Through wooden grids his words had lured her, just as they had lured so many.
Had lured those asking for relief.
Those in fear of tomorrow.
Carrying nightmares in their hearts.
Having seen too much of a burning world.
His words promised wisdom of the world and of beyond.
Of understanding and of soothing.
From someone who had seen a lot.
Much more than others.
Someone who would speak gentle.
Stretch out his hand.
And hold them tight.
He won’t give them up!
And so they came, just as she had come.
To pour out her heart.
Her soul.
Her secrets.
Body shaking.
Lips glued to teeth, but words not to be stopped.
Speaking of those that died underneath her hands.
Of those that died right beneath her heart.
Of those she loved to death in a dark corner.
And of hands still smothering her each night.
And she was waiting.
For Hands to carry her away forever?
For a voice to scream at her?
For her cruel life to end?
The witch had prepared herself before confessing.
But the man of god just smiled at her and said:
„I have seen much worse.“
And with those words, she was left alone.
Unloved tale
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Mistress witch writes 