Fate
She wasn’t fated to witchcraft, not in the way he was fated to normalcy.
She was born a witch, just as he wasn’t. In the Forest she would have been his boss. In the City of Nothing they would have never met.
But in a common village it was a matter of chance, and they ran into each other on a dance. They both seemed so tired, trying so hard to have fun despite their burdens, that they hoped to have found someone that wouldn’t be so hard to keep pace with. They clung to each other all night, both convinced that the other was doing them a favor.
He tried to meet her again, but she didn’t show up for the next dance. Or the next. Or any other. He asked about her then, to his friends, at stores.
He found her selling astilbe and chamomile at the square, and she smiled at his sight. They talked while her clients made their minds, and she interrupted mid sentence as she noticed that someone was ready to buy something.
They set a date for later—much later—in the week, and shared some precious moments stealing time from his homework and her job. He told her all about classes and books, about the places where girls weren’t allowed, and locals that didn’t serve the poor.
She told her about flowers, and why she had to sell them. She told her about herbs, and why she had to grow them. Eventually, she told them about magic and secrets.
Yes, she wasn’t fated to witchcraft but, with so little options, she had embraced her skills —frightening to some, persecuted by others. She did so with the same lack of passion he showed towards his own—perfectly acceptable but a bit ordinary.
To him, she revealed the secret of her power, and he did his best to hide his envy from her.
They were equal, he thought, as in “equally unhappy”; because there was so much she didn’t have, and she care for so little of what he had. A poor girl would never go to school or get a good job, and magic could only take her so far because it was forbidden. An ordinary boy would never witness or take part in anything outstanding, and school would only take him so far because the better things were for the rich.
But she never complained, and he never confessed that he was jealous, so their time together had to be filled with happiness and fun.
With time, life fell into place for him. It was hard to start working, but soon he was settled and ready to start a home.
Meanwhile, she had had to stop selling remedies and using little magic tricks to improve her life, because the persecution of witchcraft had gotten quite serious in the last couple of years and being known for selling herbs, she and her family were looked at closely by authorities and neighbors.
So he offered his hand to take her out of the mud. He would put food on her plate, a roof over her head. A respectable, married young woman, would never be suspected of being a witch, so she would be able to use magic again.
“I can’t,” she said, despite her deepest wishes. “I must stay with my family. They need me now. Maybe… when things get better…”
He couldn’t help them all. It was too much to ask… and she wasn’t asking.
Things got better. And worse. And much, much better. And worse again. The only constant was that she was always busy, working along with her siblings as their mother and grandmother lost strength due to sickness.
He became more and more insisting about taking her away from that life of suffering. For a while, it was more and more hard to resist the temptation of taking that offer. Eventually she started to find it annoying, and when he stopped visiting her, she was kind of relieved.
Life was going a little better that week, but then the soldiers came. Armed with amulets to defeat the demons, and swords to end any human opposition, they demanded to see her—just her—and informed her family that she had walked the dark path.
She wondered who had accused only her, if her mom and grandmother were the ones who sold remedies, and the ones who had disappointed some people for denying their skills in the last years. But it didn’t matter. Her family was safe, that was the important part.
The amulets were toys for superstitious boys, but the swords were quite real so she went with the soldiers because that was safest for her family and their secrets.
She knew everything about the trials, so she understood that the best moment to escape was during the first event, before getting too hurt, but not so soon that they had enough visibility to do notice in time to stop her.
In the very right moment, she had to turn herself into smoke or a bird, and fly with the Forest’s breath, towards the City. She didn’t know what would happen after that, what to do, or how difficult it would be. But she knew that the worst possible fate was the one of a town’s witch. She would be imprisoned forever, in a small, dark cubicle with no way out nor hope. Forever cut from magic and from people.
“The fire will reveal evil,” the judge said, as she was tied in the pyre. “So I will ask you, girl, only once: have you been involved with evil forces?”
She shook her head, not really lying. Witchcraft wasn’t what they thought.
“Fire will reveal all kinds of evil,” the judge added, as he walked towards the pyre with a torch. “So I will ask you, sir, for the last time: Are you sure you saw her practicing witchcraft?”
Accusers never changed their mind at the last minute; the moment to think carefully about what they were doing was before giving a game to the judges. Therefore, she was ready to hear the “Yes, I saw her,” but she wasn’t ready to hear it with that voice.
It hurted.
She loved him.
He had offered to save her and she had believed that he wanted exactly that.
She had thought that she loved her.
But he had wanted her instead.
And he had tossed it to the fire when she couldn’t get her when and how he wanted.
Even worse, he must have known the consequences for those who could survive the flames, just as he knew all about her fear of facing imprisonment.
But he didn’t know about her rage over betrayal.
As she renounced her chance to escape, the pain was unbearable, but still not as bad as the pain of his treason. She almost regretted it in her last second: she could have at least tried to start over. But she was terrifying of prisons, and she would rather do this now, than living a whole life looking for another chance.
Maybe her ghost stayed long enough to see the guard dragging the ‘liar’ to the still burning fire, to pay the price of a false accusation.
Maybe she could hear his screams of innocence and pain from the afterlife.
She was born a witch, just as he wasn’t.
She wasn’t fated to witchcraft, just as he wasn’t fated to be a resentful monster.
They just chose it. As they chose their own end.
