VOLUME 1

CH. 1: The Barren Woman

"Did you bring them? Hik hik hik."

My customer shivers and she avoids staring at my eyes. "Y-yes." She retrieves three jars from her sack, each with three different ovaries -- one from a pig, one from a cow, and one from a dead fertile human -- and place it on the irregular wooden table separating the two of us.

"Hik. Hik. Hik. You are resourceful." I eye the jars and smile, the action making my doe-eyed customer flinch.

I tilt my head to the side and scowl. I don't know why all my customers -- not that there are a lot of them -- act so afraid or repulsed. Each time I look in the mirror, the only thing that I see is my glorious perfect self. They are the ones who are cringeworthy. Humans. I haven't seen a lot of them in my nineteen years of solitary life but from the few who come to me, I can only conclude that they are all unpleasant to look at. They don't have the warts on my skin, my long and large nose, my pointed teeth, and my sharp chin. They all look like my other self, the one who I despise so much, the abomination.

I snake my long gnarly fingers around the jars and give my customer a toothy grin. She grimaces and hangs her head, wringing both of her hands on her lap.

Turning my back on her, I focus on the large cauldron behind me. Emptying the contents of the jars into the pot, I watch as the clear water instantly soils to a dark brown. I smile and hum a dark song to myself, making sure to leave the lyrics out lest I further scare my customer.

Aunt Agitha used to sing it for me at bedtime and whenever she does, it usually puts a smile on my face. It's basically about a poor couple who loved each other so much and the man promising that he would take care of her and would never let her grow hungry. They married and had three children. One day, their first child was suddenly missing. It brought great devastation to the mother. Months after, their second child also disappeared. And years after that, when times grew more difficult, the woman saw his husband dragging their third child out and she saw him slaughter their child like a piece of game. She lost her voice. She watched her husband cooked their child and later on served him for dinner. Outraged, the woman killed her husband. Because it was winter, the body of her husband didn't decompose immediately. The woman soon became hungry. And with tears in her eyes, she ate her husband too.

It is such a beautiful and lovely song.

I take the ladle and stir. After making sure that the ovaries have melted and the consistency of the potion is just right, I pluck a few leaves of oregano from the assortment of herbs I have -- most of them hanging from the ceiling and some on shelves -- and drop them to the cauldron. I set aside the ladle and walk to a nearby shelf, scanning the multicolored jars and vials for another important ingredient. My eyes travel from a jar of chicken feet, a jar with two pairs of owl's eyes, a jar of dead lizards, to a jar full of viscous red fluid -- rabbit's blood. I take the jar with the blood, open the lid, and add a spoonful to the current mixture. For the final and most important ingredient, I prick my finger with a sewing needle and add three drops of my blood. I then take a wooden cup and pour the fertility potion into it.

I shove the cup to the woman's hand. With another sardonic grin, I say, "Drink."

She accepts the cup with shaking hands. "A-are you sure this will be effective?"

"Hik. Hik. Hik. Sure?" I wave my finger at her, the one with silver rings on each joint. "No sure. Only risk. Only faith. Only brave." I motion for her to drink. "Finish. Not a single drop to waste."

The woman clenches her jaw and pinches her nose. I watch her with narrowed eyes as she forces herself to don the content of the cup. She tips it over, following my instruction to drink it down to the last drop. She then slams the empty cup onto the table and retches. I squint. She forces it down, paling at the effort. With a shattered breath, she forces herself to meet my eyes.

"Am I done?" she asks.

I nod. "Remember to bam bam within the next forty-eight hours. Don't rest!" And then I laugh a high-pitch eardrum-blasting kind of laugh, so pitchy it rattles the transparent bottles of different parts of the human body at my back.

She cringes and stands up. "T-thank you."

"You're welcome, dearessst." I grin and I think she's had enough of seeing my crooked teeth for she hurriedly staggers off to the wooden door that has two or three loose hinges. She swings it open, raises her skirt above her ankles, takes one step at a time down the creaky stairs, and off she goes.

I don't take any payment. Not yet. When the woman will finally have a babe in her belly after five years of trying and failing, I expect her to come back and pay me whatever she thinks the gift I've given her is due.

I lean back and stretch, my bones crunching. "Should we close up, Leonardo?" I ask in a singsong voice, peering down at the baby axolotl swimming in an aquarium that was made for me by Aunt Agitha. His big white head moves and he looks at me with his cute lidless eyes and a permanent smile. Three pairs of tiny pink horn-like structures jut out from his head and he swims to the glass in slow, slow motion.

"Give me food, Drew!" Leonardo demands.

"Tut tut. Hungry already?"

Beside the aquarium is a small black bucket full of small fish: Leonardo's meal. I dip my hand into the bucket and grab one slimy fish.

"No!" It wiggles and screams.

I shake my head to it. "Your life will be appreciated by Leonardo. Now go die." And I drop it to Leonardo's aquarium, smiling and giggling at my cute pet.

Hearing animals talk is a quirk I've inherited from my great great grandmother. Once in a while, a witch possesses powers such as hearing people's minds, moving objects or blasting things. Whilst I feel like I have such a cool quirk, Aunt Agitha, may she remain six feet under, thought it was useless. I, however, stand with my own personal opinion.

Leonardo gives a satisfied burp and swims back to his favorite rock. I leave him to rest and decide to take a quick visit to my loved ones' graves, which is just outside of my house. I open my useless door and go down the stairs, so brittle I often wonder when my foot will puncture the wood and will send me spiraling down to my glorious death. Well maybe not death but just a few broken bones.

I reach the bottom safely. Just to the right are the graves of Aunt Agitha, my ma, and their mother, my grandma. I read their epitaphs for the thousandth time.

Agitha
jealous and horrible sister, may you continue to burn in hell just like how you burned at the stake

Andromeda
(My ma. I was named after her. She's ten years older than Aunt Agitha and has died when I was still a year old babe)
ungrateful daughter and inadequate mother, died through a stake in the heart, it sucks to be sheesh kebab

Agusta
a powerful witch, a self-proclaimed bitch, and the mother of all tyranny

"Hi Auntie, Hi ma, Hi grandmama. How are you all? I am fine. I'm holding our fort well. I'm also getting better with my potions and 'am working hard on my curses. Speaking of curse, I still can't manage to break mine. At sundown, I still turn into this hideous thing. But, no worries. I am not losing hope."

With one long sigh, I walk along the Skeleton Road, named as such because of all the skeleton trees lining up in rows, its branches looking like it'll grab and eat you any moment. I stop at the fork in the road. A drop of my blood in the center will close the road leading to my house and humans will not be able to find me no matter how they scourge the Dark Forest. I insert my hand in the pocket of my black flowing skirt and fish for my needle.

"Wait!"

I raise my head up and see a previous customer running to me with her hand up. I grin at her. "Yer back for my payment?" I ask.

She vigorously shakes her head. She stops a good three feet away from me and pants. While she does this, I try and hide a grimace at how ugly she is. She has big round aquamarine eyes, shining hair the color of corn, plump lips, and smooth olive skin. If Aunt Agitha is still alive, she would have shuddered at her sight.

"Why would I pay you?" she finally asks. "It didn't work! Your potion didn't work!"

Corn girl came to me a week ago for a love potion. I've made at least ten of them for other customers and it never fails. Never.

"That is impossible. You may have not followed my instructions carefully."

"I did. I swear I did." She wobbles and she looks like she is about to cry.

I don't usually ask this question but my curiosity got the better of me. "Who did you give the potion to?"

"I gave it to the Prince. The Crown Prince of Gazaar."