The tale of a witch: Mary Margaret the witch of Edom

Once, long ago in the village of Edom, with its lovely huts and small gardens, dark clouds, and ever-flowing rivers, sitting between two mountains. At the end of the street stood a delicate little hut. It belongs to Mary Margaret. The hut was small yet a power could be felt just by watching it, the way it stood, alone at the end of the village like a silent prayer or protector, it was different from all the others, with its garden constantly covered in flowers whether it was winter, summer, spring or autumn. There was always a flower growing, her pouch was neatly cut. Its beauty, bold like the owner’s, surrounded by Evergreen flowers. It was constantly a sight to behold whatever the season, whether winter or summer. Every morning, just before the sun peeked over the horizon, Mary Margaret would step out of her cozy little hut, which was surrounded by a lush garden full of life. With a joyful heart, she took care of her plants, a colorful mix of blooming roses and sweet-smelling lilies that changed with the seasons. She lovingly watered and trimmed her cherished flowers, savoring the peacefulness of the early morning. Once she finished her gardening routine, she would find a comfy spot by her window and delight in the stunning view of the sun rising over the village, splashing the sky with warm shades of amber and bright reds. As the village came alive with the buzzing sound of activities, Mary Margaret would retreat to the quiet of her sanctuary, hiding away as she worked her treadle spindle, making shawls of different sizes and colors based on the villagers' requests. By noon, she would take what she had made, along with the herbs she had gathered during the dark and quiet hours, delivering each item with instructions to the required households. Her creations were used for healing the sick and improving the health of women who had just delivered their babies, as well as for those who sought the blessings of a child Despite her young and delicate figure, she was the village physician, and her extensive knowledge of herbs and roots was respected by all. When her rounds where completed she'd head to the market in the middle of the town, buying supplies for her depleted items such as oil for her lamp, treads for her shawls, meat for her stew and bottles for her herbs, as she went about her purchase she'd greet every one with respect and love, asking about every loved one, from children to aged relatives, this inquiry also helped kept her business going, as there was always a small discomfort ailing someone, from joint pains, to loss of appetite, or little red rashes plaguing the skin of a child. She never collected payment for her medical expertise and as such the villagers never hesitated to ask for her help. When the towns bell rings, announcing the close of the market she'd head for the giant oak tree that's stands like an ancient guardian, just outside the market square overlookingevery corner of the small village, in the middle of town, there she'd sit and enjoy the view of tired men returning home from a long days work, either in the mines under the mountain, or those who had gone to the field to till the ground for grains, Of children who'd been left to tend to the homes and do a few chores, but rather spent the day with their peers, hurriedly cleaning the houses and running around to put things in order, of mothers rushing home from marketplaces to make supper for their loving family. The sight was blissful and at times funny, as the children may stumble over each other in their hurry and others get caught by their mothers. There was also the excitement of the mothers who'd drag their drunk or lazy husbands and sons by the ear from the tavern just before the darkness covered the land. As the darkness covered the land, the villagers' homes came alive with the soft glow of lanterns, casting a warm, yellowish light through half-opened windows. The air was filled with the gentle hum of whispered conversations, the soft clinking of dishes being washed, and the occasional laughter of children being tucked into bed. Inside the homes, mothers tenderly rocked their babies to sleep, singing soft lullabies, while fathers sat by the fire, sharing tales of their day's adventures. The smell of cooking wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of wood smoke and baking bread. As the night deepened, the village grew quieter, with only the occasional barking of dogs or the distant sound of a lone musician playing a gentle melody on their flute. The stars twinkled above, casting a magical glow over the village, and the giant oak tree stood sentinel, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. As she walked home, guided by the silver glow of the moon, the peaceful atmosphere enveloped her, and the soft glow of her lantern welcomed her back to her cozy little hut, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the love of the village. In the stillness of the night, she carefully set her heavy stew pot to simmer on the old cast-iron stove, the rich aroma of slow-cooked vegetables and fragrant herbs curling through the air like a warm embrace. With a soft sigh, she slipped into the velvety darkness of the small forest that lay almost hidden behind her quaint hut, as if it were guarding a collection of ancient secrets, well out of the villagers' view. Towering trees loomed overhead like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches intertwining in a protective manner that concealed the forest’s lush heart from the outside world. The moon bathed the landscape in a silvery glow, casting intricate, dappled shadows on the forest floor that danced underfoot as she moved. She began her search for herbs and roots, their earthy scents blending harmoniously with the crisp night air. Each delicate leaf and sturdy root she gathered felt like a precious treasure, offering whispers of their healing properties. By the time she returned, the village lay enveloped in peaceful silence, the air thick with tranquility. The only sounds that punctuated the night were the distant hooting of an owl perched high above and the soft rustle of leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. Settling down for her simple supper, she relished the warmth of her soup, the crusty bread, and the steaming vegetables, feeling the comforting heat spread through her body like a cozy blanket. As she cleaned the dishes, the soft glow of the lantern flickered gently, casting a golden light that danced across her features. Her brown skin radiated warmth and luminosity, while her bright green eyes sparkled like emeralds in the soft illumination. The soft curls of her black hair framed her face with an effortless grace and tenderness. With hands skilled in the art of healing, she poured her careful attention into bottling the herbs, boiling the roots, and labeling the medicines. Each movement was fluid and precise, the soft clinking of glass and the gentle burble of the simmering pot creating a soothing symphony of sound. At last, with her tasks complete, she climbed into bed, her body pleasantly weary yet her heart brimming with contentment. A soft smile graced her lips as she drifted toward sleep, lulled by the tranquil sounds of the night, surrendering to the calm embrace of slumber.