It was the kind of day where the sky cannot make up its mind, when nervous clouds try to stand up to the weakened midwinter sun but still struggle against his inate might, when finally their prayers were answered. 

She had counted a full cycle of the moon already since the last disappointment but had not dared to hope, because this had happened before and meant nothing – winters were hard, and her exhausted body often played tricks on her. But, two weeks later, the smell of boiling milk sent her running straight outside. As she looked at their ruined herb garden, however, her nauseous joy slowly slipped away and was replaced by a thrill of dread. When her husband returned from the fields later that day, she pushed the feeling aside, because she could not dare tell him the full truth. 

After they had finished celebrating by the fireside and he was in the land of wine sleep, it crept back. The witch’s words were clear in her mind: “You may have what you desire, but when it is grown it will belong to me.” Haste and desperation had rendered her arrogant; would this old, wizened creature even be around that long? And yet, in her own mother’s stories, the witch had been as old and as wizened as she was right now…

. . .

Playing around with words and phrases to create a little tale that could turn something more…but I like it as is! We often read about the ill fated child and all they must overcome, but what about the deals that were made to seal the fate?

I also liked the notion of ‘uneasy joy’…

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I liked writing it, still honing and practising so any constructive critique is always welcome 🙂

Thanks for stopping by!

Ro x