A Lone Thatched Roof

It was a lone thatched roof deep in the woods. The windows were lit up with soft yellow lights, distinguishing the home amongst the vast trees that surrounded it. The sharp contrast made it seem like the forest was giving the home space to breathe, to expand, to linger; made even more so apparent by the surrounding garden that remained untouched by the wild growth’s fingers. The villagers had described this cottage as a place of death and despair, yet it seemed anything but. The birds sung and danced without care about its roof, and small pebbled steps led right up to the door in open invitation. It was a witch’s house, a fabled killer of man.

I had been sent here for a magical relic, a goblet of sorts. My employer believed this goblet a fountain of youth, the witch partaking of it herself to extend her long age. Up until this point I had felt well prepared. The witch was cunning, not taking kindly to strangers. Few returned with their lives, and the women who went to visit her were rumored to return half-crazed, never to be the same again. I was prepared for a battle of wits against this old magical hag.

I walk up the stone steps until I reach the wooden door. I raise a hand to knock but then stop myself when I hear humming. A soft melody floated from the window, but it wasn’t the joyous kind, it was sad and slow, full of longing. A trick. I shake my head and instead of knocking, I grab the handle and open it silently. Unsheathing the sword at my side, I step in cautiously. The door opened into a work room or dining room of sorts. The humming continued to the right of me, which I quickly asserted was the kitchen. A quick look around revealed a hallway that led to the back of the cottage. The table in the room was flanked by two wooden benches, and its surface littered in various half-opened books and papers. Herbs, onions and spices were collected in jars along the mantle underneath the window, a fire crackled in the hearth central to the room where a single rocking chair lay in front. Many artifacts were placed around the room, but none were the goblet I was tasked to find. Chopping suddenly erupts from the kitchen as well the smell of some kind of stew. It was only then that I thought to myself the witch must keep this goblet close, if it was indeed the relic they claimed it to be.

I creep towards the kitchen, sword raised before me. As I approach the arch way leading into it, a floorboard creaks beneath my feet and the humming and chopping both stop. A moment of painful silence follows, and I fear the witch can hear the erratic beating of my heart as I hold my breath to try and calm it. Another moment passes until I can’t help myself. I storm through the archway, thrusting my sword forward only for it to be met by the frail throat of a beautiful young woman.

When I say beautiful, I believe it to be an understatement of what I saw. She was ethereal. A kind of grace that was nothing less than enchanting. Her hair flowed in long waves around her shoulders, a deep auburn color, like the changing of the leaves in the fall, her skin was fair as if the sun never touched her, and her eyes were pools of melted chocolate that were somehow stern and sad all at the same time. Despite her small frame, she stood with a stoicism I had rarely seen. Most of all, she was not afraid.

She did not move away, in fact, she did not move at all, she merely stared back into my own eyes with that cold and empty look, as if I was nothing more than a passing vision. The knife she was chopping with, still remained on the chopping block, and her frail hands were held at her sides, relaxed. She wore a simple deep blue dress that seemed to almost hang from her body, and while its color spoke of wealth, the dress itself was clearly worn. I could see all the ends were fraying, with some loose threads here and there. I spent several moments looking her over and yet she still did not move. Perhaps another trick. I press the tip of my sword against her neck, moving but an inch closer.

“You have something I want, witch.” A beat and no answer. I growl and shift my sword so that it is right under her chin, and that gets her to tilt her head up slightly.

“A goblet, where is it?” Every muscle in my body is prepared to fight, I’m tensed from head to toe waiting for some kind of attack. But nothing comes. Her eyes shift slowly towards a cabinet to my left.

“What you seek is in there.” She says finally, her voice a mournful song.

I open the cabinet, and behold, the jewel-encrusted goblet lay inside. However, when I pick it up, I am surprised to find it covered in dirt and grime, as if it hadn’t been used or brought out in years.

Sword still pressed to her throat, I feel it bob against the blade, “Are you going to kill me?” she said with such calm that it brought me chills.

I lower my sword. I hadn’t a clue as to what was happening, but I knew in that moment she posed no threat.

“No”, I say gruffly, “you gave me no reason to.”

“A shame,” she says with a sigh and turns around to keep chopping at whatever vegetables lay on her board.

I was dumbfounded. She seemed more than content to let me leave with her goblet, and even more disappointed to hear that I did not intend to kill her. My anger was stewing at how easy the whole operation was. This woman, this witch was whispered to have murdered entire villages. The precautions I was told to take- it did not amount to the unseeming threat before me. For all I saw was a sad and frail girl. Something was wrong and I knew it, I wanted to walk away but I couldn’t. I couldn’t take the win for what it was and so I spoke again, but this time out of anger.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to let me leave?!”

She stopped chopping for a moment, then continued. Her silence only stifled my anger more and I threw my sword onto the ground causing her to jump.

“They call you a murderer! You know that? A MURDER! Yet you let me waltz right in and steal your precious goblet without a fight. What is this, some kind of scheme?!”

The girl whirls around, this time with the knife in hand. Nothing but seething anger in her gaze.

“If I told you I killed a man is that reason enough for you to slay me?!” She screams. Again, I was shocked and was at a loss for words. She spoke again this time swinging the knife around.

“If you’re so eager to believe all that you hear then YES! I killed a man, probably a few men. There, I’m a cold-blooded murderer. Now down the beast so we can all get on with our lives!” Tears stream down her face as she screams this to me. There was some anger in her voice, but all I saw was fear and despair. She was shaking visibly as she quietly sobbed.

Not breaking eye-contact, I bend down and pick up my sword, but instead of drawing my blade against her I simply sheath it at my side.

“No. You do not deserve death.” Her eyes widen at that. I saw her fear, I saw her rage, but I also saw me. Something in my heart ached for her. I couldn’t explain exactly what it was, but I felt there was something more.

I go to leave, but then she begs me, “Please, just… just kill me. Make it all go away.” The knife in her hand is pointing directly at me. I shake my head and the knife clatters to the ground, the girl sinking with it until she is a beautiful sobbing puddle of blue on the floor of her kitchen. There was nothing more for me to do so I left. Listening to her quiet sobs as I exit the cottage.