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She appears to me like a vision from a dream, a vivid splash of color against the drab background of my world. Her hair drapes in dark, dark red, as if it were dyed in human blood, and her eyes glow a deadly, luminous green. Blood and poison: that which is life, and that which takes it. It is fitting, I think.
She moves with a dancer's grace, effortless and lovely but never dainty, never fragile. She is no perfect pliable girl but an independent force, a fire-blaze, a spirit all her own.
She does not look at me—she does not even know I exist. I am but a shadow in the corner, a detached observer, ensnared by her primal beauty but not liable to be burned by her fire. I cannot bear to let myself near, for if she sweeps me up in her orbit I know I may never escape.
Still, though, my eyes linger on her at every opportunity, and the hole in my heart only throbs faster and louder, until it is all I can hear.
~
Deep in the woods near our village, there lives a witch. Few speak of her, but all know of her presence; it is something of an open secret among the community. Magic is oft mistrusted in these parts, and a witch's displeasure is a frightening thing to behold.
It is often said that magic can make impossible things become possible. That it can make one's dreams come true, should they have the knowledge and willpower. Love potions are a tale as old as time, but I would not need that. Simply a wisp of sorcery in my love's direction, a small ritual to break the spell of silence, to save me the embarrassment of seeking out my love directly...
The thought is rich, alluring, palpable, a potential so vibrant I can almost taste it. It is a risk, surely, a great one even. Such is the nature of love.
I am an uncertain creature, made of swirling thoughts and unspoken dreams. But to cross the chasm of desire requires a choice, an act of will and power, as proof of one's passion. This is mine.
~
The path winds through the forest, and I follow it, treading over jagged creeks and past twisted branches. As I go further on, the brambles grow thicker and darker, and a thin mist chills the air, obscuring my vision.
After a time, I come upon the cottage. It is fairly small, camoflauged well by the lush vegetation that surrounds it. Its outer walls are a muddy green-brown, with vines curling and drooping across the moss-covered wood. It almost appears part of the forest itself, a natural growth rather than a human structure.
Slowly, I maneuver through the thick sprouting plants that cover the forest floor and towards the cottage. The steps are old and creaking beneath my feet, foiling any potential attempt at surprise. A knot of anxiety spins in my stomach, but I suppress it. I can wait no longer.
Reaching the porch, I knock thrice on the heavy door. I instinctively hold my breath, and my heart begins to pound faster within my chest—but what's done is done.
After a long moment, the witch opens the door and meets me with narrowed eyes. She is tall and fair-skinned, younger than I expected her to be, and pretty, though her looks are marred by her scowl.
"Good evening," she greets, dark eyes scanning my form, unreadable. "What is it you seek?"
I avert my gaze, unsettled by the intensity of her own. Her robes are simple and sensible, made of some swirling jet-black fabric that ripples across her body. "I have a–a request, if you will."
One dark eyebrow raises. The witch remains unnaturally still, even her eyes do not move much if at all. "Come in, then."
She opens the door fully, stepping aside to allow me room to enter. Her movements are few, but graceful and elegant; somehow, she appears almost not quite human, in some inexplicable way.
"What is it?" she asks, not taking her eyes from me as she directs me toward an ancient wooden chair. "I do not receive many visitors. I confess, I am...intrigued."
"I..." My voice falters under the witch's unwavering stare. Her composure is somewhat overwhelming. "I am in love." How else to describe it?
She laughs, then, a sharp sound that cuts through the air and sets my cheeks aflame. "Are you, now? precocious little girl who thinks she's in love? Yes, yes, I've seen your like before. You think you can call upon me and enchant some worthless boy to fall in love with you—"
"It's not a boy," is all I can say, but it stops the witch midsentence.
"Oh, is it not? How...fascinating." Her eyes meet mine again, and somewhere in the inky depths gleams something like interest. "A girl, then?" Her lips curl up a bit and I reflexively avert my eyes, looking over at the wall nearest me. Its wooden boards show signs of age, their rich brown coloring muddled with clumps of red and green whose sources I don't even want to know.
"Yes."
"Mmm," says the witch, sounding thoughtful. "Tell me, then, who is she? What about her entrances you so?"
"She's..." I trail off, mind clouding as the familiar images of my desire come to the forefront. Even thinking about her makes me weak at the knees, but I try my best to steady myself. The witch already thinks me half a fool, no need to prove her correct. "She is divine, I think."
She smiles again—understanding rather than mocking, this time—and brushes a wayward curl away from her face. "I see. Such a feeling is difficult to articulate."
"It is," I agree, not knowing what else to say. In any case, the witch seems to understand. I wonder who she's loved, in her life. "Yet I am no-one to her. She does not deign to look at me."
