Your strings bury deep, delivering crimson tones. A loud, gravel voice sounding songs of a dead man for the dead man. The Thinker lost to time; the Witch hums on in melancholy.
Fiction
Narrowed Eyes
The witch watched the thief from above. She had pocketed a belonging from a traveller asleep in the carriage. They made eye contact, the witch and the thief. The thief, instead of returning the belonging, jumped off from her seat and moved on.
Flames
"What do you think of her?" "She's beautiful. A beautiful flame burning blue. And yet, I can only see the destruction, the child causes. All for the purpose of being nice and what may be right? No. Instead, I see the thieves, they steal your fuel and how you allow them."
Support
The bit of his axe stuck out of the side of the tree. He had been clearing the area in attempt to excise the cancer growing. He adjusts his harness and pulls his axe free. Another enchantment by the witch, the woodsman keeps at his task, now with ease.
Papercuts
Run your brain, run your mouth, run your body to the ground. Run, run, run so you do not think. While the pain comes out your fingertips.
Sacrifice
Here rings the next bell and another step forwards towards the great beast. The bells sound, roaring a great destruction. Gothic spires decay in the moonlight all while the Witch bleeds. Her eyes wide on the beast.
Potion Business
One, two, three. Tickets dispensed, potions made. Slap your hands clean, dip them in hot cauldrons, burn away the remains with poisons. Repeat. Throw in a few clients. Smile and appease, repeat.
The Renaissance Festival
They prep for the excursion buying flasks of water, strapping a pint to their sides, weighing out their costumes. I put on my pointed hat, leathers. My outfit draws my mirror's smile. I promise myself to finally get a bowl of the ever delicious smelling mushroom soup.
Growth
Though the witch loves to conjure potions, she attempts making charms, spinning stories, and teaching others. Masters before her watch in earnest of her growth. Some smile, others scowl.
Blue and Red
The shrill sound fills the air, followed by squealing of tires. I tune my phone, listening in to the numbers, waiting to hear any news. And I think, what it would be like.
Chloe Vasquez 