Pyre and Flood

1: Regret

I couldn't feel my fingers when I pressed them against my neck. I could only feel the guilt and the lingering touch of a man I did not know well of. He did not do anything to me against my will, only because I had no will. I just turned eighteen, I thought he'd be my friend, he said he didn't want a relationship and neither did I.

He really doesn't want a relationship. He said we did this as friends.

I made actual friends, and then I stopped talking to him. Mama will never know about this. I swear it on my pet frog.

Portie looks at me while I scramble around my room looking for my jar of lizard tails. I'm making a spell to restore innocence, restore my innocence. "Portie croak once if you ate the lizard tails."

Portie did not croak.

I slump down onto my aging chair and roll it back until I hit the wall behind me, dropping a jar. It isn't the lizard tails. Guess the spell will have to wait till I find some lizards.

I never do my shopping outside of home or nature, I catch and gather things like a witch of old. Not because I'm trying to make life harder for myself, but because this town despises witches. It is in the law, that a witch can get sent to jail or go as far as receiving a death penalty.

It's not this harsh everywhere, but I live in the town of Aldaw, and it is said that the great spirit Lumawig who saved the land and blessed us with water resides here. And so demons, witches, and Catholics alike are not welcome. Atheists are on thin ice too.

"Not that spell kid." Sounded a voice deep like a bass. There's no one else in this cramped room but me and Portie. My frog had a gaping mouth. "That spell will cause you more harm than good. It will guarantee a purity no one can take away. But you will hurt and you will lose."

"Portie..."

Portie's mouth shut. Thanks Portie.

Picking up a pen, I annotate the spell book I currently have open. "NO GOOD SAID PORTIE." The frog isn't much of a talker unless I'm about to doom my life. I had learned that the hard way when I created a spell that was meant to make my father fall into permanent sleep. Instead it kept him awake for weeks. What that led to was quite a memorable experience for mama and I. I have a scar to commemorate it. It's been two years since then. We don't live with my father anymore.

I flip through the pages of the spell book. A spell for curing endometriosis yeah right, a spell to induce cramps, a spell for shutting up an idiot. A spell for cell regeneration? "What do you think of this one Portie? Croak for no."

Portie croaks. I put down the book and raise my hands in the air in defeat. My eyes drop to between my thighs and remember what has touched these places a few weeks ago. Something I did not crave nor want, something I let happen for a transactional friendship. For my part of the deal, I just wanted someone to talk to.

And I have that now. I have proper friends.

I'm always excited to see them, I haven't spent time around anyone other than mama and lola in two years. I used to live in a city hours away but had to leave for my safety, to get away from father. I tried making friends, going to the church of the great spirit with lola but it made me feel icky. It almost changed me. Almost made me feel like it was wrong to be a witch.

Once in desperation I conjured a friend, no larger than a raspberry and not sentient. She still sits atop the tallest cabinet in this room. A fancy looking blob I've named Porkie, after Portie. Some spells are seriously tough, I can't believe it was said to be a witch who created hills and mountains. I look up to the witch of the tale. She deserved a name, but only the great spirit was given one.

For now I'll just make my usual. A spell to help me sleep. And a spell to ward away nightmares.

"Portie, I'm going out to gather some herbs."

Portie croaks.