Archive of Our Own

There had been rumors of witches assembling in the area before. But that was all they were- rumors. The last one had been caused by some clandestine affair, seeking the cover of the forest and the night to conceal the persons involved, which, upon being discovered, had been easier to blame on imaginary mystical forces. The man had claimed that the woman he’d been caught with –who bore no resemblance to his wife whatsoever - had bewitched him. The poor creature had sworn that she had committed no crime other than loving a married man, that she had no affiliation to wicked powers; but no matter how loudly she had proclaimed her innocence and prayed for mercy, the men in charge of her fate had pronounced her guilty. Frank knew love could never be a crime, but he had watched the woman pay for it with her life. He had never, never believed in witchcraft and now he was losing his faith in justice as well.

People were whispering about a new witch in town and at first, he’d thought it as another pile of false allegations. It became clear very soon that there was some stock to all those whispers though. A farmer’s leg healed after a terrible injury that would have normally required the limb to be severed, a lost item that was recovered after the witch told its owner where to look for it, and other strange occurrences, but nothing sinister. Nothing truly evil. And yet, the witch’s existence was always discussed by fearful voices. Even those who had benefitted by her methods would soon turn against her. Frank could only hope she’d be clever enough to have fled the town by then. He’d seen enough people be burned alive, he didn’t wish to witness the spectacle again.

When he joined his two friends who were waiting for him in the darkest corner of the tavern, he wasn’t surprised to hear them talking about the same subject that had piqued everybody else’s interest. What was surprising was the fact that they were considering visiting the witch themselves. As he watched David pulling the hood that concealed his face even further down, he could only feel sympathy. His reasons for wanting to trust the sorceress’s abilities were obvious; David had been recently accused of the theft of a very expensive piece of jewelry. Had he gotten arrested, he would be facing severe punishment, which had forced him to run away from his home, leaving his family behind. He wanted to clear his name and return to them, but without any evidence of his innocence, he’d decided to turn to the supernatural for help.

Curtis’s case was different. A soldier returned from the Crusades, he had tried to seek other employment and failed consistently, perhaps due to the fact that he had lost a foot in one of his many battles. He couldn’t remain idle much longer, both because his pride was suffering from it and because he needed to drive the brutal images of war out of his mind. Frank himself had a lot to deal with as well. But he wouldn’t trust anyone with making decisions for his life, much less a witch. “I’ll accompany you, because you clearly need someone sane to come with you. But don’t involve me in this madness,” he told them and they could do nothing but agree. 

They waited for nightfall and headed for the woods where the rumors said the witch lived. There was no one they could have asked for directions, so they had to search for at least an hour before discerning a thin pillar of smoke rising between the trees. They approached the spot cautiously- it could be a group of bandits gathered there and that would mean trouble. But there was no sound coming from that direction besides the crackling of fire. Frank stepped into the clearing first, his body shielding the other two men from view.

A small fire was burning in the middle of the glade, offering very little in the way of lighting, but more than enough to distinguish the figure sitting on a log a few feet behind it. If that was indeed the person they were looking for, she had masterfully set the scene for her act. A dark veil was covering her entire body, giving her an eerie appearance and, most importantly, making it near impossible to see her face. When Frank entered her territory, she raised her head in a movement that seemed altogether otherworldly. “Where are the others?” she said in a low voice he didn’t recognize and he moved to the side, letting his friends come forward. Her hand moved behind the veil, inviting them to come even closer.

David was the first to open his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Wrongfully accused,” she stated. The company would have gasped at her words, if they weren’t all so stunned. “Your hands are clean and you want this to be known, yes?” she asked and he nodded, swallowing hard. “By tomorrow night, you will be able to go home,” she bowed her head briefly. David thanked her and went to hide behind Frank, from where he could be heard stifling his sobs.

When Frank agreed to coming here, in spite of what the townsfolk said about her, he’d expected to find some ridiculous creature who would try to fool them with tricks and illusions, not a mysterious presence who’d know exactly what they were seeking and how to provide it. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Curtis, kind fellow,” the witch called to him. “You deserve a fate much better than what you’ve been given.”

As the bravest one among them, Curtis stepped forward boldly. “It is not about what I deserve, great witch. It’s about what I need.”

The sound she made in response could have been a sigh, yet she was too far away for them to hear it clearly. “You don’t do yourself justice,” she told him. “But you too shall find what you’ve been searching for. Two days, no more, no less.”

“You have my thanks, but you must also have a price to be paid for your services,” Curtis said. “Only let it not be my other foot.”

Her head perked up a little, almost as though no one had ever offered to pay her before. “My price is this,” she replied after some consideration. “Prosper,” she ordered and then bowed her head again, giving him permission to withdraw.

Frank was tempted, out of curiosity more than anything else, to ask for something too. The more he looked at the dark figure, the more he felt drawn to her. He was almost expecting her to look to him and ask him what it was that he wanted, offer him some kind of guidance. While he didn’t quite know what he wanted himself, he was astounded as he watched her rise from her place and turn her back to them in graceful movements, the long veil billowing around her bare feet.

“Wait,” he called out to her. “What about me?”

She paused, her face half-turned to him. “Do you know what you seek?” she asked. Even though he could barely hear her voice from that distance, he could have sworn there was a tender note to it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t answer her question. “Come find me when you do,” she said and disappeared between the trees.

After her departure, the three men stared at each other and, not knowing what to say, quickly departed to return to their respective dwellings. That night, Frank lay awake in his bed, wondering if the witch’s words would come true. If they did, he might have to admit he was wrong and he really hated being wrong.

Mornings at the tavern were mostly quiet and Karen was glad of it because it gave her the opportunity to shape up after severe lack of sleep, before the customers started flowing in. The mantle of the witch had allowed her to help a lot of people, but it was taking its toll on her. Luckily, she didn’t have to fear getting caught, as she had managed to befriend a man of the law, who would make sure nobody came looking for her or, at the very least, help her get away in the case that she did get arrested. That very man walked in a few minutes later and she approached him with a jug of ale.

“What news?” Matthew asked in hushed tones.

She leaned over the table and started rubbing its surface with a towel, pretending she was very busy while she whispered to him. “You’ll find the necklace at the house of Thomas Bennett. I saw his wife wearing it yesterday. How soon before David can go home?”