"That can be remedied," she begins, stepping back and rummaging through a drawer. "Bring me something of hers." Her eyes come to fix on mine again, and it's a bit less off-putting this time. "An object, a garment, something she loves. And...material from her body. Blood, hair, nail clippings. The enchantment requires physical and emotional memory."
I consider this. It shouldn't be too hard, hopefully as long as I can find an opportune time to enter her home... A great risk, to be sure, but a worthy one.
"Is that all?"
"For now."
I stand, squinting a little, searching the witch's face for some sign of deceit. "That seems reasonable. Do you...do you require payment?"
The witch narrows her eyes at me with yet another disarming smile, showing her long and surprisingly clean teeth. Her incisors look pointed enough to pierce skin. "Were you a typical simpering lady begging me to bewitch the heart of some starry-eyed boy, I would. But you," she pauses, and before I know it she's glided up close to me, dissolving the boundary of space between us, her hand brushing ever-so-lightly against my own, "are anything but."
I step back on instinct, mouth opening ever-so-slightly, unable to stop the slight fluttering in my heart. Not quite as intense as it is in the presence of my love, not quite the same consuming desire, but still—an unfamiliar sensation, strange but not entirely unwelcome.
"Oh, don't be all flustered now," she purrs, brushing a stray hair out of my face and making me shiver. "We've only just begun our arrangement, after all."
My brain soon slithers its way back into control, and I slip out of the witch's loose embrace, breaking eye contact. "I should—" I glance out the window, noting the sky's burnt-orange glow— "I should find my way back before it grows dark."
"Mm, probably best. What a shame, to lose someone so fascinating to the terrors of the night."
I begin to move towards the door, mind swirling, but I cannot lose my composure. "Thank you for the opportunity." Somehow, as if by magic, my voice does not shake.
Feeling the witch's eyes upon me, I push open the heavy door and take a step out into the evening.
"One final thing," she calls. I turn back, and her eyes lock onto mine once again. "Beware of love, child," she says, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "It may destroy you, should you abandon your wits."
"We'll see," I reply, taking another step. Maybe that's what I want, I think but do not say, and the last thing I see before closing the door behind me is the witch's half-smile morphed into a wicked, knowing grin.
~
Gathering the requisite materials is rather easy, it turns out. My love often leaves her house unattended while on her curious social exploits, and it is not difficult to slip in through the back one sunny day. People have a tendency to not notice that which they do not expect to notice, and I have always been better than most at avoiding attention.
A rogue strand of auburn hair sits upon her pillow, as if it were placed there for my taking. There is a necklace on the table beside the bed, carelessly twisted like something that's been taken off with haste. It is made of some sort of rough twine, with a pendant in the shape of a crescent moon.
~
Ascending the steps to the witch's home is easier the second time. She answers the door promptly, as if she were expecting me, and lets me in without a word. The interior of the cottage looks about the same as it did a few days before, though there is a pronounced smell of something vaguely foul emanating from a far room.
I procure the hair and the pendant from a pocket and hand them to her. The witch takes them silently, inspecting both with scrutinizing attention.
"This is acceptable," she says after several moments. She does not say more, though, and I look at her with raised eyebrows.
"I have provided what you asked for," I say slowly, causing her eyes to snap back to my face.
"Indeed you have," she affirms. "I confess, I expected you to take longer, or perhaps not follow up at all. This will serve, for now. I cannot spark the fires of love in your lady's heart, but I can begin the process. She will no longer ignore you, at the very least."
"Thank you."
Her lips curl into that devilish smile once again. "I bid you good luck."
Walking up the path back to the village for the second time, I feel a strange sense of anticipation come over me. As if pieces that have always been disparate are now sliding into perfect place...
~
Two days hence, the witch's enchantment bears its first fruit.
My love looks at me, finally, searing the image of her gaze into my memory, a beacon shining amongst the dull crowd, a flash of red against bland brown and gray and green.
I stare back, feeling the ball of nervous excitement in my chest loosen and dissolve. In the blink of an eye, she is gone, but her image lingers, a radiant ghost sketched on the inside of my eyelids.
~
After that, the game is afoot. We spin and weave around each other, meeting in alcoves and alleys and backrooms, guided by naught but the primeval instinct of desire.
Ours is no fairytale romance, if it can even be called a romance at all. There are no flowers, no impassioned pleas, no heartfelt confessions—our love letters are written in our eyes, forever fixed upon each other. We seal our kisses with iron, and the taste is sweet as I always imagined it to be.
~
"A heart is no precious thing, truly," she says one evening, looking up at me from where she lays, her head a welcome weight upon my chest.
"No?"
"It's merely another soft piece of flesh, just like the rest of us." She smiles with a flash of teeth, pressing her lips to the skin near my breast—just above my heart. "So delicate, so fragile," her teeth graze my skin, coming down slowly, lovingly, "so easy to rend—don't you think?"
