Andrea’s slender fingers gently brushed the surface of the fruit. It was still raw, its skin a vibrant green hue, and nowhere near ready for consumption.
Just then, a thought entered her mind and suddenly Andrea was comparing herself to the orange. They were both raw and not what nature had intended them to be. But unlike her, the fruit had the chance to ripen as long as it stayed connected to the tree. It would change and take on the right color. It would sweeten and one day nourish someone’s body.
But that wasn’t her case. Time and nature wouldn’t give her the transformation she so deeply desired. She wouldn’t somehow become good at being a witch. She wouldn’t be useful to anyone, not even herself. Andrea knew she was probably having a pity party, and it was pathetic. It certainly did