“When did you promise him he would?” he smirked.

“By tonight.”

“Tonight it is,” Matthew nodded, putting a coin in her hand and she left before they drew attention to themselves.

Shortly after he’d finished his drink and left, the two soldiers from the day before walked in, sitting down at their usual table. Karen went to the back of the room and let Elizabeth, the other wench, serve them. When she returned to fetch their order, Karen decided to feign interest in them, so she could get more information as to how to help the man who didn’t know what he was looking for. It wasn’t her preferred way of doing things, having to ask people directly. Spying on conversations was much safer, but this man never divulged anything about himself, talking very little, even to his friends. She had to find out somehow. 

“Who is that then?” she asked nonchalantly, nodding her head towards them. “The soldier.”

“Which one do you mean? They’re both soldiers,” Elizabeth sniggered. “Or they used to be.”

Karen almost said ‘the handsome one’, but that wouldn’t help much, would it? They were both handsome, she chastised herself. “Not Curtis, the other one.”

“Oh, the fletcher! Frank, that poor man,” Elizabeth cooed and shook her head. “Terrible, what happened to him, just terrible.”

“Well, what happened to him?” she urged.

“He went off to war, like most of his friends did. And though he was one of the lucky few to survive, there was no one to welcome him home upon his return. A fever had taken his family. A wife and two young children,” she shook her head once more. “Terrible, just terrible.”

Karen’s heart went out to him. But there was nothing she could do to help him. She watched him knock back several jugs of ale, his lips never curving upwards as the alcohol failed to lift his spirits even a little bit. Nothing she could do about it, nothing. No matter how many people she helped, cases like this would always weigh heavy on her.

When the two men stood up to leave a few hours later, their other friend, David, came running in, no longer wearing his hood. This could only mean one thing. Karen bit her lip to hide a smile as he embraced his friends, happy tears running down his face. For the first time since they’ve been coming here, she saw Frank smile, affected by his friend’s good fortune. Karen had to run out back so no one could see her cry. When she returned to her post, they were nowhere to be seen.

One down, one to go, Frank thought. He was barely holding himself back from revisiting the witch’s lair by this point. Further proof was needed however; she could very well have gotten it right by accident. He couldn’t abide being the idiot who ran after an enchantress. Not for the hope of retrieving something that had been lost forever, not for the comfort of her soft voice, not for anything. If he tried really hard, he could convince himself that it was just a dream, he’d never accompanied his friends to see a witch at all. But that notion came crushing down a day later, when Curtis announced he had been hired at the smithy. The blacksmith had come to see him, saying that somebody informed him of Curtis’s excellent knowledge of weaponry and offered him work. Curtis was thrilled, smiling from ear to ear, and Frank covered his mouth with his hand, as his shoulders shook with laughter.

He almost turned around three times on his way to the clearing, suddenly overcome with dread. But his feet guided him forward, while his mind cursed him for his stupidity. The fire was burning even lower this time and his vision protested against not being able to make out any details of the witch’s face. She lifted her head at the sound of his footsteps, her veil producing a soft murmur as it brushed over the fabric of her dress. “Frank,” she whispered when he stood before the fire. She had been waiting for him.

“Who are you?” he asked, his fear replaced by awe at the sight of her.

“They call me the White Witch,” she replied simply.

“But what do you call yourself?”

The flames were casting strange shadows on his face and Karen became aware of a sudden surge of emotion inside her. The handsome one, she’d almost said to Elizabeth. The handsome one who asked too many questions. If she wasn’t careful, he could find out her true identity and cause her a lot of trouble. She might be forced to relinquish the role of witch and while she had no problem being Karen, the tavern wench, she actually enjoyed being the White Witch. “I don’t call myself anything,” she said, hoping to preserve the air of mystery.

“How did you do those things? How did you help my friends?” Frank persisted.

“None of the questions you ask are the right ones,” she whispered and watched his eyes widen in something like wonder, as her breath made the fabric in front of her mouth ripple. “Do you know what you seek yet?”

His shoulders slumped and he crouched down, the closest thing to collapsing he would allow himself, as he let his head hang low. “Redemption,” he groaned.

Karen felt her heart crack down the middle, sorrow pouring out of it in huge waves. “For the lives you took in battle or the lives that were lost while you were away?” When he looked up at her, his eyes were full of tears that would go unshed. The answer was plain as day, even though he never spoke the words out loud. Her hand rose in a gesture of comfort that she couldn’t complete. “You were not at fault,” she said. “Therefore, it is not redemption you must seek.”

“What then? Peace?” he snapped at her. “Can you give me peace, sorceress?”

“I’m afraid it is not within my power,” she told him, her voice cracking. “Forgive me, my friend.” Karen stood up to leave and he immediately mirrored her movement.

“Wait, wait!” he pleaded, approaching her slowly. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you in this way, I am sorry. Coming here goes against everything I stand for and still, here I am. I’m begging you, if you have any kindness in your soul, give me something.”

By the time he finished speaking, he looked transfixed, holding his breath in anticipation of her answer. He was standing far too close for her liking. One move of his hand and the veil could be torn off. Karen took a step back. “You must look to love, the most powerful magic. Choose it and you might find peace. Turn your back to it and your suffering will never end,” she said and ran away from him as quickly as she could. She had no idea where those words had come from but they rang true.

When he had stood close to her, catching a vague glimpse of the blue eyes under the veil as the fire danced behind them, some electrifying force had swept through Frank. He could have run after her, he could have even captured her and dared a look at her face, but he was still trying to absorb her admonition. Even though there was still time to dismiss all this as the imaginings of a tormented mind, he no longer wanted to.

Karen reached her hideout and ran inside, slamming the door shut behind her and removing the fabric that hindered her movement. There was no light in the tiny cabin and she didn’t mind, accustomed as she had grown to the darkness. She grabbed the veil from the floor, folded it carefully and placed it in a wooden chest. It was getting late and she had to go back to her real lodgings, however inviting the small bed she had fashioned for this place was. Maybe witches didn’t need beds, she thought. Maybe they slept on rows of rocks or didn’t even sleep at all, but Karen really needed to sleep and have Frank’s image wiped from her eyes.   

