The Witch's Tale

Chapter 2: Aether

The Witch and her family were nomadic by nature. For as long as she could remember, they moved from town to town, with their wagons and tents, her father doing odd jobs, and her mother telling fortunes and selling remedies. Then, when they outwore their welcome, they'd move on.

When Sara was seventeen, her family stopped in the town of Oakfell. It her that she met a lad and fell in love. His name was Rob; he was kind, and not bad to look upon. He seemed just as besotted as she, and made promises of eternal love and fidelity. There was even talk of marriage, and Sara elected to stay in Oakfell when her family moved to the next town. But the townspeople were suspicious of the strange girl, and the rumors about her began to spread. They said she was a witch (which was true, but they didn't know that). That she soured milk, and sold their children to the faeries. Rob heard these rumors and became frightened. He chose to end their courtship, and thus broke her heart.

Now Sara was penniless and alone in a strange town. Staying in a once abandoned cottage that she found in the woods, she set up a brisk business selling her various herbal cures for female woes. She knew all kinds of secrets, everything from how to soothe menstrual cramps, how to arouse a flagging lover, and even how to prevent and terminate unwanted pregnancies. She formed a partnership with the local midwife, and became secretly valuable to the townswomen. They all came to her at one time or another, and as a result she knew some of the town's darkest secrets. But she was discreet, and had no intention of ever exploiting her knowledge.

But in all those years, she had closed her heart. She still admired handsome faces, but love and desire were not a part of her life. She did not even take a lover at the Beltaine festival she traveled to each year. There was no one she considered risking another broken heart for.

Sara does her marketing and goes home awash in thought. What had just happened? Why had she been so inexplicably drawn to this Papa Emeritus? Why was Alpha so kind to her? And how had she been impervious to their magic?

When she arrives at her little cottage, her familiar, a black cat she called Arrow, senses a change in her human mother's energy. She is unsettled and agitated. Every task she sets herself to fails miserably. She burns everything she tries to cook, and lacks patience for the garden or the bee boxes. The cat watches her flail about with vague interest.

The pair have bread and cheese for their dinner, Sara having given up on the idea of a hot meal. Then, to bed. She lays down in the little cot with the lavender scented sachet under the pillows, and hopes for the comfort of a good rest.

But there is no comfort. She dreams of pitch black hands with long gold nails tracing her secret places, running over her breasts and hips. She dreams of mismatched eyes gazing at her intently, of a musical voice purring in her ear. Sara awakes the next morning with her nightshift twisted around her, and her hand between her legs.

"Damn," she whispers, rolling out of bed. She has been in turmoil since meeting the gaze of that Papa Emeritus. He has gone and woken something inside her, something that had been sleeping. She doesn't know whether she wants to kiss him, or punch him, for causing all this emotional havoc. She remembers that tonight is the night of the ball, but since no seamstresses or packages have arrived, she assumed Papa has not made any arrangements for her. She is not terribly surprised. Men are generally disappointing.

Her morning passes quietly. She does her chores as best as she can, and goes into the woods to do some gathering. Around noon, she returns, her basket filled with blackberries, when she sees a visitor in her yard. It is one of the Nameless Ghouls from the Square, holding several packages. He is having a staring contest with the cat.

He turns when he hears her footsteps. The cat wins the staring contest, and slinks away, already bored.

"Can I help you?" she asks, approaching.

"I am the Nameless Ghoul known as Omega," He says. His eyes are the brightest blue she has ever seen. Like the sky in early spring. She can sense him smiling at her behind the gleam of his mask.

"Papa Emeritus sent me to deliver these gifts, so you may be suitably dressed for tonight,"

Sara is astonished. So he came through after all! But still, she is doubtful. No seamstress came to measure her, so how will any of it fit? She looks at the fine black boxes, embossed with silver Grucifixes, and at the Ghoul holding them. She remembers her manners.

"How kind. Please come in," she says, opening her rickety old gate, and gesturing to the door. Omega strolls in, and sets the packages down on her scarred wood table (after she has hastily removed the remains of breakfast, several books, and the cat) and looks around. Her cottage is small, and rustic. Herbs hang drying from the rafters, and a black cauldron sits over the fire. Above the hearth is a pentacle made from willow branches and red ribbons. Painted on the wall above her bed is blue rendering of the triple goddess moon.

'So she is a witch,' thinks the Ghoul. 'But not the kind we expected. And yet Papa is so certain she is the one, the reason we've been called here. She feels right, but we'll have to see what happens tonight,"

He looks at the witch herself, puttering about the cottage trying to neaten the clutter. She is of middling height, and plump, with an abundant chest and wide hips. Dark haired and olive skinned. Not too bad to look upon at all. Quite pretty, actually.

Sara opens the first box, holding her breath expectantly. Inside are undergarments. Silk chemise and drawers. A red corset made from stiffer stuff than her everyday bodices. Fine stockings, also made of silk. She suppresses a giggle. He sent her underthings?

The next box contains a pair of black evening boots, with neat silver trim, and pearl buttons. She nods with approval, and goes to open the final box. What's inside makes her gasp.

The dress is an utter confection. White silk, with an overlay of matching gossamer shot through with silver threads. The neck is cut low, to expose her bosom and shoulders, and the sleeves are mere puffs of gossamer. The bodice is embroidered with little silver stars.

"It's too beautiful," she breaths.

"But how do I know it will fit me? Any of it? Your Papa Emeritus cannot know my measurements,"

Omega's eyes twinkle through the holes of his mask.

"Papa has an excellent eye for the female form. All he had to do was glance at you," he chuckles.

'Oh, he did more than glance,' Thinks Sara. 'He gazed into the very center of my soul, and set a fire in my belly. To call that stare a glance, is to call the ocean a puddle,'

Omega watches her face flush, as she recalls the way Papa looked at her yesterday. He grins behind the mask. There's no denying it, she wants Papa just as much as he wants her.

"Tell Papa that I am that I am grateful for his kindness, and that I...look forward to seeing him tonight," She says this last part shyly.

Omega bows deeply, first to her, then to the cat. Sara can't help but grin at this obeisance.

"We will be very glad of your presence," He says cheerfully. Then, with three flamboyant stomps, he vanishes into thin air.

Sara stares at the vacant space where the Ghoul stood only moments ago. Arrow circles the spot several times, wondering where her new admirer has gone. Their amazement is brief, however, and witch and cat quickly return to their respective tasks. The cat starts to chew on her toes, and Sara goes to get ready for that Papa Emeritus' ball.