I do not reply, letting the blissful pain bloom as she bites. My breath hitches, my heartbeat grows quicker, and my love grins at me, a flicker of my blood darkening her lower lip.
~
I have long considered myself an eternal observer, but there are some sights that even I tremble to behold.
My love is entwined with another, a girl of pale hair and bright eyes the color of spring, their bodies pressed together in visceral passion. There is no blood, no instinctual, destructive desire, but the sight shatters my illusion all the same.
There is a self-deprecating, voyeuristic part of me that enjoys watching them, watching the way they move so freely, so in tune with each other, the way their desire surrounds them in a warm sticky glow. Perhaps this is what normal love looks like, virtuous and pure.
But that is only one part of myself. Unbidden, an image comes to my mind of brutal punishment, of the girl swinging from a tree, drenched in blood, her eyes gouged out by crows and her incessant smile replaced with open-mouthed shock, her treachery imprinted on her face for eternity.
I leave the scene as quickly as I found it, my footsteps too light and silent to be heard, the fantasy of revenge alone keeping me from succumbing wholly to despair.
~
"I have been betrayed."
The witch peers at me over her teacup, eyebrows furrowed. A long, expectant silence follows, and soon after I find myself telling my tale—perhaps against my better judgment, but I have no one else to tell.
She listens attentively, as I might have expected, and when I am done she looks at me with something like concern.
"My condolences," she offers, tone strangely flat, but I do not flinch. "How do you feel?"
I close my eyes, ground myself, breathe in deeply and exhale. "Hurt, I suppose," I say, matching the witch for apathetic affect; whatever is roiling in my heart is too chaotic to be expressed. "I ought to have expected it. She is...impulsive in such a way."
The witch hums in response, tapping two fingers against the table she's leaning on. She dips her head, and when she raises it again her eyes are hard and intense in a manner I have not yet seen.
In an instant, she drifts across the floorboards toward me, taking my left hand in both of hers. "Do you thirst for vengeance, my little lovebird?" she whispers, spreading gooseflesh across my skin. My heart pounds in my ears, and in that moment all I can do is give a slight nod.
~
A few days thereafter, the pale-haired girl is found on a path near the entrance to the woods. There is no blood, no puncture wound, no rope, but neither is there a pulse in her smooth neck.
Her eyes are not so bright, in death. I hide a smile behind a shocked hand and watch my love weep.
~
I make no mention of the girl's murder to my love. Nor does she, but she seems to tiptoe around me in conversation, and has taken to peering at me every chance she gets, as if I am a puzzle she seeks to solve.
One evening, we are wandering near the edge of the forest, and the opportunity strikes me. "I saw you." She turns to face me fully, eyes narrowing, but says nothing.
"I saw you," I repeat, taking a step closer to her. "You and the dead girl." She does not pretend to wonder what I'm referring to, nor does she deny the accusation. Somehow, it almost seems as though she is smiling.
My love glances away for a few long moments, uncharacteristically still, then meets my eyes once more. "Come with me."
I accept her offered hand, and she leads me down the well-trod path into the woods. We walk a ways deep, deeper than we've ever been before, until we can no longer hear the village, until the trees have drowned out the world.
Without warning, she twists my arm behind me and pushes me up against a tree. The trunk's bark is rough against my back. I look at her in surprise.
My love grasps my other wrist, holds them both above my head. Her eyes sparkle with glorious mischief as she brings her face close to mine.
"I don't know why I did it," she whispers against my neck, taking skin between her teeth, biting down. My body quivers under her touch, as always, her presence subsuming all rational thought, all potential inhibition. "It just happened. You were distant, and she was there and—"
"I wanted to kill her," I admit, so softly I don't realize I've said it aloud until my love stops speaking. Her eyes brighten and a smile crosses her face, sharp enough to slit a throat.
She presses her hands into my shoulders, pushing me roughly down towards the ground. I drop to my knees as the world collapses down to this single, narrow, intense moment. There is nothing but my cracked lips and her blazing eyes and the euphoric tingling in my neck as she continues her descent.
"You should have," she hisses with a demon's grin, satisfied and sinful. Her lips close around a soft, sensitive part near my collarbone, and my perception blurs, spiraling further and further into brilliant, violent ecstasy.
(Sometime, somewhere, a raven flaps its wings, but I am not lucid enough to hear it.)
~
I wake to the dim light of a candle and the familiar smell of woodsmoke and noxious plants. The worn wood floor is cold and coarse beneath me. My hands are bound in tight rope that chafes at the skin of my wrists, and my back is against the wall. There was once a window in this room, but now I somehow do not see it.
To my left is my love, trapped in the same position, awake and writhing. She looks at me, opens her mouth and yet no sound comes out. Her eyes are wide and inflamed, and her body shakes with silent tremors. I have never seen her afraid before.