The following afternoon, Matthew came to the tavern to see her again. She didn’t have anything to ask of him this time, so she waited by his table, smiling as though he was flirting with her, while he spoke of a stranger, a mysterious guardsman that had taken up the task of interrupting criminal activities and rescuing victims. “There have been two incidents so far, both at night. None of the witnesses have seen his face. The one thing they all agreed on was that his voice made them shiver and that he might be a ghost,” he sighed.

“I’ve only heard talk of it, but no one bragging about it,” Karen said. “Why look for him though? From what I can tell, he only saves people. Let him save people.”

“He saves people for now. I have to make sure he doesn’t get conceited enough to start hurting them. And with everyone praising him as their savior, his arrogance is bound to grow,” he said. “The thief from last night claims he managed to strike the guardsman in the face. Can you keep an eye out for bruises, see if anyone seems like they’ve gotten in a fight?”

Karen scoffed. “Take a look around. Half of the people here have bruises on their faces,” she told him, her eyes immediately falling on Frank’s face and the fresh bruise on his cheekbone. “I’ll try to find out more,” she assured Matthew, “but I don’t expect anyone to be confessing to this any time soon.”

As Elizabeth was busy with other patrons, Karen left her friend to his thoughts and approached the gang of three on the other side of the hall. So engrossed they were in their conversation that they didn’t take notice of her standing over them. David’s bright eyes were the first to turn to her and Curtis’s were next, but Frank kept his back turned and didn’t make the slightest move towards her.

“Oh, pardon us, wench,” David smiled kindly. “We didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Bring us ale, please, and have one yourself. On my expense!”

“Are you celebrating something?” she asked.

“Indeed we are,” he beamed. “I have been reunited with my family, my friend here has found employment,” he squeezed Curtis’s shoulder affectionately. “And this one is perhaps beginning to see reason. All good things!”

“I have always been reasonable,” Frank growled, his menacing tone tainted by good humor. “Do not bother the woman with your nonsense.”

“No bother at all,” Karen chirped. “I wish you more causes for celebration in the future, kind gentlemen.”

After she brought them their drinks and David paid her, Karen tactfully refused his invitation to sit and drink with them, deciding she wouldn’t be taking the offering of ale; she’d much rather keep the money to buy more medicine. Her cabinet was close to empty and a lot of people who couldn’t afford a physician came to her for healing. She was making a quick list of ingredients in her head, when Frank approached the counter.

“Forgive my friend, he talks too much,” he grumbled. “Accept this as thanks for your services, as well as your patience.” His serious expression didn’t change as he placed a few coins in front of her.

“Oh, no! You are too generous, I can’t accept this,” she said and prepared to push the coins back to his direction.

Frank covered her hands with a heavy palm. “Take the money, madam. God knows you’ve earned it,” he nodded, withdrew his hand and went to rejoin his friends.

All the medicine she could buy with that money… There were no words for the gratitude she felt, though she had to wonder if he was expecting something in exchange. She observed Frank carefully for the rest of her shift, but he never even glanced at her. She half-expected him to follow her after she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and exited the tavern. He did not. Karen wished she could find some way to help him and despite it not being what she’d initially hoped for, the solution came to her a couple of weeks later.

The more she watched him, the more whispers reached her ears, it became clear to her that Frank was the unknown savior that lurked the dark streets every night, shielding innocent people from harm. It was terribly inadequate, but if the only way of helping him was to keep this knowledge to herself, she’d simply keep her mouth shut. Matthew didn’t need to know everything.

One evening, at her lair, while dealing with a man who had no lack of money but a great lack of honor, Karen realized she was growing weary of her double life. There might come a time soon when she’d have to choose between being a sorceress and being a wench. She knew which the safest path was, but she wasn’t certain she would end up following it. The satisfaction her fraudulent witchcraft offered her couldn’t be matched by anything else.

Her current customer was asking for a spell to rid him of a nuisance; she’d already heard all about it and knew far more than he was willing to divulge. He’d bedded a woman who was now carrying his child and he refused to recognize it as his own. Enraged, Karen stood in front of the flames, deepening her voice to make it sound as menacing as she could. “You come before me with lies and deceit?” she accused him as he cowered back. A soft crunching sound coming from behind the trees drew her attention, but she had a performance to finish. “That child is owed your name and you will give it, or I will pluck you from your home and throw you into the pits of Hell myself!” she told the man, who was already scrambling to his feet, nodding wildly as he backed away from her. After he turned on his heel and ran away, she sat back down and took a deep breath.

“Show yourself,” she shouted and Frank emerged between the trees, limping his way to her. “Have you come to get your wounds treated, Punisher?” His head jolted back upon hearing the title, like he’d been slapped. “Isn’t that what they call you these days?” Karen asked again.

“People call you the White Witch. Is that your name?” he sneered.

“No.”

“Then why should mine be the Punisher?” he said and sat down to rest by the fire.

“I can tend to your wounds, if you want,” she offered, but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Then why are you here?”

Frank fixed her with a glare. “You should know that already.”

She nodded, trying to come up with a lie, fast. “I have given you all that I could. If I cannot see your heart’s desire, it must be because there is nothing I can do about it.”

“Tell me something,” he leaned forward. “Is there some force binding you to be truthful?”

As though for dramatic effect, a soft wind blew at that moment, ruffling her veil. “There is no force in this world capable of that. I am truthful by choice.”

“Then, pray be true. Have you bewitched me?” he asked, his voice low and heavy.

Karen found his question amusing. How strong was what he was feeling that made him question the reality of his emotions? “Do you feel bewitched?”

“Would I know the difference?”

To this, she could respond with nothing but a hearty laugh. Of all the men who had come to see her, he was the only one who would dare challenge the White Witch. “I suppose you wouldn’t,” she said with subdued cheerfulness, resolving to try and contain her reactions from now on. “But no, I have not bewitched you.”

“Have you bound others with your love spells?” Frank pushed.

“You think me too powerful. I cannot forge love where it doesn’t exist,” she whispered and saw him shiver slightly. 

“Then I have doomed myself,” he sighed, looking up at the stars. “Can you remove love from where it does exist?”

