In the magical world London overlaps ours, they grew up as places to live and disappear in, but an over 21 witch was cursed, she went from her life as a debutante at a posh finishing school to a drudge, a cinderella in reverse. There’s no way back that’s she’s ever found.
Her face was changed, the colour drained from it permanently, her beautiful long lustrous hair was dulled and thin and broken ends stick out in frazzles, her sweet shapely body, she hardly recognises now. Not that she had mirrors any more, she has to work for her room and board, and it’s a small spidery attic room with a speckled old looking glass, that has more black spots than silver left on it.
She went from being described as an English Rose to her fitting nickname of the last few years of *tbd*, gone to seed they said. Everyone assumed she was in her 50s or 60s now, a silver grey streak of hair from each temple, scraped back into a bun, no makeup. But when she was out in the rain and the full moon shone on her skin, sometimes in a puddle she saw her true reflection shimmer.
Such a moon was shining tonight, as she fetched a bag of old ragged uniforms from the hotel that was closing down, she was given them to mend and repair, for her use and the other maids a collection of witches and ex house elves who manned the old leaky cauldron inn. A surprising number of them to cover the shifts from all hours, cook and clean the multitude of bedrooms.
The musty bag was large and heavy and she had no wand, couldn’t afford one, so she stopped for a moment, a rest on the wonky bench at the corner of Diagon alley. She looked like two piles of rubbish silhouetted in the dark, as she sat there she thought how she had almost forgotten how to smile.
A black cat walked by and rubbed up her leg, not often anything showed her affection, she bent to stroke it, but it looked at her face and mewed pitifully running off.
She was used to that kind of reaction, she srugged, so when someone walked close by she wasn’t afraid of being robbed or attacked, as most women might late at night. She would just smile at them, that usually provoked the worst responses. It was a man he looked her way and she waited for the inevitable “Euurghh ugly” or “fell out a tree ‘av we?” She had heard it all.
“Hello young lady, which way to the inn, my guide here, has had a long day?” She looked around her he can’t mean her.
She saw he was being led by his cat, who promptly jumped in his arms and purred falling asleep in his arms held like a baby. The stranger was wearing a soggy wet hat, a long coat, with a turned up collar, a man with dark glasses on at night and a glowing white wand.
She blinked because he shone it on her right in her eyes.
Using his cat his ‘familiar’ as a guide for a broom ride, was one thing, but she hadn’t heard of one that guided walkers or fell asleep half way through the job.
“Doesn’t his wand guide him?” She thought to herself puzzled.
“Lumos can work, but it doesn’t work for me”
She stood up surprised did he hear her thought?.
“I know you’re there, beautiful…are you shy?”
“Me?!”
“Yes you, with your large bag of smelly laundry”
“Oh! Um yes, I’m on my way there… I work there, yeah, follow me”
She had her old, black, button-up boots on, which made a crunchy sound on the cobbles and tap from the metal seggs on the heels that help them to wear-out less.
She hauled the bag up to her shoulder and walked back towards her home and her work. As they walked along she decided to warn him since it was so late and he might tip later on.
“The kitchen will only have some lukewarm warm pea soup left, there won’t be anyone to get you some supper, and I don’t advise having a room on the third floor, the cold draft from the arctic is awful”
“The attic?”
“No the Arctic, there’s a Yeti staying for a month, he keeps leaving his door open”
The stranger laughed.
“What’s your name? My dear?”
“*tbd*, I’m the scullery maid there, but I do housekeeping too, and laundry and hhhhhhhaaaaa everything else” her feet plodded heavily, it wasn’t the weight of the bag, it was the weight of the world.
“That’s not your name, you were cursed with it?”
She looked back over her shoulder at him. Frowning. Here it comes, some quip about the ugly tree and hitting every branch…
“You’re very kind, and like a sweet appleblossom or a Rose bud”
“Sarky sod” she said under her breath. They were soon at the inn. She put down her bag and held the door for him since he was carrying his sleepy black cat. He brushed passed her.
That’s when she saw the cat looking round yawning, but His eyes, the wizard’s eyes, behind those glasses, they were quite blind, white pearly and clouded and tracking left to right.
“Mind the step” she grabbed his arm, he had caught his toe and tripped forward she held him from falling, and the cat, it jumped and clung to her head with its claws!
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Friendly and mischievous British story writer requires a long term pen pal to help role-play the male character and solve this magical mystery. An invisible witch, not invisible so much as ignorable, one who the only one who can really see what’s inside her is a blind Wizard. I like details and textures, I like researching funny little details, I like romantic themes to evolve and be part of the story narrative. So all purely for entertaining, escapism from this world to our character’s world. Slow burn or slice of life, fantastical or funny, it’s the setting that allows for innovative ideas and creative plot twists. It’s nice to look forward to sharing a few sentences each day or so. Don’t need to know the Lore and cannon, just go with the flow. This is a repost from last year.