Marlot placed the empty food tray outside the door. She turned to see Jack lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“Why do they hate us so much Marlot?”
“Because they believe the stories.”
“The ones you don’t want me to read.” He turned his brown eyes to her, his face unreadable.
Marlot sat next to him, “Maybe if I had let you read them… no it wouldn’t have done us any good.”
“I want to know why they hate you so much.”
Marlot sighed then recited the tale of Hansel and Gretel, the story that most closely resembled Eric’s childhood misfortunes and misconceptions of witches. Jack listened closely, his expression thoughtful.
“Do witches really have houses made of gingerbread and sweets?”
“The witch laughed, “What do you think?”
“Our house is made of wood, it seems much more practical, and wouldn’t a candy house just melt in the rain? So that part can’t be true… what about eating children?”
“I have never harmed a human in order to use them for spells or nourishment.”
“What about other witches?”
Marlot stood up and went to the window, “Not all witches are like me Jack, some are cruel and wicked, like the stories, but most of us keep to ourselves or our own kind, it’s safer that way.”
“Will I ever get to meet them Marlot?”
“Yes, we all gather for the summer and winter solstice, and I need to register you with the council. They won’t be happy, but you will just be one more mark on a long list against me.”
“Witches aren’t supposed to make golems?”
She turned around to face him, “For all I know, it’s forbidden.”
He looked thoughtful and a little sad for a moment, he then reached out his arms toward her, like a small child who wants to be picked up. She crawled onto the bed next to him, hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble,” he whispered.
“I wouldn’t trade you for anything my little scarecrow.” And so after a rather long, painful, and exhausting day they fell asleep safe and warm in each other’s arms.
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