As per the custom they were forming, she stood up and moved away from him, her hands trembling. “No, Frank, I cannot.” She had to leave before her foolish heart took over and sent her flying into his arms. “And neither do I want to.”

By the time he tore his gaze from the night sky, she had vanished. Dreams of the witch had tormented him for a while now. He thought that, by coming here again, he could stop the strange feelings he had developed for her from growing. She was a complete stranger to him; he knew nothing about her, save that she helped others without asking for payment and that she was intelligent enough to evade any enemies she might have made. He should fear her, like everybody else did. He should avert his eyes when talking to her. He should not love her and yet, his desire for her was rising around his heart like a vine that he found impossible to uproot. It was the mystery surrounding her, that’s what made her desirable, he determined. He should never visit the witch’s lair again.

Three days later, as he was performing his usual rounds about the town, he heard a woman shriek. Not a single light came from any of the windows of the surrounding houses. Running towards the sounds of struggle to offer his assistance, he found two men pushing a young woman against the wall, one’s hands fumbling under her long skirt. On her side was an infant, crying softly at the failure of understanding what was going on; the mother clutched the small hand in hers, refusing to let go, even as her assailant tried to rip her skirt. Blinded by rage, Frank charged them, pulling them off her and placing himself between her and her child.

“S-sir, please, be careful,” she stuttered. “They are armed.”

“Go, get out of here,” Frank growled and she mumbled a few quick words of gratitude to him before picking up the child and fleeing the scene.   

Dark as the night was, he could have easily handled two men on his own, if one of them hadn’t whistled, signaling for the rest of their group to come and lend a hand. He counted eight men in total, not including those still hiding in the shadows. Frank managed to run his short sword through four men, breaking another’s nose with his fist and kicking him down, before they overpowered him; blows were coming in from all sides and he started feeling unsteady on his feet. Something pierced the skin of thigh, his flesh burning when the metal cut through it, drawing a roar from him. He pushed against the person closest to him, forcing him to stumble back and crash into the rest of the thugs, as Frank made his escape through grim alleys.

His consciousness was fading fast and because he operated purely on instinct, or perhaps because he thought he didn’t have long to live, he decided the best place for him to breathe his last was by the witch’s feet. Black spots were obscuring his vision as he stepped into the clearing and he let out a sigh of relief upon finding her there. The dark figure jolted up and ran to him, catching him just as his knees buckled.

“What happened to you?”

Frank realized he was grinning softly, soothed by the trembling voice in his ear. “Shouldn’t you know that already, enchantress?” he said, placed a bloody hand on the place where her cheek should be and passed out in her arms.  

When his eyes snapped open again, he found himself in a small cabin, sprawled on a makeshift bed. He sat up, blinking as he took in his surroundings. The last things he could remember were being held by the witch and then, a flash of gold, which he had idiotically thought of as the light of Heaven. But this was an earthly place he was in, as verified by the various aches and pains on his body. He sat up groaning and, sensing a presence to his left, he turned to find the shadowy form of the witch standing by his bed, a single candle burning on the table behind her, next to a bunch of lilies and marigolds. Vials and jars filled with ingredients and liquids of various colors were spread on the shelves that covered the walls of the small room.

“You must be feeling weak still, don’t try to leave the bed,” she told him, her tone suffused both with anger and concern; a terrifying combination. “Three days and two nights you have been unconscious. And on the third night you rise. I don’t know if I should be relieved or struck with horror.”

“You saved my life,” Frank huffed, glancing at the ointments spread on his body and the bandage on his thigh.

“That remains to be seen,” she gritted her teeth in silent rage.

“Great witch, I am in your debt,” he mumbled. “I can never repay you for your kindness.”

“In that case, I release you from you debt immediately. You owe me nothing,” she spat and turned around, picking up vials and carefully placing them in a small purse.

“Have I upset you somehow?”

“Have you-” Karen bit her lip to stifle the shout that threatened to emerge from her throat. “How could you have upset me? With your constant disregard for your well-being? Or maybe because you place more value on the dead than the living? No, that is not upsetting in the least!” Frank opened his mouth to apologize and explain, but she interrupted him before he could utter a word. “There is bread in the cabinet behind you,” she said, taking her purse and walking to the door. “I will not return while you are here and you will not come back after departing this place. Take your time,” her voice softened. “You’re in no condition to walk yet.”

He closed his eyes for one moment and in that time, the door opened and closed and the witch was gone, her footsteps fading into the forest the further she went, until they could be heard no more.   

Karen returned to the cabin four nights later, having seen Frank at the tavern with his friends that afternoon. Seeing him up and walking had made her heart soar. She’d become overwhelmed with the desire to wrap her arms around him, but while the witch had seen and touched his exposed body, the tavern wench couldn’t take even the smallest of liberties with him. Now she opened the cabinet, to find the loaf of bread had been untouched and gone moldy. She opened the shutters and threw the bread out; the flowers she had left on the table went next and then she closed the shutters again, preparing for the night of mysticism that awaited her.  

Yet nothing of note happened that night. A couple of people showed up to ask for advice concerning their crops and she told them what little she knew, but the most part was spent gazing at the flames until they turned into dying embers. It was just as well though; the quiet was much needed. She retraced the steps to her refuge, pausing only once to stab a large fallen leaf with her big toe, enjoying the squelching sound it made as it was pressed into the damp soil. Once inside the cabin, she had barely a moment to herself before she heard a soft knock. Other than her, only one person knew of this place and he would never draw the watchmen here, would he? In any case, if anybody who wished her harm had discovered her, they wouldn’t bother knocking first.

“Come in,” Karen said and as the door opened, she recognized Frank’s shape.

He only stood there for a second or two; then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, shutting out any possible source of light as well. Karen’s identity would be safely hidden, as long as she didn’t light the candle.  

“I have been waiting for you,” Frank told her.

Had he been spending his nights by the cabin? That could only be harmful to his health. “How long?” she asked him, already considering which draught she should give him and whether her supplies would be enough to produce the mixture in a hurry.

“All my life, I think,” he whispered, taking a cautious step forward. “When you told me to look to love, did you know I would come looking for you?”

