I wish to cultivate gorgeous flowers to brighten my home and life. I want to bring joy to the land and attract the birds and the bees to my doorstep. So, at night, when it is safe for me, I toil under the moon to bring life instead of death.
For once.
I’ve been trapped here, stuck in this house, for millennia. It’s been lifetimes upon lifetimes that I have been unable to exit the fairy circle around the perimeter. If I could convince someone, anyone, to help me break it, I would be free.
I could finally live.
Very few adventurers end up on my doorstep, but I beg their help when they do. None have been able to break me free of this prison.
Unfortunately for them, they’ve not gone free, either.
It’s not intentional. I try to control myself.
But I’m just so hungry.
Hunger changes a person on a fundamental level. If left to starve long enough, even the worst decisions seem justifiable.
I sit back on my heels and stare up at the prison I have called home for all my life. The glamour is fading, and rotten boards and broken roof tiles intersperse the image of sweet candies and treats.
The house could use a makeover.
Waving my hand, the glamour fades momentarily, only to be replaced by one knitted out of shimmering strands of purple magic that makes the home look like a multi-tiered cake. The frosting is the color of the sky at sunset, with purple flowers dotted over it.
I’ve never had sweets. I have been told all about them by travelers who stumble upon me, though. I beg them to tell me stories, to describe what the outside world is like, and they acquiesce. Once I learned about sweets, I couldn’t stop asking questions, going as far as getting the travelers to sketch what they looked like in the dirt with a stick so I could create the first glamor for my home.
A lovely woman was with me when I created it, and she gave me pointers to make it look more authentic. I miss her sometimes. Her memory is one that fills me with regret, but I cannot erase it.
If I ever get out of here, I hope I can find someone with sweets. I would like to try them someday, even if human food never seems to agree with me.
I wipe off my hands and stand, happy with the evening’s work and drained from the use of my waning magic. I should have saved it for something of substance, but a little joy in my surroundings feels necessary.
If my magic is a spring, I am scraping the bottom of it with my shovel, trying to extract water from the packed and drying mud.
Walking inside, I can almost ignore the gnawing hunger that claws at me every second of the day. How long has it been since I’ve had a proper meal? Whenever a creature wanders through the fairy circle, I can trap them, but they do not satisfy me like humans do. The creatures of the woods must talk because they no longer visit frequently.
And it’s been so long since one came to me. The ache in my gut grows at the thought of the last one I had. A pretty man with rich dark skin that was the softest I’ve ever felt. I quite enjoyed playing with him.
He satisfied more hunger than one.
Unfortunately, I lost control and drained him all at once. I like to think if I had only sampled him, I could have convinced him to stay with me.
I think he enjoyed fucking me just as much as I enjoyed feeding from him.
The sun is getting close to rising. I can stay up to see it, safe in my home, but what is the point? I cannot go outside and warm my skin in it, which makes seeing it taunting me through the glass of my windows infuriating.
I throw my body across my couch, wallowing in self-pity. My head hits the bottle of ale I finished last night, and I groan, remembering I drained my most recent batch and need to check if the wort for the next is fermented enough yet.
I cannot make myself move from the couch. The weakness in my bones is settling in, and I know the only thing I’ll be able to do is sleep soon. I have so few productive hours anymore. Every day, my energy gets depleted faster and faster, and I sleep more and more.
Eventually, when I sleep for good, never waking again?
If I’m lucky, maybe a handsome adventurer will stumble through my door and trip and fall in my pussy so I can fuck and eat at the same time with no effort on my part.
A witch can dream, huh?
* * *
I stretchwith an obscenely loud groan, my back on fire from sleeping on the couch that must be as ancient as me instead of my bed. I see the sun’s rays through the window and grumble at it for having the audacity to be up still.
