The light shown on Anya’s fingers. It curled around her palm and danced. This, she thought, was the sheer pleasure of having magic. But in the midst of her play, a shadow grew. It was not unexpected; it was the cost of doing magic, for it always begot shadows. But it never ceased to offer discomfort. If she could find a way to practice her craft and leave behind the adjacent darkness, she would. Anya was not fond of the dark, or shadows, or of the sense of unease that grew whenever she let the flickering brightness dance. But, too, there was a feeling of wholeness in her work. How could that be, such fulfillment when darkness lay about her? A constant wonder—the weight of it only born by extinguishing the light for a time until she could bear it again. Today was such a time. Anya took the light, and threw it at the darkness....
There was a witch. And she was young and lovely. This was a problem, of course. Witches should not be lovely. They should be old and haggard, however benevolent their heart. There was a witch. And she was old and haggard. This was a problem, of course. Witches would do better in the general public eye if they are young and lovely. There was a witch, and she was tired and on the bitter side of sweet. This was a problem, of course. Witches are always better taken with when they are robustly kind. There was a witch, and she was jolly and good. This was a problem, of course. Witches are always taken more seriously if they show how hard they've work with a piercing gaze. There was a witch. This was a problem, of course. There were witches. There still are. As it happens, they eat problems for breakfast.
Once there was a little beast who had been betrayed. Cruel friends had said crueler things and made him an outcast. Poor beast thought he had lost all the fun. All the games. All the light and good things. And so, he turned to embrace dark things. In a literal kind of way. No longer did he play in the daytime. No longer did he wake and eat and chat with those he once called friends by the light of the sun. He shuffled along in the night, alone and bare and wanting. Except, one cannot go along into the dark of night forever, because not all nights are dark. And one night, the little beast met the moon. The moon was wild and crazy and fun, and set out little tasks for the beast to do in her sweet light. Gathering water touched by moonlight. Plucking apples from the trees, so much sweeter for having ripened away from sight. Dancing on a hill top in a very silly way,...