Dastardly

Sweep the Floor

"Sweep the floor again, girl, I can still see dust," The elderly man said with scorn. The floor was perfectly clean.

"But Sir, I already cleaned the stables, prepared your dinner, groomed the horses, preserved all the jams and jellies, and swept your floor twice already. I need to get home before seven or I'll miss curfew. My papa needs me. Please, I've done everything you've asked and more," the young woman begged.

The man took a long whiff of tobacco, wheezing, and limped over to the girl. His grizzled beard was long, and she felt almost intimidated by him.

"You'll do what I say. You owe me for that loaf of bread, and I would be a fool to give it away for free to scum like you," he spat.

Aurelie went back to sweeping. Fenwick was a vendor at the market, who sold bread. She only had three copper coins to her name the day she went to his booth, thinking it would be enough. But he said that the price had gone up, and that she could have the bread in exchange for doing his work. She, of course, had agreed. Food was the only doctrine necessary for her family to live.

Her long, tangled, mousy brown hair was coated in dust from today's work. She swept with a bitter edge, wondering it Fenwick was going to make her stay all night. She was so powerless in her town, Griorden. Sometimes she dreamt of a day where she could whisk away her father and brother far away, where the Magistrate couldn't find them.

"You're a stupid, useless witch, just like your mother. Sweep! Sweep faster!" He crowed.

She heeded his words, and brushed the bristles back and forth across the spotless wood. She bared her teeth to stop herself from growing angry. But he knew not to ever mention her mother.

Don't speak, he'll accuse you of witchcraft, she thought, frantically cleaning.

She cleansed so hard that the wooden logs that made up the floor splintered.

"You foolish girl! You've ruined my floors! I bet you wanted to, you vengeful little piece of scum. A good for nothing witch- just like your mother, an apple that never did fall from the tree."

Aurelie took a deep, calming breathe, and smacked Fenwick across his smug, entitled face. He knew nothing about her family. He knew nothing about her mother.

"Get away from me! Don't you dare talk about my mother, you horrible old man!" She rushed out the door, her long, stained dress streaming with the wind.

It was only when she was out of that hideous manor that Fenwick had built that she realized what she had done. She had smacked one of the Magistrates Councilmen. The already were suspicious of her, searching for a reason to string her up at all times. Now, Fenwick could say that she was truly a witch. Even though she had no power.

A dangerous thought crossed her mind. Wouldn't life be better if only she had magic running through her? Then no one could ever, ever hurt her. The real witches were never the ones executed. They had the magic, but the innocents that didn't were put to death.

She felt such anger that she tugged three turnips and an onion right out of Fenwick's beloved garden. That was the least he owed her. Especially for putting down her mother.

Aurelie had always known that her mother was different- but never dangerous. Hair, soft as velvet, fine as corn silk and brown as dirt wasn't the only thing they had in common. She let the daisies rise to person height so she could hide in the meadow for the game. She had taught Aurelie about the plant that were dangerous and edible. Her magic was used to stack cards into castles with moats and live, tiny dragons.

Sure, Aurelie didn't have the abilities she did. But her mother had the same fun spirit that no one in the town had.

Her mother only made people laugh. But she had been put to death when Aurelie was only seven- because she refused to use her powers to harm the Magistrate.