The Giving Witch

It all started with one simple request: "I want Luca du Nord dead." What a contrast it was to hear such a thing come from the mouth of this kindly-faced old woman, the Witch mused, hooking her fingers through the handle of her tea cup. She raised it to her lips to take a dainty sip, all while holding her guest's gaze. The old woman, who had introduced herself as Christine Michel, studied the Witch with a frown that only added to the wrinkles already creasing her face. The Witch took her time lowering the porcelain cup to the wooden table between them, setting it back onto its dish with a quiet clink. This Luca.. he was a count, if she remembered correctly, the count of Violl's Garden, that fanciful little town that bordered this forest. Of course he was wanted dead, what nobleman didn't have a thousand assassination plots concerning him? "That's.. quite a tall demand." She retorted after the couple of minutes her whole display of tea-sipping grace had taken up, giving her visitor a demure smile. Christine remained unimpressed, if anything, her frown only deepened at the Witch's attempts at decorum. Her own drink continued to be untouched before her, the wisps of steam that had been curling off its surface long since dissipated into the air. She most likely thought it to be poisoned. What a waste of perfectly good tea. The Witch arched an eyebrow at the old woman's persisting somberness, c*****g her head before moving to grasp at her cup again. "It is," Christine spoke at last, perhaps fearing that she'd have to wait even longer if the Witch managed to get another drop of tea to savor. "But you can do it, can't you? They say you can fulfill any request." The Witch sniffed mockingly, bringing her hand back underneath the table to rest it upon her lap. "And who might 'they' be, hmm? Some superstitious fools who believe I can grant any wish they so desire with one wave of my little finger?" The Witch raised an index finger and twirled it in the air on her left to punctuate her words. Christine's brows drew together, and she parted her lips as if to defend herself. "Even so, I can do what you ask," The Witch quickly went on, "..But, it will come at a price." The corners of her mouth quirked upward, and she waggled her lifted finger briefly at the old woman. Christine contemplated her overly grandiose gestures for just a moment, before replying: "Whatever that price may be, I will pay it." The Witch's eyebrows shot up, and she scooted forward so that she balanced on the edge of her seat in her excitement. That had been pleasantly easy to work out, she figured the old hag was going to need at least some cajoling. "Ooo, eager are we? I like that!" Though, she really should be more careful what she promised. Any price? How daft. "Now what shall I take…" The Witch mused beneath her breath, using that same finger to tap her own chin thoughtfully. What did she want, actually? She was not sure. She mostly did these ridiculous deals with the townsfolk to provide herself entertainment. They always needed her, but she never really needed them or what they had to offer. All they had proven themselves to be were sources of amusement… The Witch returned from her thoughts, her eyes seeking out Christine's. She considered those eyes, which in her opinion happened to be the only scrap of beauty this relic had left, and was struck with her want. The Witch moved the finger that was resting on her chin to point directly into the black iris of the old woman's right eye. "For payment, I want your right eye." She told her guest. Christine Michel blinked owlishly at the Witch, her lips forming an O. "M-my eye?" Exhaling loudly out through her nose, the Witch retracted her hand and nodded. She had been quite clear, she was certain. What was so hard to understand? "Yes, yes, your eye, that is what I want in return for granting you this request." Raising her other hand from its place atop her thigh, the Witch propped one arm onto the surface of the table so that she had leverage to lean closer. Christine recoiled at her proximity, an animalistic fear flashing in her eyes. The Witch chuckled at this reaction, shifting her weight into her upper arm and lifting herself from her sitting position to balance her knees on the cushion of her seat. "Do we have a deal?" She prompted, directing her open palm toward the other woman. Christine regarded the invitation with wariness, then her jaw clenched. Seemingly having made up her mind, she accepted, planting her own hand within the Witch's. Smiling impishly, the Witch curled her fingers around the frail old hand, and they shook once. The action ignited a vibrantly blue magical flame above their interlocked hands, which flickered out of existence mere seconds later. Christine eyed it with both awe and distrust before its disappearance. The contract was made. Now the Witch required her payment. Slipping her hand free, the Witch then used that hand to skillfully draw a magical rune in the air in front of Christine's face. Next, with a snap of her fingers, the old woman's right eyeball popped out of her skull like a plump, ripe grape. Then, there was a great deal of screaming. Christine gasped with a mixture of horror and pain as the Witch collected her prize, delicately holding her removed eye between her fingers and unfolding herself out of her chair to approach a shelf on the hut's wall. The old woman's incessant shrieks rattling in her ears, the Witch tried to drone it out by humming merrily to herself as she retrieved an empty jar. Twisting its top off, she deposited the dislodged body part inside, where it sank sluggishly into the translucent preserving liquid. "Oh, would you quit that crying, already?" She said exasperatedly once the eye had been safely stored, pivoting around on her heels to face the other woman. "M-my e-eye.." Christine whimpered, cupping her hands over the hole that was now in her head. "Well, yes, it's gone now," The Witch said matter-of-factly, putting her hands on her hips. She shook her head, then advanced toward the old woman. "Now, now, you'll be fine," She cooed, planting her hands upon Christine's shoulders and coaxing her to stand. "It's about time you left, I have work to do." She steered the older woman to the door, and used her other hand to fling it open. Frigid winter air blasting them, the Witch all but shoved Christine out into the cold. "Safe travels!" She called brightly after the old woman, who began stumbling back home in whatever direction she had come from. A lazy blanket of snowflakes drifted down over her, peppering her hunched form and already frosted hair. Hopefully she'd make it back to the village in one piece. Unlikely if this snowfall worsened, and there was the Reaper prowling around out there… but the Witch at least wanted her patron to know that she had completed her end of the deal before dying off so soon. "Hmm.." The Witch grumbled to herself after yanking her hut's door closed again, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. She surveyed the humble interior of her home, most of its walls covered with shelves displaying her various alchemic ingredients and morbid knick-knacks. How was she going to do this? She could just outright kill Luca du Nord with whatever magic she had her disposal… but that was a little too barbaric for her tastes. She wanted this to be interesting and meticulous. Poison, maybe? A curse? She could hex him into oblivion and perhaps drive him so far into madness that he would take his own life. No.. she wanted to see it happen. Witnessing her work with her own two eyes would be much more gratifying than sitting in this shack so far out into the forest and waiting. So that left her with the obstacle of getting close enough to the Count to carry out such a sinister deed. She was going to have to go Violl's Garden for that. "Hmph," The Witch huffed, whirling back around to face the door. No, she didn't care about this venture that much, she'd get someone else to go scout the village for her. She forced the rickety old thing back open, braving the chilly air to shout out into the perpetuating darkness that the twisted trees cast. "Amoux!" Moments later, a pair of gleaming yellow eyes made themselves known. An inky four-legged form emerged from the brush, moving with purposeful and powerful steps. His muscles rippling beneath his black pelt, the great wolf approached her with perked ears. The Witch smiled down at her faithful familiar, extending a hand to affectionately ruffle those large ears. "Be a dear, would you, and go to Violl's Garden. I need to know.." She withdrew her hand, those intelligent predator's eyes following the movement as she brought her palm to cup her chin. She made a noise with her tongue against the back of her teeth. "..I need to know anything about the Count du Nord." Amoux blinked once in understanding at her, then turned and began to trot off. He soon melted into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of large paw prints in the fresh snow. The Witch watched him go, a devilish grin gradually splitting her lips. Luca du Nord was as good as dead.