The unexpected sunshine made snow a little bit more unlikely and I just hated my kitchen table more than ever before. I drank some tea, continued typing messages into a chat window that were supposed to seem friendly and personal while also something like professional, but only came off as really bad jokes.
„4 months“, I said to my witch. „4 months since I had been sure that I was dead inside.“
Layla laughed, and when witches laugh, it sounds like music.
„You are so sweet“, she stated and I made a face.
„You know“, Layla said after a while, and I knew that another one of her witching tales would spice up my afternoon, „even after having been locked away in a dark dungeon for months, that had not worked. When things did not get better, they had decided to cut off my hair.“
„Your hair?“
Layla nodded. „It was longer than now, and it was supposed to give me magical powers. One day, a guard entered my prison, grabbed me by the shoulder, and cut it off. On One side, he left it up to my chin, and on the other side it did not reach my ear anymore. It did not work. The plague got him anyway!“ She giggled with traces of sadness in it.
My fingers cramped and I could not type anymore messages.
„4 months ago, I accepted that there was something inside of me that would not survive a world like this.“
„But it did not just die, it most painfully fought back“, Layla summarized my thoughts and began to curl a strand of her red curls around her fingers again. „After cutting off my hair, they went back to torturing me, but I was still able to dream of the feeling when it had played around my shoulders, especially when I had been wearing nothing else.“
I hated my kitchen, but I loved that thought.
Mistress witch writes 