AngelicaPink
Stepford Wife...Of Sorts!
- Joined
- May 17, 2010
- Posts
- 1,027
"Witch! Witch!"
Glenda woke up that morning with someone shouting and knocking on her door. Knocking? More like banging. Loudly.
"Go away!" Glenda shouted back. She didn't mind people calling her a witch because, in fact, that was exactly what she was. What she did mind was people trying to wake her up so early in the morning. Glenda had been up well past the witching hour last night, finishing incantations and charms to sell. She tried to muffle the sounds with her pillow in order to keep sleeping but now the harm had been done now. She slowly dragged herself to the door, not really opening her eyes more than necessary. She opened her front door and instead of greeting whoever it was, she yawned.
"The Duke says he needs some more potion." Said the short, round and bald men at the door.
"More potion? What potion?"
"I was sent to tell you he wants it right away or else he'll make sure you'll be drowned like the rest of your kind."
Oh! That potion! Men wanting bottles of Glenda's famous Elixir Of Potency and paying her by not telling the Inquisitors where she lived was what kept her from being arrested and killed like most other witches she had once known. Glenda turned on her heels and walked over to her potions cupboard. Slightly awake now, she reached for the bottle where a dark amber liquid should be. The bottle, however, was empty.
"Tell your Master I'll have it ready tomorrow." She said to the poor man still standing at her door.
"He said he needs it now or you'll regret it." The man almost spit out his words.
"I'm all out, can't you see? Go, tell him." It wasn't an ideal situation and Glenda knew she shouldn't have been so careless. She knew she needed to have the potion ready at all times.
It was no use crying over spoiled milk now. She needed to make some more potion right away. Wide awake now, she started gathering what she needed. Two ounces of cochineal, one ounce of gentian root, two drachms of saffron, two drachms of snakeroot, two drachms of salt of wormwood, brandy and the rind of ten oranges. The only problem was, she only had one orange.
Despite the cold and all the mud created from last night's rain, Glenda needed to go out. She leaned over her washing bowl to wash her face, swollen green eyes framed by dark brown lashes looking back at her. She grabbed her burgundy cloak, her basket and her bag with some magical instruments and ingredients that might come in handy and she left.
The only orchard with oranges was a good twenty minutes of brisk walking away. Glenda had considered planting her own orange trees in her backyard but her land was too full of rare, mystic and magical plants she also needed on a daily basis.
Because Glenda was so busy trying not to slip in the mud and because there was still a small little bit of sleep in her, she failed to see the group of eight men approaching. Some carried the Duke's sky blue insignia, others were just common townsfolk. When Glenda heard the noise, it was too late. Two men had grabbed her hands and another one was grabbing her by her waist so hard she couldn't breathe. A fourth man pressed a cloth to her nose.
Glenda felt the strong, sulfuric smell. It was awful and it was making her nauseous. She felt sleep kicking in again until she felt something else kick in. The pain, the lacerating pain of being kicked in her back and in her head. She felt her body fall to the ground and wanted to scream. She was conscious of all that has happening around her but she couldn't make a sound. She couldn't move when she tried, either.
She could imagine her lifeless, motionless body on the ground while eight men hit her. She could imagine, smell and feel her blood all over. She could feel and hear them hitting her; she just couldn't react.
"Boys, boys, I think she's dead now." Said a man with a young voice. Glenda knew she had no movement but she thought that if she tried not to breath so as to really pretend to be dead, they'd stop all the violence. And indeed they did.
Glenda heard the men leave, cheering and congratulating each other for killing the witch as the Duke had told them to. When they seemed far away enough, Glenda allowed herself to breath. She was cold, she felt undressed. She knew her legs and breasts were completely exposed, her clothes torn and soaked in blood and mud. Her head hurt, her body hurt, but her soul hurt the most. It was all too painful and she was too tired. Maybe she could just rest for a moment before attempting to get on her feet.
Glenda woke up that morning with someone shouting and knocking on her door. Knocking? More like banging. Loudly.
"Go away!" Glenda shouted back. She didn't mind people calling her a witch because, in fact, that was exactly what she was. What she did mind was people trying to wake her up so early in the morning. Glenda had been up well past the witching hour last night, finishing incantations and charms to sell. She tried to muffle the sounds with her pillow in order to keep sleeping but now the harm had been done now. She slowly dragged herself to the door, not really opening her eyes more than necessary. She opened her front door and instead of greeting whoever it was, she yawned.
"The Duke says he needs some more potion." Said the short, round and bald men at the door.
"More potion? What potion?"
"I was sent to tell you he wants it right away or else he'll make sure you'll be drowned like the rest of your kind."
Oh! That potion! Men wanting bottles of Glenda's famous Elixir Of Potency and paying her by not telling the Inquisitors where she lived was what kept her from being arrested and killed like most other witches she had once known. Glenda turned on her heels and walked over to her potions cupboard. Slightly awake now, she reached for the bottle where a dark amber liquid should be. The bottle, however, was empty.
"Tell your Master I'll have it ready tomorrow." She said to the poor man still standing at her door.
"He said he needs it now or you'll regret it." The man almost spit out his words.
"I'm all out, can't you see? Go, tell him." It wasn't an ideal situation and Glenda knew she shouldn't have been so careless. She knew she needed to have the potion ready at all times.
It was no use crying over spoiled milk now. She needed to make some more potion right away. Wide awake now, she started gathering what she needed. Two ounces of cochineal, one ounce of gentian root, two drachms of saffron, two drachms of snakeroot, two drachms of salt of wormwood, brandy and the rind of ten oranges. The only problem was, she only had one orange.
Despite the cold and all the mud created from last night's rain, Glenda needed to go out. She leaned over her washing bowl to wash her face, swollen green eyes framed by dark brown lashes looking back at her. She grabbed her burgundy cloak, her basket and her bag with some magical instruments and ingredients that might come in handy and she left.
The only orchard with oranges was a good twenty minutes of brisk walking away. Glenda had considered planting her own orange trees in her backyard but her land was too full of rare, mystic and magical plants she also needed on a daily basis.
Because Glenda was so busy trying not to slip in the mud and because there was still a small little bit of sleep in her, she failed to see the group of eight men approaching. Some carried the Duke's sky blue insignia, others were just common townsfolk. When Glenda heard the noise, it was too late. Two men had grabbed her hands and another one was grabbing her by her waist so hard she couldn't breathe. A fourth man pressed a cloth to her nose.
Glenda felt the strong, sulfuric smell. It was awful and it was making her nauseous. She felt sleep kicking in again until she felt something else kick in. The pain, the lacerating pain of being kicked in her back and in her head. She felt her body fall to the ground and wanted to scream. She was conscious of all that has happening around her but she couldn't make a sound. She couldn't move when she tried, either.
She could imagine her lifeless, motionless body on the ground while eight men hit her. She could imagine, smell and feel her blood all over. She could feel and hear them hitting her; she just couldn't react.
"Boys, boys, I think she's dead now." Said a man with a young voice. Glenda knew she had no movement but she thought that if she tried not to breath so as to really pretend to be dead, they'd stop all the violence. And indeed they did.
Glenda heard the men leave, cheering and congratulating each other for killing the witch as the Duke had told them to. When they seemed far away enough, Glenda allowed herself to breath. She was cold, she felt undressed. She knew her legs and breasts were completely exposed, her clothes torn and soaked in blood and mud. Her head hurt, her body hurt, but her soul hurt the most. It was all too painful and she was too tired. Maybe she could just rest for a moment before attempting to get on her feet.
