The price of genius

"A broomstick that flies?"

Cliche' that's been done. What are you, a common witch?

"Immortality potion?"

Outlive all of your friends and watch them die. Phenomenal.

"Animal communication-"

You remember what happened last time with that.

"You're absolutely no help."

I keep you sane, for the most part

Books stood in heaps around the small room. Dust covered a small clump of them in one corner. Along a bench, tomes were piled up and arranged in a specific and unknowable way. Pages from several bigger works were taped up at varying degrees on the moss covered walls. A warm green glow revealed a woman hunched over a workbench, drawing, scribbling and mumbling this and that about inventions and impossible creations.

What about synthetic energy?

"Too addictive."

The wiry woman craned her neck to observe, through a hole in the hut, the moon. She breathed a nice, and long heavy sigh, wrinkled with an age that didn't belong to her, and worn with precision.

"Perhaps tomorrow"

Going out for a stroll?

"It's nice out."

***

On the bridge of Baskinton a small green hooded figure trumbled about. Occasionally, a passerby would get close, and then without hesitation would get far away. Usually just the other side of the bridge, but some went further. To them, it probably wasn't far enough.

A couple of "Mom look's" and the occasional gasp was enough that the silhouette concealed further her face behind the green cloak. It was in this way that she walked on the streets of Baskinton. Huddled, to protect from things that hurt worse than rain.

A peddler making his way to the darker districts of the town tried to sell her some pots or a lamp, but upon closer inspection decided that he didn't really need to be selling to just everyone.

Eventually she made her way to a a tree knotted by time like her sigh. It's branches stretched out over a few solitary gravestones whittled down by the same force that made the tree strong. Here she sat, and here she unfurled her hood, letting her tangle of wild hair free. Black more desolate than space and white more pure than angel down.

You're beautiful you know.

"I wish I felt that way"

We could make a beauty potion.

"For what? So I can hide privately instead of publicly?"

Just a suggestion

***

Wake up

She hadn't realized that she had fallen asleep underneath the cold and knobby embrace of the tree. A tall figure approached, hat in right hand and cane in the other.

"M'lady" The man bowed.

"You don't know when to give an old woman peace do you?" She clenched her jaw.

"It would appear Madeline," The man peered at her through shiny silver framed spectacles "that you're not old enough for that." He offered her a gloved hand. She took it and stood.

"I don't have anything yet" she admitted.

"My dear," he clicked his tongue, irking Madeline in a way she didn't feel was possible any longer "I'm not here about such paltry matters as inventions or creations"

Liar

"I'm here to assess your health, let me see you" without further permission granted he took both hat and cane in one hand to lift her chin with the other.

Clicking his tongue all the while. A wet, slow, insufferable click. Madeline's hands curled into small fists.

"It looks stable at least" He put his hat back on, a bowler of solemn black, to match the rest of his attire.

"Tell the little bastard that I'll have his invention as soon as I can."

"Well since you bring it up, I'm sure, that you mean his lord grace, when you say little bastard. Common slip of the tongue." He smiled, raising his black and greasy mustache to the middle of his puffy red cheeks.

"Of course"

He is a little bastard though

"And when you say 'as soon as I can' you mean by the beginning of winter of course."

That's three days!

"Of course" Madeline's knuckles grew whiter with each passing moment and word.

"And when you say that 'you'll have' you mean to say that within the lord grace's hands ,he will hold it. Not to imply of course that it will merely be a design on a piece of paper or the simple hatchlings of an idea, nor a what is that you call it-" he paused as if to recollect something he already knew "ah, yes, prototype."

That is literally impossible. He should be lucky to get a sketch, or a new idea. You could avoid sleep for a week and barely have a working prototype!

"Of course" A silent fury nestled it's way into the space between her green and gold eyes.

"And when you say invention you mean marvelous creation of science and industry for which his lord highness will be exalted for coming up with, yes?"

I say kill him.

"Of course" this time it had to be said through gritted teeth.

"Now. What an odd look of gratitude I-" he hunched over placing hands on his thighs in order to look her in each eye. First at the green and then at the gold. "I don't think I recognize this, but gratitude it must be. For his lord grace, and myself are still looking after your dear little brother isn't that right?"

I say kill him slowly.

"Of course. Gratitude m'lord" Madeline said.

"Hm, yes, I thought so." Without saying more, he turned and started trudging back the way he came. The cane in his left hand twirling with the ease of a man who didn't need the assistance.

"Oh, and please Madeline, we're friends - call me Miren"

"Of course M'lord" Perhaps the one time that politeness and rebelliousness lined up.

"Hmm, well don't stay up all night now, lots of work to do, I myself have to work you know. Busy work keeping a stray fed" further and further away he walked but each word still managed to pierce the night sky with a stark fervor that would keep Madeline from sleep.

***

Back in her laboratory Madeline threw books at walls, she tore pages from shelves, she broke furniture and glasses containing liquids unknown. And she wept. A slow silent sadness crept upon her that had been threatening her for sometime now. Tears. From both eyes. Salty and wet. From both eyes.

I think I've got it

"Me too."

***

Beakers hummed with boiling substances, mushrooms were chopped and thrown in a furry into different mixtures. Holes were burned into counter tops from overflow. First green, then blue, then black, smoking and coiling. Finally a deep and delicious red mixture sat in a single phial.

Are you sure Mads?

"They think me a witch, I'll prove them right"