“No.” But I hoped you would.

“Then you didn’t plant the idea in my head.”

“If I did, I did so unintentionally,” Karen replied, her lips curling into a smile.

Frank took one more step and then another, coming to a stop in front of her, his fingers slowly pulling at the fabric of her veil. Her hand flew up to prevent the reveal, before she remembered they were both almost blind in this setting. “Take my sight if you wish, but I must kiss you and I cannot do it over the fabric,” he said.

Her hands trembled as she lifted the veil over her head, folding it neatly and putting it in its place. Then, she turned back to him, got hold of his hands and brought them up to her face. His thumbs traced her skin for a few moments, a small gasp escaping him when he was assured of her corporeal form, the warmth of her cheeks tickling his fingertips. With his head leaning towards hers, Frank paused as he felt her breath on his lips; he inhaled sharply, feeling her buzz with excitement under his touch, and kissed her. It was slow and soft at first, but when her hands came up to his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin, he deepened the kiss, as one arm snaked around her back, pressing the witch against him, wanting more than anything to melt into her and perish from this world.

Karen pulled free of his lips, lowering her head to kiss the tender skin on his neck, catching it between her teeth as she tried to catch her breath. His fingers squeezed and squeezed, until she could feel bruises forming; but she didn’t mind. She almost wished for more. All that time she’d spent as witch and this was the most magical she had ever felt. Frank cupped her jaw and turned her head to him again, covering her mouth with his. Without breaking the kiss, Karen started pulling him towards her bed and feeling his lips soften into a grin, she drew back in puzzlement.

“There is a saying about the dangers of bedding a witch,” he laughed quietly and she echoed the sound.

“Do you intend to heed the warning?” she asked, pulling off his tunic and throwing it on the floor.

Frank shook his head. “You have undone me, witch. Now put me back together.”

Gently, she pushed him on the bed where he sat quietly, waiting for her to shed her clothing. The dress crumpled around her feet with a thump and his hands instantly came up to her waist, stroking her naked skin. He planted kisses below her ribcage and upwards, almost reaching her breasts, hands roaming down her thighs. As his touch sparked flames all over her body, Karen felt her heart grow heavy with longing. If he could touch her everywhere at once, her hunger might be sated. But seeing as he couldn’t, she took his hands, placed a kiss on each palm and set them down on her breasts. Frank’s breath hitched as he began rubbing circles around her nipples, feeling her twitch and pulsate under his palms. She bent forward for a quick kiss, while his fingers never stopped their work.

“Frank,” she breathed in his ear, the only word her dazed mind was able to procure at that moment.

“I don’t know what to call you,” he moaned. “I can no longer call you witch.”

She brought a hand to his cheek, her thumb following the line of his cheekbone, down to his mouth. “Call me love, if it pleases you,” she said and brushed her lips against his, “for I am lost in it.” Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have seen the expression on his face when he called her love, again and again. Damn the secrets, damn the dark.

Frank started lowering himself into the bed, pulling her with him, and Karen straddled him, positioning her legs on each of his sides, as her fingers undid the laces of his trousers and slid them down his legs, leaving them at his calves. She already knew he was hard, she’d felt it when she was pressed up against him. But the sensation of her delicate fingers curling around his cock was different and as Frank made a strangled sound, throwing his head back, she could no longer restrain herself. She drew closer and guided him inside her, her gasp matching his. For some reason, she’d expected this part to be faster, but Frank sat up and held her still, almost as though they were suspended in time. “There’s no hurry,” he whispered against her chest.

She nodded, mostly to herself, and held on to his shoulders for support, as he pulled out of her and then pushed back in, slowly, very slowly and so gently it almost made her cry. He repeated the motion as he listened to her breath, making sure the only sounds that came out of her mouth were sounds of pleasure. He kept this pace for a long while. The pain was becoming more bearable with each movement and as though sensing it, Frank slightly increased his speed. The change was practically imperceptible, but it did wake something else inside her, a heat, different, more powerful, more demanding. “Frank,” she panted, ready to ask him to go faster.

“Easy now, love,” he said softly. “Easy. We have time.”

Then he pressed his lips to hers again and Karen was finally able to name the heat; its name was greed. As he slowly pulled out of her, she pushed down with all her weight and took him in. It didn’t hurt, so she did it again, harder. Frank tried to stop her, but as her fire spread through his body as well, he let her take the lead, unable to do anything besides match his thrusts to her speed, give her exactly what she wanted. She smiled wickedly, knowing that he couldn’t see, taking pleasure in his surrender. She whispered his name one more time, felt his cock become even harder, or maybe it was her clenching around him that made it feel this way and then she didn’t have time to think, because a strange warmth engulfed her. She cried out and found herself floating up, up, up and when she came crashing down, Frank let out a quiet growl and spilled inside her, his body shaking in the same way as hers.

Breathing having become an impossible task, she wrapped her arms around Frank tightly as he rocked gently back and forth, his forehead pressed to her shoulder. After a while, he rolled her to the side, blindly stroking hair out of her face as she laughed. “I would very much like to do that again,” she told him.

“Was I your first?” Frank asked, regretting it immediately because it made her pull away from him. “I meant no offense. I don’t care if I was the first or the hundredth. My only concern is that I may have hurt you.”

Karen threw her arm over his chest and laid her head on his arm, sighing softly. “You didn’t hurt me,” she assured him. “But you will.”

His body stiffened at this. “I swear to you-”

She brought a silencing finger to his lips. “Make no promises. You will hurt me and there is nothing you can do to prevent it. Witches know these things in advance,” she laughed bitterly. “Now, you must kiss me and leave, without looking back.”

“I will kiss you a thousand times, but don’t ask me to leave you,” Frank groaned.

“You must,” she insisted and kissed him first. “I will be here tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. You can come find me again, if you so wish. But this is what will always happen. You will always leave before dawn and you will never, ever look back.”

“What if I decide to disobey you?”

“Well, I could tell you that I would turn you into a frog or a statue or steal your sight, but we both know I will do no such thing,” Karen said. “Instead, you will never see me again. I will disappear into the sunset, become one with the clouds and fly away from this place.”

“You drive a hard bargain, witch,” he said as he pulled her closer.

