A Witch's Sadness
Like a spider in the center of her web, the witch sat in her cottage, patiently waiting for something to entertain her. She gazed out her window, staring into the dark and dreary forest surrounding her house. It’s lonely being an immortal being.
Snapping her fingers, she vanished, reappearing in a wooden rocking chair on her small porch. The witch sighed and stared toward the blanket of darkness above her, not a star in sight.
To one unfamiliar with witch kind, this young woman with short periwinkle hair and a long black frill dress. Her eyes were darker than the night above her. She appeared human, but the truth was never one to be known at first glance. She was a witch, an old one too.
Cracking a crooked grin, she stared back into that deep abyss. “The perils of immortality, eh?” She chuckled to no one in particular, yet someone—or rather something— responded.
“Your life would be more interesting if you would converse with the lesser beings around you, Milady.” An undersized spider crawled up her arm to whisper into her ear. “I’m sure those—what were they? Oh, right— Humans would enjoy speaking with you.
The witch let out a hoarse laugh. “Those pitiful creatures? They’re afraid of their own shadow! Imagine how’d they react to my very presence. Ha!” The spider shook their head in exasperation at her antics.
“You cannot just hang around your familiars for all eternity, My Lady. You need interaction with, at the very least, something other than us.” The familiar attempted to reason with their master. Alas, she stubbornly refused to interact with any race other than her own when she learned of the…witch hunts.
“Bah!” she spat, “I’ve been fine for the last hundred years. What’s a few more, Thal?”
Thal shook their head once more. “But Lady Tama—” they tried to get out.
“But nothing! I’ve never needed to leave my home since I built it! I’m not going to lose the last remaining thing of her!” At the mention of her, Thal shut their mouth, scurrying away into their master’s hair.
“I’m sorry, Milady, forgive me.” The spider weakly spoke, terrified of eliciting their master’s wrath.
Tama sighed and sunk into her chair. “It’s alright, Thal. I know you meant no harm.” She let out a shaky breath and stared back into the starless sky. “Would she want me cooped up in here…?” She drawled the question out, tears falling from her eyes.
The familiar silently sat in her hair, watching the witch shed tears. ‘My Lady…’ Thal thought, their sadness growing alongside her.
She wiped her tears away and once again snapped her fingers. Her outfit flashed with a dark purple light, changing it into a black tailcoat with a simple purple shirt underneath and some simple black pants—no shoes, oddly enough.
Tama entered her home and grabbed a stereotypical witch hat with a spider web engraved on it. It looked old, yet it was kept in pristine condition. Magic had been used to keep it intact.
Staring at it, she traced her finger along the lines of it. A sad smile fell on her face. “My love… the first thing you ever gave me. You were so happy when I contracted Thal.” Tama began to cry, but the smile never left her face. “You loved them so much you designed this hat after them. You said it was supposed to make him feel more at home.” She broke down sobbing, holding the hat close to her chest.
“Alv, I miss you so much it hurts. Immortality was a mistake. I’d give anything just for another minute in your arms.”
Thal saw their mistress in distress and hopped out of her hair. Waving their hand, their appearance changed into a humanoid form with spider-like limbs jetting out of their back.
“Lady Tama!” they yelled, grabbing her and bringing her close to their chest.
She grasped Thal, desperately clinging to them, sobbing into their chest.
“It’s alright, Milady. I know your pain. Let it out.” They said as they rubbed her back.