"She's a feisty one," drawls a familiar voice, and I turn my head to see the witch looking down at me with glittering eyes—though her smile doesn't quite meet them. "I see, now, why she captivates you so. I had to...restrain her, lest she wake you at an inopportune time."
I ignore her taunts. "What the hell is this?" I spit, but the witch merely laughs.
"Ah, the little bird finds her spine at last," she mocks. "I knew you would, given the proper motivation."
Her words sting, but I breathe in, letting them wash over me like rainwater. "What do you want of me?"
She stalks up close to me, smiling like a feral cat that has just captured its prey. "You once came to me with a request, not so long ago." She strokes my cheek light as a feather, just as she did during our first meeting. "I am simply collecting my payment."
"And what would that be?" I force my voice to sound genuine, dutiful—anything less and the witch will suspect true treachery.
"Oh, I believe you can hazard a guess." Her eyes shift with slow purpose, to a sharp, ornate knife on the ground to my right. I could reach it, were it not for the ropes binding my hands.
Even a fool would grasp her meaning. "Why?" I ask, hoping to buy some vestige of time.
"To prove yourself," the witch answers simply. "You told me she betrayed you, and yet...the scene I came upon looked like anything but betrayal."
I feel my love's eyes upon me, but my eyes are fixed on the witch. "Lust is a powerful thing." Her smile curls and twists; she looks away for an instant, then back to me. "How pitiful."
The realization hits me in an instant, and I feel foolish for not considering it sooner. "You did not expect the spell to take." It is not a question.
The witch gives a minute shake of her head. For the first time, I notice the lines in her face, the stiffness of her posture and her movements.
"What is it you wanted?" I ask on impulse. She does not answer, but somewhere in my heart I already know the answer.
"If I..." I risk a glance at my love. Her eyes dart between myself and the witch; she looks to be putting the pieces together. "If I do as you bid, will you let me go?"
"Yes. End this here, and your debt will be repaid. I will be gone, and you will return to your life."
I cast my eyes to the ceiling above me. A tiny shaft of sunlight shines through a hole. It takes all my willpower to hide my smile. "I'll do it. Unbind my hands."
The witch approaches me with heavy steps, splitting the rope and handing me the blade without looking at me. My wrists burn, but I do not heed them. I grasp the knife in my right hand and slowly, painfully begin to stand.
Calculating, I take a step toward my love, holding the knife at my side, its point facing out. The witch's presence is a spiteful ghost behind me.
I dip my head, hunch my body slightly, lower my right knee to the floorboards. I have only a second to act, only one chance to save my love.
I feel the witch shift to the right, to gain a better view of what she believes will happen. I meet my love's eyes: pleading and fearful but hard, ready, quick. A cornered animal waiting for an opportunity, for any chance at survival.
My lips form into a slight, small smile, for my love's eyes only. She does not move a muscle, but I know she understands.
In one fluid motion, I drag the knife across the rope around my love's hands, slicing it clean in two. I let the knife fall from my hand and into hers before dropping my body to the ground and rolling to the right. It is crude and painful, but it is just enough of a distraction for my love to spring up in my place, aim the dagger at the witch's neck, and catch her unawares with a wild, grisly stab.
The witch's eyes widen in instinctive shock, and her hands go to her neck, but the damage is done. Her knees hit the ground first, and then she begins to fall to one side, scrabbling to remove the knife all the while.
My love stands above her, grinning—a slight push to her shoulder, and the witch rolls onto her back. I come to stand beside her, gazing down at the dying woman.
Taken by a spark of inspiration, I kneel next to the witch's body. "You were wrong," I say softly as her life bleeds away. "Love didn't destroy me. It created me." I do not know if she hears me as she dies, for her eyes simply stare at me, forbidding pools of black as they were in life.
My love watches as I close those eyes, a protective presence at my back. When it is done, I stand to face her. She extends the knife towards me, hilt first, but I shake my head. "I think you've won it."
She smirks and takes my hand. "If you insist, love." Then she spits on the witch's body, kicks open the door, and leads me out into the day.
~
In the late-morning sun, my love is red-stained and radiant, a beautiful murderous vision, dream and nightmare in one visceral image. Witch's blood coats her face and drips from her lips like wine. I long to kiss her and taste it for myself.
Her eyes shine with feral pride, satisfaction, victory. If there is a god in this world, I decide, it is she. I kneel at her feet, gazing up at her. My mouth opens, but I do not speak, for words cannot capture my reverence.
"I know," she smiles. She extends a bloody hand towards me, and I clasp it, letting her pull me back to my feet.
For the entire journey back to the village, our hands stay entwined—and nothing, not lust nor magic nor even death itself, will ever pull them apart.