“I thought you could no longer call me witch.”

“Right now, I am angry. I will be calling you love again soon,” he grumbled into her hair.

Eventually, he agreed to her conditions, albeit with deep regret. All things had their price, magic especially, and this was the price he had to pay for loving a sorceress; no, for having the sorceress love him back. Every night since that first night, he came to knock on the door and she always let him in her house, as well as in her embrace and in her bed, showing him pleasures like no other. He soon forgot who he was before he met her or rather, he was reminded of who he had been, all his troubles washed away by her tender kisses. He wished he could see her face just once but in the end, it didn’t matter. He knew what was in her heart and that should be enough.

Before long, his friends noticed his nightly absences and the wistful look in his eyes. He didn’t attend their gatherings as often anymore and though they were worried, they quickly deciphered the reason for this shift in his mood. One of the evenings he deigned to join them, they decided they should ask him plainly.

“Does your mistress have a name?” David asked first, pretending to examine the foam in his tankard.

Frank glared at him through narrowed eyes. “No.”

“Come now, Frank,” Curtis joined in. “There is no harm in telling your friends a thing or two about your paramour.”

“She does not have a name,” Frank insisted.

“Everyone has a name,” David sneered, looking to Curtis with amazement.

“She doesn’t. And I would thank you to lower your voice. This is a public place and to speak of this matter openly could prove to be dangerous,” Frank warned, making sure nobody was listening in on their conversation. “I will answer your questions as best as I can, but I’m afraid you must solve this riddle on your own.”

“What does she look like?” David inquired.

Frank couldn’t help but laugh. “I have never seen her face.” His two friends stared at each other, possibly thinking he had finally gone mad, and then turned back to him. “I swear on my life, I haven’t.”

“Does she wear a mask?” Curtis asked.

Frank shook his head from side to side, weighing his answer carefully. “Not exactly,” he told them.

“Aha!” David bellowed and when Frank shot him a glare, his voice became quieter. “So her face is covered by something that isn’t a mask.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Her hair, what color is her hair?”

“Again, I do not know.”

“How can you not know? What does she cover herself with, a sack?” David complained.

Curtis placed a hand on his forearm, effectively shutting him up. “Frank,” he bent forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Does your mistress perchance don a veil?” David’s eyes widened as the notion crossed his mind as well.

Frank’s features softened in a smile. “It wasn’t that difficult, was it?”

Karen watched them from afar. Each time Frank walked in the tavern, she wanted to greet him with a kiss. She had every right to do so, except she had no right at all and it broke her heart. That was exactly what she had told him would happen. You will hurt me. And he had and he was doing it now and he would do it again. Sometimes she became angry with him for not recognizing her, but seeing as she had taken to gesticulating and mumbling unintelligibly instead of using her voice to communicate with him and his friends, she couldn’t really blame him for not even glancing at her anymore. He was too preoccupied with his lady love and saving people anyway; he had no time to spare on tavern wenches.

That night, two women came to see the witch. Mother and daughter, by the looks of them. The younger woman was holding a tiny bundle in her arms and when the bundle stirred softly, Karen realized it was a baby. She stood up from her usual spot and met the young mother halfway, grabbing her by the arm and leading her closer to the fire. The baby was evidently newly born, but even so, it was too small. The woman placed her child in Karen’s arms, the dark veil suddenly resembling less a protective shield and more a funeral shroud.

“Please, help me,” the young woman cried. “The babe has not cried once since she was born a few hours ago. Is she mine or is she a fairy child? She seems too weakly to be human.”

It didn’t matter if Karen’s blood boiled at those words; she had a job to do. She examined the baby closely, distinguishing the blue hue of her skin, the irregular breathing pattern, the almost unnoticeable ebb and flow of her chest. Karen’s heart sank all the way down to her feet; there was no cure for the baby’s illness. She was already dying.

“Come here,” she beckoned to the mother. “This is your child, come here. There is no reason to be frightened.”

The woman put one foot forward, but made no other movement.

“Listen to me!” Karen raised her voice and hated herself for distressing the baby even more. “This is your daughter! She will be dead soon. At least give her the comfort of her mother’s embrace before she’s gone!”

The woman frantically shook her head. “This is my firstborn. You have to save her.”

“There is nothing I can do,” she cried, looking at the baby’s face. “Please, you are her mother! It should be you holding her.” And suddenly, even the tiniest of movements coming from the bundle stopped altogether, the tiny chest would not rise and fall; the last breath had already left the body. The weight of that moment was unbearable. Karen felt like somebody had stabbed her through the heart.

The mother searched her reaction for a single trace of hope, but there was none. She let out a heartrending wail and snatched her dead child from Karen’s arms, holding the little body close to her heart. “There was nothing I could do,” Karen told her again. “It was too late.” Then, she covered her ears and ran away from the clearing, the young mother’s lament haunting her no matter where she went.

When Frank came to see her later, he found the door ajar, a slice of faint light pouring out of it. He stepped inside and saw the veil crumpled on the floor, a candle burning on the table, and his witch, standing with her face to the wall, her blonde hair cascading down her back. Though he wanted nothing more than to rush to her, he put out the candle first, trying to respect her wish of keeping her true identity a secret. As he straightened up, she crashed into him with her whole body, her shaking hands clinging to him for dear life.

He wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking her hair. “What happened?”

“They brought me… a baby to heal,” she said in between sobs. “I cannot cure a weak heart. I wish I could.” More sobs wracked her body. “She… she died in my arms. She…”

“Shhh, shhh,” Frank held her to his chest tightly. “It wasn’t your fault, you know that.”

“I should have… I… She was so small, Frank…”

“At least she didn’t die alone,” he whispered, having only cold comfort to offer, and she dissolved into a greater flood of tears.

They stood like that for the longest time until Karen’s knees began to give way. Frank steadied her with one arm and led her to the bed, making her lie down under the covers while he sat on the floor. She extended her hand to him and he took it, placing kisses on her knuckles. “I would like you to stay,” she told him in a low voice.

“But I must leave before dawn, without looking back,” he nodded. “I know.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Do I torture you much?”

“You are worth it.”

