsters. He was the kind of person who paid attention, and so put two and two together. He asked the woman if she wanted a spell.   She nodded. The screams s...
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