Watch Your Tongue

By the flickering of candle light, Elizabeth finds the recipe she needs. Her lover has grown suspicious; accusing truths, yes, but his fears are based upon lies. She has walked the earth longer, she is wiser, she is cautious. The men of this realm fear the power of a woman, and no matter how much she plays the part of complacency, she cannot hide the fire that burns through her soul. These men, they see her blackened lips and midnight hair and are driven crazy with desires that terrify them. And so she must be a witch, a devil in disguise, using her evil ways to seduce their hearts as she forces them to betray their wives, their morals. 'Destroy the seductress before it's too late!' she'd hear them cry, but she could only scoff at their ignorance. She'd never waste good magic on the affections of a boy, what a pathetic cause that would be.

A cauldron bubbles with a thick concoction, a familiar scent wafts through the air. Deep purple spirals in the basin, twisting and turning, oozing a smell most grotesque. It's alive and it is ready. She smiles quaintly, scoops a sample upon her finger; it smells of midnight, of dampened earth coiled with fragrant roses. She grins, fills a vial, hides it in a pouch tied to her thigh, a precaution. She always gives a second chance, and he is such a darling boy. He just needs to keep his mouth shut, before he loses the privilege of a choice.

She closes the room to her study, enchants the door and keeps it hidden. She saunters towards her bed, and he's still sleeping. She strokes his face, and she feels pity; he's so fragile, so easy to break. But his words hold power and his accusations carry consequence. She is ready to control his fate.

He stirs, rolls to face her. ‘Come to bed,’ he murmurs. A command, not a question, nor a suggestion. She doesn’t much like being told what to do, but for now she will comply. Appearances must not be disturbed.

She doesn’t sleep. She can’t, not next to him, not anymore. He snores, splutters, rolls to wrap himself around her, but lays his hulking body upon her hair, tugging at it.

She reminds herself that soon it will all be worth it. Soon she will find peace.

*

She follows him into the barn the next morning. Her horse is roaming the fields, she makes sure he is at a safe distance before she enters. What few possessions she owns she has packed into a satchel, her escape must be hasty. She could take the villagers on, if needs be, but why risk her energy? Her coven will accept her with open arms, her sisters always do, and they will drink wine, and laugh, and lament over the fragility of man.

He has one last chance to prove himself.

‘Good morning, my love,’ she sings, but he scowls.

‘You were up late,’ he says, brow furrowed. He paces closer towards her, backs her into a corner. ‘You know I don’t like to suspect nothing, but you’re not acting like a good girl no more.’

She laughs, ‘You never used to mind.’

He reels back, throws an open palm against her cheek. ‘Don’t you talk back, woman! Start explaining yourself, or you’ll get more than just a warning!’

What a silly boy.

There was no longer a need for pretence. With a flick of her arm the barn doors swung shut, and in a moment her hands were around his throat with a strength he did not know she could possess.

‘You should watch your tongue,’ she spat, ‘you never know what trouble you’ll find.’

He claws at her arms, gasping and writhing. ‘Witch! WITCH!’ he tried to scream, but only puffs of air escape.

She takes the vial, pops open the cork with her thumb and thrusts it into his open mouth. He pales as the first drop hits his tongue, and truly, only a few drops were needed. But he had pissed her off, and so it wasn’t until the vial emptied that she let him go.

He scratches at the floor, dirt and loose strands of hay dirtying his hands as his skin quickly loses its colour. She kicks at his skull, and he stops his struggle.

She waits until his body begins to bloat. Anyone who finds him would assume he’d been dead for a few days. Oh, how she wished she could be there as his mother cried, as his father screamed.

But her work was done, and soon she would be miles away, his name nothing more than another to cross from her list.