Witches' Charms

 There's a certain kind of charm. Not the kind that comes from a flashy grin and a personality that wrinkles with wear. No, it's the kind of charm that witches brew up. Of an evening's work. To set on shelves lined with others. A dose of it makes the user better - a rare thing when speaking of doses. But witches like to do things to make people better.

    It's not a cure. Never think that a dose of something is a cure. The witches are clear on that matter. Such a charm is not a fix-all by any long means. The kind of thing that can fix a problem all at once and for all is a funeral. But a dose of a charm is a little thing. A sparkle. A shimmer. A little bit of bolstered belief.

    Can you believe that there are people who would say no to such a gift? Who wouldn't even do themselves the favor of asking?

    They are far too serious, these no-charm people.

    And yet, they don't take witches nearly serious enough.

    Women did. They still do. Not all of them. But enough of them knew enough about life to know about trusting witches.

    And a man did. Once. He took the witches at their word and used their small charms when he was weary and downtrodden and needed a bit of help. He was brave that way. 

    And when he grew stronger, he stood by one witch or another as they were out and about and held their bag. Sometimes he weeded their gardens. Once or twice he offered to stand guard on a witching night when the cauldrons had to be stirred by the light of a full moon.

    No one laughed at him for being so devoted to the witches.

    They couldn't.

    Because if they did, he wouldn't care.

    Funny how people end up liking a man like that.

    

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