“You mean the witch is worth it,” Karen told him. “Not me. I am the daughter of a traveling merchant, who happened to pick up knowledge of certain things during her travels. And being the arrogant fool that I am, I thought that I could help people by means of toying with their superstitions.”

“The more fool you for thinking I keep coming back for love of the witch,” Frank squeezed her fingers. “You don’t need to tell me any of this.”

“You should know what you bargained for. What wretch you have trusted with your heart.”

“Hush, you are no wretch,” he chided her softly.

“I certainly feel like one,” said Karen.

“Where is your father now?” he asked, in an attempt to distract her.

“In the ground. He died, like all things must. I was alone, so alone, for such a long time,” she said, her voice trailing off. “But I have you, thanks be to God…”

So they both would have been alone, if they hadn’t found each other. He held her hand to his lips as she drifted off to sleep, letting go only after he was certain she wouldn’t wake. The temptation to light the candle and hold it to her face was too great. He could even simply open the door and gaze upon her as the moon shed its pale light on her features. But he knew the creature that had shattered before him on this night, was as fragile as it was fierce; too fierce to mess with. If she so much as suspected he had gone back on his word, she would disappear forever. He left her side before dawn, as promised, not looking back.

Just as Frank had feared, back when the witch was an abstract concept and not a real person of flesh and bone, the townsfolk, motivated by the incident with the baby, conveniently forgot all the good she’d done for them and began to accuse her of wicked deeds. Several people came up out of nowhere, saying that she’d given them boils or stopped their cows from producing milk. There was even one specific son of a whore, who claimed she had taken him to her bed and stolen his seed to use for evil purposes. Frank wished he could crack his skull like an egg, but the way these people thought, his act of violence would end up being attributed to the witch as well. Their agitation was infectious. He could feel it taking over him too.

“You must stop,” he begged her, as they lay in bed that night. “If they call for a witch trial…”

“My friend Matthew is looking out for me,” Karen assured him. “He would have warned me if there was something to worry about.”

“Are you listening to me? There is something to worry about. They are accusing you of things you haven’t done.” Frank gave his face a hard rub and took her hand in his, pressing it to his chest. “Danger is coming your way. Violent, fiery danger.”

“Do you think I haven’t heard the whispers too? I hear everything, I know what people say,” she sighed into his neck. “Nothing will happen to me. I know how to hide.”

“Do you love me, witch?” he asked.

“You are angry with me…”

“Yes, I am,” Frank told her. “I am furious and I am forlorn because I couldn’t stand to lose you. God help me, I love you more than anything, more than life itself. But you have no love for me, for I am at your mercy and you will not relent.”

“If you love me, have faith in me,” she said.

“I cannot watch you burn,” he said, voice cracking. “Better kill me now to spare me the misery.”

Karen brushed her lips against his. “Are you miserable now, Frank? Are you miserable here?”

He wasn’t; he told her so and kissed her and, as usual, she made him forget what he was worried about in the first place. Until daybreak at least, when he walked back into town alone and the terrible absence of her soothing touch consumed him.

As he turned the corner to his house, he was confronted with a sight unusual for the time of day. A man was lying unconscious on the ground, while another one, dressed in grey rags, patted him down, searching for a pouch or any loose coins. Frank should have known better than to get involved in this while the light of the day was already chasing away the darkness which had been his ally up to this point, but he couldn’t turn his back to this. Hand on the hilt of his sword, he approached the crook as quietly as he could. When he got close enough, the man span around very quickly and swept his foot from his crouched position, hitting both Frank’s legs and taking him down. He tried to get back up while his head swam and the thief stood over him. Frank hadn’t seen that face often but he easily recognized the town sheriff. 

“I finally meet the Punisher,” he said with a smirk.

“Not…” Frank grumbled. “I am not the Punisher, sheriff.”

The formerly unconscious man stood up too, dusting himself off. “Will you need help escorting him to his cell?” he asked.

“Thank you, Franklin. I don’t think that will be necessary,” the sheriff nodded to him and then bent down to help Frank to his feet. “You are a difficult man to find.”

“I am not the man you want,” Frank said through gritted teeth. He could overpower his captor and escape, but that would only be admission of guilt. So he decided to be led to prison instead, until the evidence they had against him proved to be insufficient. The sheriff couldn’t have anything substantial on him.

What Frank found out, as he sat quietly on the bench of his cell for hours, was that the sheriff liked to talk a lot, explaining how he came to the conclusion he was indeed the man he’d been looking for, trying to get him to admit the fact. Whenever Frank opened his mouth though, it was only to plead innocence, fruitless as his efforts were proving to be.

“If you are as innocent as you claim, tell me why you were out so late and why you were about to draw your sword on me.”

“Anyone would have tried to help a man being robbed,” Frank told him.

“No, not anyone. Most people would have turned around and left. But you can’t help yourself, can you?” he asked.

“I was only out for a stroll.”

The sheriff laughed. “Fletcher, I have had my eye on you for a while. You do not take strolls.”

So he didn’t know about the witch then. Good. “Ask me again and I will tell you the same. I am innocent.”

“Some time in this cell will make you change your tune,” he replied. “I can wait.”

“Some time off work is exactly what I needed, cell or no cell,” Frank told him, stretched his legs and, leaning his back against the stone wall, he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.

He was woken up by someone’s arrival shortly after. The heavy door opened and a clergyman walked in, looking grim and stern. Despite his cheerless appearance, there was a tone of joy in his voice as he announced to the sheriff that a magistrate had arrived, to conduct a witch hunt and the trial that would follow the witch’s arrest. The sheriff’s eyes widened in shock and when he spoke, his voice trembled with anger.

“Why wasn’t I informed of this sooner?”

“It is not your jurisdiction,” the priest said with contempt. “These are matters of the church.”

“And when is this hunt supposed to begin?” the sheriff asked again.

“It is already underway. I expect we will soon receive news of her capture,” he said, malice twinkling in his eyes; then he turned around and left.

The sheriff began pacing up and down nervously, not noticing that Frank had jumped up to his feet and approached the door, his fingers coiled around the steel bars of his cage so tightly the knuckles had turned white. “Let me out,” Frank growled and the sound made the sheriff jump.

“I don’t have time to deal with you now,” he said.

