Abigail had been acting as the assistant to the witch Lara for four years.
In that time she had learned many things. Firstly, that she had no magic to speak of. Secondly, that most of a witch's work did not involve any magic at all. Thirdly, that frequently less is more. And fourthly, that she was now much better educated than she had been as a princess. Then there were the other three.
She could read the spells in Lara's books, but nothing ever happened when she tried them. That was how she knew she had no magic. That had been a disappointment to her, but Lara taught her all the other things. The things that don't involve magic. Things like tincture of willow bark for headaches and to ease the heart. Or making wintergreen into a paste for sore muscles. Or the very tiny pellets of aconite for a weak heart.
Less can often be more. Things that were deadly in the wrong hands became healing in the right. The distilled spirits that drove men to anger and lust when consumed also prevented wounds festering when used externally. And the aconite.
The fifth thing that Abigail had learned was that Lara's mentor, Old Edith, was to be respected. And a little feared. She had been sent to her after failing to cast spells. Old Edith had given her one look, glanced at Lara's letter, and told her not to waste either of their time.
The sixth thing that she learned was that people only look at the obvious. Changing the colour and cut of her hair, the pitch of her voice, along with a change of clothing was enough to disguise her from those that her parents sent to find her. Except for one, but he had looked her over, tapped the side of his nose, and moved on, never saying a word.
The seventh was the most unexpected. She had fled marriage to a foul prince who was now missing. She had suspicions as to his fate on seeing a particularly agitated frog in a glass box at Old Edith's. Her flight led her to hide under Lara's two room shack. That was where Lara had found her after sending the prince on his way. The witch was nothing like what the stories told. Old Edith was, but not Lara. Lara was quiet, gentle, patient, kind, and clever. The last she expected, but not the rest.
The villiage had simply accepted her because Lara said so. No questions about who she was, or where she came from. It had only been four years, but as far as the villiage was concerned, she had always been there, beside Lara. And she was happy with that. That was the seventh thing. To have learned happiness.
#SF #SFF #Fantasy #Witches #microfic #microfiction #tootfic #IAmWriting
