The Dark Witch And Her Knights

17

What a monster!

I should have never trusted the witchman. I never would have stayed knowing he had acquired me for some other man. Witch! Some other witchman! Just so he could give me to him once he had got bored.

How could he?

I thought we had built a friendship.

How could I?

How could I stand there and say nothing? I turned my back on him as he had me. I had grown unrealistic expectations of him in my mind. Henceforth, I would expect nothing from no one. I would find my way. I would figure out how I got here. How to break this curse my captor has on me. How to cast a single fucking spell! Harness and nurture my nature until I could free the witches from under the heel of our King. Then I would cleanse my life of any who sought to do harm against me and harm against witches.

They'll all pay.

I stood from my huddle under the sheet on the bed; the bed where my choices were taken from me. My naked body freed from the confines of the cotton, I marched around the room picking up books, vases, antiques, and anything else I could get my hands on before chucking it across the room. I screamed as an object hurled through the air. I would laugh after it broke.

Scream.

Shatter.

Cackle.

I had gone crazed.

I yearned for the feeling of destruction.

The room was downright destroyed. I had made my way to the bed, shredding the sheets into tatters. Remembering a letter opener from the drawer of a desk. Where had I thrown that? I had thrown it into the wall. I wiggled it free of the wood and began stabbing pillows until I was in goose feather hell. The mattress wasn't even left unturned.

A pile of garbage in the middle of the floor became the center of my nervous breakdown as I collapsed. Tears from rock bottom broke my eyes and cries of devastation left my throat until I grew tired enough to fall asleep a wallowing mess. I missed my family, Sorran, I even missed wicked old Ms. Wartol.

The sounds of nails against glass awoke me. I had expected to feel achy and broken instead, I felt well-rested, rejuvenated. Eager. I rolled over finding myself lying in the bed I knew I had utterly destroyed. I peered around the room seeing everything had been restored to new.

But... something was different.

"You're awake. We must speak," the voice came from the dark corner of the room. Through the window, the moonlight shone a cat's shadow on the floor while illuminating his crossed legs.

"I rather not," I forced out. I knew the curse would slowly turn me into his putty.

If I resisted him; if I didn't speak to him; if I avoided his touch; I could fight the curse off longer. I didn't even want to imagine what would come out at the other end of this if I didn't save myself.

"We must," he was cut off by Stella's meow and claws on the glass.

I stood from the bed unwrapping myself from the sheets. Ignoring the fact that I had been redressed in a new gown of velvet, I made my way to the window unlatching the hook and allowing my cat in. Removing myself from his presence I left the room slamming the door behind me, him remaining within. The hall and the room were the only things I had seen of his cabin and decide to get accustomed to my new prison.

The cabin consisted of one guest room. An unrealistic bathroom, a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and only one door I couldn't open. I hoped it was just a jammed closet. His cabin was unusually large and if I were here under different circumstances I would admit to liking the cozy isolated feel of it.

When I finished getting familiarized with the house I made my way back to the kitchen and began investigating every inch of it. It was comforting that my new witchman had decided to leave me be. It was for the best. I might just find a way to poison him in his sleep. Capture his familiar and drop the cage in the middle of a lake somewhere. I wondered what it was, a frog, a bird, mouse, cat, owl, snake?

So.

Many.

Choices.

He had utterly destroyed my mental state. My palm collided with the side of my head trying to slap the thoughts of him and my desire to do evil deeds right out the other side. I frantically began organizing his debauchery, isolating usables and unknowns until I had the workings of a potion.

Seven days had passed and I had not seen my jailer. Sleep on the kitchen table had become a regular for me. I had brewed potions for protection and healing. Countless ones for hex breaking that all failed. On a darker day, I sought the ingredient for a womb weeping potion, just in case. I couldn't find them though and prayed to the devil I would not be full with child.

That wasn't all I did. I had tried to run; three times. Three times I had stepped foot outside the cabin. None of the doors or windows were barred against my use. No, they were all left unlocked.

It didn't matter how long I stayed outside, it was how far I went. As soon as I reached around a hundred feet from the cabin, I was in trouble. The air in my lungs would vanish and my mark would burn to no end. It would render me useless and unconscious every time.

And each time I had woken back up in that terrible bed.

I hated it here and so did Stella.

She made her dislike of the place and him very clear.

Plopped in the mossy grass between two trees I let their shadows cool me from the summer heat. I was watching Stella play and hunt with the moths of the wood when her ears suddenly perked up and she jolted out of sight.

I stood brushing my maroon skirt of pine needles and other debris. Hoping she didn't run off too far, I went after her. When I caught up to her she wasn't alone. A familiar white cat circled her purring away its happiness.

I went to greet him freezing when I remembered how angry I was at the witchman. The shuffling sound of paper caught my ear. I drew in a deep breath scuffing at myself.

After inspecting the cats I found a note folded up into Godfrey's collar. He meowed at me looking pointedly at the note like he was demanding me to read it. I unfolded the paper seeing the neatly formed scripture.

It was too late. He had already abandoned me in a worse prison than the one he first put me in. The note shredded to pieces between my fingers. My tears made the paper more pliable and soggy. I shook my hands clean turning my back on the dancing cats and making my way back to the cabin.