She was born a witch, just as he wasn’t. In the Forest she would have been his boss. In the City of Nothing they would have never met.
But in a common village it was a matter of chance, and they ran into each other on a dance. They both seemed so tired, trying so hard to have fun despite their burdens, that they hoped to have found someone that wouldn’t be so hard to keep pace with. They clung to each other all night, both convinced that the other was doing them a favor.
He tried to meet her again, but she didn’t show up for the next dance. Or the next. Or any other. He asked about her then, to his friends, at stores.
He found her selling astilbe and chamomile at the square, and she smiled at his sight. They talked while her clients made their minds, and she interrupted mid sentence as she noticed that someone was ready to buy something.
They set a date for later—much later—in the week, and shared some precious moments stealing time from his homework and her job. He told her all about classes and books, about the places where girls weren’t allowed, and locals that didn’t serve the poor.
She told her about flowers, and why she had to sell them. She told her about herbs, and why she had to grow them. Eventually, she told them about magic and secrets.
Yes, she wasn’t fated to witchcraft but, with so little options, she had embraced her skills —frightening to some, persecuted by others. She did so with the same lack of passion he showed towards his own—perfectly acceptable but a bit ordinary.
To him, she revealed the secret of her power, and he did his best to hide his envy from her.
They were equal, he thought, as in “equally unhappy”; because there was so much she didn’t have, and she care for so little of what he had. A poor girl would never go to school or get a good job, and magic could only take her so far because it was forbidden. An ordinary boy would never witness or take part in anything outstanding, and school would only take him so far because the better things were for the rich.
But she never complained, and he never confessed that he was jealous, so their time together had to be filled with happiness and fun.
With time, life fell into place for him. It was hard to start working, but soon he was settled and ready to start a home.
Meanwhile, she had had to stop selling remedies and using little magic tricks to improve her life, because the persecution of witchcraft had gotten quite serious in the last couple of years and being known for selling herbs, she and her family were looked at closely by authorities and neighbors.
So he offered his hand to take her out of the mud. He would put food on her plate, a roof over her head. A respectable, married young woman, would never be suspected of being a witch, so she would be able to use magic again.
“I can’t,” she said, despite her deepest wishes. “I must stay with my family. They need me now. Maybe… when things get better…”
He couldn’t help them all. It was too much to ask… and she wasn’t asking.
Things got better. And worse. And much, much better. And worse again. The only constant was that she was always busy, working along with her siblings as their mother and grandmother lost strength due to sickness.
He became more and more insisting about taking her away from that life of suffering. For a while, it was more and more hard to resist the temptation of taking that offer. Eventually she started to find it annoying, and when he stopped visiting her, she was kind of relieved.
Life was going a little better that week, but then the soldiers came. Armed with amulets to defeat the demons, and swords to end any human opposition, they demanded to see her—just her—and informed her family that she had walked the dark path.
She wondered who had accused only her, if her mom and grandmother were the ones who sold remedies, and the ones who had disappointed some people for denying their skills in the last years. But it didn’t matter. Her family was safe, that was the important part.
The amulets were toys for superstitious boys, but the swords were quite real so she went with the soldiers because that was safest for her family and their secrets.
She knew everything about the trials, so she understood that the best moment to escape was during the first event, before getting too hurt, but not so soon that they had enough visibility to do notice in time to stop her.
In the very right moment, she had to turn herself into smoke or a bird, and fly with the Forest’s breath, towards the City. She didn’t know what would happen after that, what to do, or how difficult it would be. But she knew that the worst possible fate was the one of a town’s witch. She would be imprisoned forever, in a small, dark cubicle with no way out nor hope. Forever cut from magic and from people.
“The fire will reveal evil,” the judge said, as she was tied in the pyre. “So I will ask you, girl, only once: have you been involved with evil forces?”
She shook her head, not really lying. Witchcraft wasn’t what they thought.
“Fire will reveal all kinds of evil,” the judge added, as he walked towards the pyre with a torch. “So I will ask you, sir, for the last time: Are you sure you saw her practicing witchcraft?”
Accusers never changed their mind at the last minute; the moment to think carefully about what they were doing was before giving a game to the judges. Therefore, she was ready to hear the “Yes, I saw her,” but she wasn’t ready to hear it with that voice.
It hurted.
She loved him.
He had offered to save her and she had believed that he wanted exactly that.
She had thought that she loved her.
But he had wanted her instead.
And he had tossed it to the fire when she couldn’t get her when and how he wanted.
Even worse, he must have known the consequences for those who could survive the flames, just as he knew all about her fear of facing imprisonment.
But he didn’t know about her rage over betrayal.
As she renounced her chance to escape, the pain was unbearable, but still not as bad as the pain of his treason. She almost regretted it in her last second: she could have at least tried to start over. But she was terrifying of prisons, and she would rather do this now, than living a whole life looking for another chance.
Maybe her ghost stayed long enough to see the guard dragging the ‘liar’ to the still burning fire, to pay the price of a false accusation.
Maybe she could hear his screams of innocence and pain from the afterlife.
She was born a witch, just as he wasn’t.
She wasn’t fated to witchcraft, just as he wasn’t fated to be a resentful monster.
They just chose it. As they chose their own end.
... yet the first, shortest version of the story could have been a bit poetic.
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Author's Notes
Spooktober prompt: Fate