VOLUME 1
CH. 1: The Barren Woman
"Did you bring them? Hik hik hik."
My customer shivers and she avoids staring at my eyes. "Y-yes." She retrieves three jars from her sack, each with three different ovaries -- one from a pig, one from a cow, and one from a dead fertile human -- and place it on the irregular wooden table separating the two of us.
"Hik. Hik. Hik. You are resourceful." I eye the jars and smile, the action making my doe-eyed customer flinch.
I tilt my head to the side and scowl. I don't know why all my customers -- not that there are a lot of them -- act so afraid or repulsed. Each time I look in the mirror, the only thing that I see is my glorious perfect self. They are the ones who are cringeworthy. Humans. I haven't seen a lot of them in my nineteen years of solitary life but from the few who come to me, I can only conclude that they are all unpleasant to look at. They don't have the warts on my skin, my long and large nose, my pointed teeth, and my sharp chin. They all look like my other self, the one who I despise so much, the abomination.
I snake my long gnarly fingers around the jars and give my customer a toothy grin. She grimaces and hangs her head, wringing both of her hands on her lap.
Turning my back on her, I focus on the large cauldron behind me. Emptying the contents of the jars into the pot, I watch as the clear water instantly soils to a dark brown. I smile and hum a dark song to myself, making sure to leave the lyrics out lest I further scare my customer.
Aunt Agitha used to sing it for me at bedtime and whenever she does, it usually puts a smile on my face. It's basically about a poor couple who loved each other so much and the man promising that he would take care of her and would never let her grow hungry. They married and had three children. One day, their first child was suddenly missing. It brought great devastation to the mother. Months after, their second child also disappeared. And years after that, when times grew more difficult, the woman saw his husband dragging their third child out and she saw him slaughter their child like a piece of game. She lost her voice. She watched her husband cooked their child and later on served him for dinner. Outraged, the woman killed her husband. Because it was winter, the body of her husband didn't decompose immediately. The woman soon became hungry. And with tears in her eyes, she ate her husband too.
It is such a beautiful and lovely song.
I take the ladle and stir. After making sure that the ovaries have melted and the consistency of the potion is just right, I pluck a few leaves of oregano from the assortment of herbs I have -- most of them hanging from the ceiling and some on shelves -- and drop them to the cauldron. I set aside the ladle and walk to a nearby shelf, scanning the multicolored jars and vials for another important ingredient. My eyes travel from a jar of chicken feet, a jar with two pairs of owl's eyes, a jar of dead lizards, to a jar full of viscous red fluid -- rabbit's blood. I take the jar with the blood, open the lid, and add a spoonful to the current mixture. For the final and most important ingredient, I prick my finger with a sewing needle and add three drops of my blood. I then take a wooden cup and pour the fertility potion into it.
I shove the cup to the woman's hand. With another sardonic grin, I say, "Drink."
She accepts the cup with shaking hands. "A-are you sure this will be effective?"
"Hik. Hik. Hik. Sure?" I wave my finger at her, the one with silver rings on each joint. "No sure. Only risk. Only faith. Only brave." I motion for her to drink. "Finish. Not a single drop to waste."
YOU ARE READING
Potions and Curses
FantasyHe's a spoiled narcissistic prince. She's a murderous ugly witch. And yes, this is a love story