The Truth Over The Wall

Chapter 4

**The above dedication is for no better reason but that good people are rare and sparse and deserve to be celebrated in any way we can manage.**

The fact of the matter is? A witch by its own solitary nature cannot be immortal.

That is to say a witch can live as long as humans usually do. Because a witch is essentially a human of course - well, they were sometime ago at least - with the exception of course that-

But we are getting off topic.

The point is: If a witch can live only as long as humans do; then how is it that Fiona's still alive?

It's been five hundred years since Tessa's death. Five hundred years since Fiona declared war on Leopold and his family.

Then why is she still alive?

How?

Contrary to what people have believed; time does not jump at you out of the blue every couple of decades to tell you:

Surprise you are old!

Surprise you are even older!

Surprise you are dead!

No, the people around you are plenty capable of announcing that reminder. And besides Time surely has better things to do? Yes?

And so time's angels perch on your shoulders and hold on for life- your life.

And they pick up every second that you drop, waste or spend. Yes, they are always there. Always picking away at you.

How do you escape such a menace? By contracting a bigger menace.

By enacting a deal with forbidden powers. By offering someone else's precious seconds. Their moments, their hours and sometimes days...

In the beginning, Fiona's disciples were more than happy to contribute their time. Every couple of years they would hold a grand feast. To honor their Queen and then to please her they would join hands around a stone basin and make their offering to time.

"I give you twenty good hours!"

"I give you twenty five!"

"I give you three of my healthy days!"

"I give you nine!"

And this was enough, in the beginning anyway. But slowly as the decades passed they saw it.

They saw Fiona's clear, strong eyes.

They saw her beautiful, full hair.

They saw her unblemished skin.

And the words came to each of them all by themselves:

Those are my eyes!

My hair!

My skin that she took from me!

After a mere hundred years these same witches came before Fiona in an angry plea, stating simply thus:

We don't want to die either.

We want to be young.

Like you.

Fiona had leaned back in her throne and surveyed them all with a grim expression as though seriously considering their request.

Her blue gray eyes had been very somber though inwardly she had bit her mouth to hide an amused smile. It occurred to her in passing that she could just eliminate this troublesome bunch now and save herself any trouble later.