Frank tried to rattle the bars, wishing that he could bend them, but he was only human after all, no matter how extraordinary the rage building inside of him felt. “Let me out of here now,” the ferocious animal in his throat said.

“You were willing to stay in there not too long ago. What’s changed?”

Frank extended one arm through the bars, stretching it until he could feel his muscles tearing, in hopes he could reach the sheriff’s throat and choke the life out of him. When that failed, under the man’s watchful gaze, he pushed against the wooden part of the cell door, trying to find some way to break free.

“What is wrong with you?” the sheriff asked him. “Was it the mention of the witch that scared you so?”

“It is not I who should be scared,” Frank fixed him with a murderous glare. “If that woman burns, this whole town burns with her,” he snarled, knowing by the look in the sheriff’s eyes that he’d admitted to all past and future guilt. They would find her soon, torture her and burn her alive, while he’d sit in this cell, unable to protect her. Could he at least hope to be executed for his crimes shortly after and reunite with her, wherever it was that adrift souls such as theirs went? In a final, desperate attempt, useless as it might be, he took a deep breath and met the sheriff’s curious eyes. “I beg of you, let me go to her,” he said, struck with surprise when the man immediately grabbed the keys and unlocked the door.

“I would have gone myself,” he told Frank, “but the consequences I would face if caught would be extremely severe. You will probably have to strike me, knock me unconscious, so the excuse of you outsmarting me and taking the keys will be available to us later. I hope it doesn’t come to this. If you can get to her before anybody else does, we can all proceed with our lives as though nothing happened.”

“Matthew,” Frank muttered. “You are the friend she spoke of.” The man nodded. “You know her. You have seen her face?”

“Many times,” Matthew said.

“Then I pray you get to see it again,” Frank told him and knocked him straight out with a solid punch.

The sun was setting and he wished that she hadn’t lit the fire and sat by it yet, that if there was anything supernatural in her, it would have warned her to stay away. But he had only run half the distance to his destination, when he became aware of a small crowd shrieking and dispersing in all directions, confirming that something horrible had happened. His lungs were burning by this point, but he sped up, branches slamming into his face, scratching his skin as he tried to win a race that he knew was already lost.

Stepping into the clearing, he spotted the fire burning, yellow flames flickering against the red glow the dusk was casting over everything, and right next to it, something that looked like a body. Upon closer inspection, Frank was relieved to see it was a man, unknown to him, but whose garments pointed towards him being the magistrate. He had been stabbed; once to the side of the throat, from where a tiny amount of blood was still trickling, and once through the heart, where the instrument of his murder was still lodged. The puddle of blood which had spread around the body was being quickly absorbed by the ground, but before that process had started, somebody had stood in it. Bloody footprints led away from the clearing and Frank followed them. If she was walking, then maybe she wasn’t hurt.

The footprints disappeared after a while, but the direction towards which they had headed pointed to a place Frank didn’t need any guidance to find; he started running again. When he arrived at the cabin, the door was open all the way. With his heart in his mouth, he stumbled inside, finding no one. The cabinets were left open and some of the vials had been dropped, spilling their contents over the wooden surfaces, but there wasn’t a single drop of blood anywhere. He exhaled in relief and started pondering his next move, when he caught sight of the dark veil, abandoned in a heap by the bed.

He picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers, his hands starting to shake. His witch was gone. She would never return. Frank knew he shouldn’t wish otherwise, but there was a weak part of him that did. It didn’t matter that he would never see her again. All that mattered was that she was alive, alive and safe, even if she had become one with the clouds that dwelled so far away from him, he thought as he buried his face in the fabric and cried.

It took Curtis and David two whole weeks to convince him to get out of his house and join them for some ale. He didn’t know why they had been so intent in dragging him there, since all they did while they finished drink after drink was remind him he’d become a ghost of his former self. That didn’t seem very comforting. Maybe they meant to urge him forward, show him that life went on. It did, he knew it did, but there weren’t any charms left in it anymore, not for him. However, he decided to stay and have one more tankard of ale after his friends had to leave. To drown his sorrows; those bastards were proving impossible to kill.

The sheriff walked in the tavern a moment later. Frank was sure he noticed him sitting there; their eyes met briefly, but the man didn’t acknowledge his presence, as though he was no longer interested in arresting him. Perhaps the change came about because Frank had stopped going on his nightly strolls. Either that or Matthew had other things to keep him busy. Like holding the wench’s hand and kissing it tenderly, as he was doing now. Frank had seen them flirting before. It was none of his business and he didn’t meddle in it, but the woman had always seemed nice and he hoped the sheriff would finally stop playing around and give her more than a few fleeting moments in this lousy place, make her happy. Frank could have made his witch happy, if only she hadn’t been a witch.

“Pardon me, wench,” he called out to her and pointed to his tankard, as soon as Matthew let her go. “Get me another?”

She nodded and grabbed the empty container to refill it. Then she returned and handed it to him, lingering over him instead of hurrying away like she usually did. Frank reluctantly turned to look at her.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in here,” she said. “Have you been unwell?”

“Still am,” he huffed.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” she sighed.

For a moment, her eyes overflowed with sadness and Frank felt like reassuring her that everything would be alright, that she needn’t worry about anything. It was a very strange feeling. “Do I know you?” he asked. When she laughed, there was something familiar in the sound, though he couldn’t remember hearing her laugh before.   

“I should hope so. I have been serving you drinks for nearly a year.”

“Yes, of course, yes,” Frank muttered. “I mean… What is your name?”

“My name is Karen and I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she replied happily.

There, that wasn’t so hard was it? Telling people your name is as simple as that. Why should it be impossible for some people to say their damn name? Frank didn’t realize he was thinking to himself and hadn’t said anything to the wench- Karen, until she leaned down, surprising him with the proximity of her face to his.

“Is my name so confusing?” she asked.

“No, no,” he mumbled, feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Her voice. Why did it take him so long to figure it out? He knew that voice, he had heard it in the dark, it had spoken to him, it had cried out his name again and again. “I simply…”

“You can call me love, if it pleases you,” Karen whispered and her heart swelled as she watched the spark of recognition light up his dark eyes. “For I am lost in it.”