Hestadil Shorts

Witch

So this is a sequel to the "Welcome Aboard" story in my SGE oneshots book, but can be read as a standalone. It's supposed to be a story of how I imagine these two met. They're seven or so here. 

And here's a picture of the Coven trick or treating because I was bored :)

Witches didn't come from orphanages. Hester knew that much. Which was precisely why she was not at the orphanage right now, she was busy doing important, witchy things. Like stealing a mysterious bag from a street vendor. It was made of burlap, which was scratchy and no good for blankets, but there was something inside. Hester just needed to sneak far enough away to look.

She held the cinched top of the bag tight in one hand as she bolted down the street, sticking close to the walls. She heard the vendor yelling, but had already disappeared into the crowd. She weaved her way between the shoppers gathered at the market, expertly slipping through the crowd. He'd never catch her now. The tops of her shoes lifted each step where they'd torn from the soles, and her toes turned pink in the cold as they brushed against the gray snow on the ground. Snow hadn't been an issue back in Ravenswood, but it definitely was in Bloodbrook.

Despite the cold, Hester liked the snow. Maybe if it had snowed back home Hansel and Gretel would've frozen before they reached her house. She liked fantasizing about it sometimes- their deaths, that is- which she thought was probably a good thing. Mama would've been proud.

Her demon didn't like the snow, though. At least, that's what she figured. He hadn't come out since she got to Bloodbrook. She didn't miss him out of sentiment, of course. She was just more powerful with a minion, that's all.

She turned the edge of the old bookshop at the end of the market and ran into the alley, leaning against the crumbling stone walls at the back of it and sliding to the ground, sitting cross-legged with the bag in her lap. She clawed at the top of the bag until the cinch opened up, the burlap tugging at her jagged fingernails. Peeking inside, Hester stared incredulously when she found the bag filled with what looked like little brown rocks.

She picked one up and inspected it. The outside of it felt woody, solid. Whatever it was, it wasn't food..

Why would anyone try to sell these, anyways? Who would buy that? She tossed the bag across the alley and picked at the frayed fabric of her dress. She'd hardly found anything good lately, and nothing at all in the way of food. Mama had always said that hungry children were useless- not even good for cooking.

Hester glared angrily at the bag. She was hungry, but she wasn't useless. This was what she kept telling herself... and it was becoming more and more difficult to believe. Because witches didn't come from orphanages. And hungry children were useless, and useless people weren't witches. She didn't even have her demon.

Snow began drifting down from Bloodbrook's ever-stormy skies, and the accompanying breeze bit at her face, as though the weather were mocking her. She rubbed her hands together and stood up. Wallowing had never done anyone any good. (Except the fairytale princesses, who often seemed to be blessed with some miracle during their wallowing. But Hester was no princess, that's for sure.)

Suddenly there was a rustling above her, and Hester's gaze shot upwards. There was a girl sitting on the flat roof of the building Hester had been leaning against. Her legs dangled over the edge, and she was looking down at Hester.

For a moment Hester swore she was a ghost. Her skin was deathly pale, her hair moreso. As soon as her eyes met Hester's, she lifted a small hand to point at the bag Hester had discarded.

"You can eat those, you know." The ghost-girl's voice was raspy and small, barely above a whisper- and the wind wasn't helping. Hester looked over at the bag, then back up at the girl.

"What are you doing?" Hester asked, disguising any real curiosity with hostility. She'd never had her Mama's charm, but even at eight years old her glare could put anyone on edge. The girl didn't seem affected, though. She turned around, and for a moment Hester thought she might walk away. But instead she gripped the edge of the building tightly, and swung herself over the edge.

She landed silently on the ground, crouched right next to Hester.

"They're not rocks." The girl said matter-of-factly as she stood up. She was shorter than Hester, and her hair was long and wild, snowflakes catching in the tangles. Her small frame was skeletal, as though she'd barely eaten in years. If she'd shown up at the gingerbread house, Mama would've grimaced, given her a lollipop, and sent her on her way.

"I'm not hungry." Hester insisted. Ghost-girl shrugged and pattered over to the bag. Her bare feet were near silent against the snow, and Hester shivered just at the thought of how cold it would be to be barefoot in this weather. The girl bent down and picked up the bag, pulling one of the objects out.

She then dropped it on the ground and used her bare heel to stomp on it. Hester startled- she had no idea what that was for, but she was beginning to question the sanity of this girl- until she heard a crack.

"Hazelnuts." The girl rasped, before picking up the nut, and tossed it in her mouth.. She barely even chewed, it was though she'd inhaled it. Hester's eyes drifted back to the bag. Suddenly it was tossed her way, she barely caught it in time to keep the contents from scattering all over the ground.

Hester looked down at what she now knew to be food, and then back at the girl. "Why'd you give it back?" She asked, suspiciously.

Another shrug from the ghost-girl. She was watching Hester curiously. Hester was sure this girl wasn't from the orphanage, she'd never seen her around. Which meant she either had a family or she was a street rat. Hester's guess was the latter.

"You're not in the orphanage." Hester said. She hadn't really meant to say it out loud, but she'd never had much of a filter. The chill was getting worse and she shivered, clutching the hazelnuts to her chest.

"No. They were all full. I like the streets better anyways." The girl didn't sound too sad about it, but for the first time Hester felt a flicker of gratitude for her bed at the orphange. A crowded bedroom was better than freezing to death.

"So you're sort of like Aladdin, then?" Hester asked. She didn't like Aladdin, he was just another ever who solved all his problems with happy thoughts and wishing on stars, in her opinion.

The girl hummed. "A little." She paused for a minute. "Without the genie or the princess, though. And without the happy ever after." She added. She'd shoved her hands in the tattered pockets of her dress, the first physical sign that she might be feeling the cold.

Hester scowled. "Good. Happy ever afters are for princesses. I'm going to be a witch." She grumped, folding her arms as best she could without dropping the hazelnuts.

The girl nodded solemnly. "I wish I was a witch."

Hester studied the girl for a minute. She looked lost in thought, fiddling with a bracelet on her bony wrist. It was too big, dangling precariously above her hand.

"I'm Hester." Hester said. She shifted the bag to her left hand in favor of holding out her right.

The girl looked at her hand for a moment before taking it in her own small, cold one.

"Anadil."