In the village where Sewell lived, there also lived a witch.
The first son to his family, Sewell had grown up in relative prosperity. Their home dealt with lumber, and they often received requests to deliver their stock to nearby towns and villages. A number of people were employed to work for the family, and they even owned a big dog.
It all began one day, when the ten-year-old Sewell was having some cake for dessert. Other plates, laden with madeleines, cookies, and more, also decorated the table. The reason Sewell had a more “esteemed” physique than other kids his age was due to the fact that he enjoyed treats and snacks far more than he enjoyed regular meals...which was not to say he did not also love his three square meals a day.
At any rate, Sewell was munching away as he watched his long-haired brown dog bound about the family’s big garden. Sewell’s fondness for treats had led to his dog being named “Candy.”
All of a sudden, Candy let out a huge bark. She was the family’s guard dog, and, being well-trained, only barked when someone suspicious was nearby. Sewell glanced over, and saw a figure passing down the street by their garden.
“Wait, is that...?” he said, eyes narrowing, as he swallowed the last bit of his madeleine.
Candy was barking at a girl who was walking swiftly by.
The girl had waist-length red hair, which was so untamed that Sewell doubted she had ever combed it before. In the gaps between her bird’s-nest-like hair, two dangerously fierce red eyes peeped out. Perhaps this skinny girl whose long hair hid most of her face had scared Candy.
“Candy, stop that! Enough of that noise,” Sewell said. Candy let out a small whine and obediently came back to Sewell. He stroked the head of his large, obedient friend, and looked up again, only to find that the girl was no longer there.
Sewell wondered when it was that he’d first started seeing her around. Noticing his interested stare, the family housekeeper opened her mouth.
“Dearie me, what a filthy girl she was. Make sure to avoid that repugnant little creature, young master.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s a witch.”
Sewell had only ever heard of witches from fairy tales—wicked creatures who sought to destroy the relationship between the prince and princess who were in love. But to Sewell, that barefooted girl who walked by all on her own didn’t seem like a bad person.
“That girl’s taken up residence in a small shack on the outskirts of our village. The other villagers who have gone to investigate said that a foul smell exudes from that place, day in and day out. I expect that she’s cooking up some detestable concoctions in there. How dreadful this whole affair is.”
“I see...” Sewell said, putting on an obedient act. The housekeeper seemed satisfied with his response.
Unfortunately, this was a crucial mistake on her part, for any child who’d heard such a tale would certainly be filled with curiosity.
A day later, Sewell snuck out of his house. He had finished his studies and his chores for the day, so he presumed neither of his parents would have any qualms if they did find out about this. As he headed out of the village, a strange scent came wafting to his nose.
“It smells like,” Sewell said, sniffing the air with his large nose, “a potion.”
Many in the village had complained, saying it stank or reeked, and they may have been right. But to Sewell, the smell didn’t seem that awful at all.
It didn’t take him long to get to the shack. It was a small building, hardly large enough to be called a house. Holding his breath, Sewell knocked upon the door.
From inside, he heard someone shuffling about. Soon, the door—which was no more than a single sheet of wood, really—creaked open.
The girl, who was wearing nothing but a patchwork of cloth scraps, was clearly surprised to see Sewell standing at her door.
“It’s you...” she said. Behind this curt greeting lay a voice that Sewell couldn’t help but find cute. She came closer to Sewell, eyeing him, and he saw that she seemed close to him in age. Sewell’s heart began racing. This was the first time a girl had ever come this close to him.
“I remember you. You’re the chubby kid from the lumber dealer’s house. What d’you want?”
Sewell was surprised to learn that she knew who he was. His cheeks flushed red with joy at this fact.
“H-Hello,” he said, but the girl merely looked at him with an unhappy expression.
“You here to request some medicine?”
“Request? What’s that mean?”
In the next instant, the door slammed shut, bringing an end to the pair’s first proper meeting.
The next day, Sewell headed over to the shack on the outskirts of the village once again. The girl wasn’t in her house like before, but was instead crouching by the edge of the forest.
“What’re you doing?” Sewell said, thudding over heavily. However, the girl merely let out a big sigh before walking off without a word.
“What’s your name? My name’s Sewell!”
The girl remained silent, but Sewell paid this no mind. He simply wanted to talk to her—to hear that sweet voice once again.
And so he headed over to her shack the day afterwards, and the day after that too.
The girl chased him off, sometimes using a broom, but Sewell didn’t let that stop him. His desire to talk to her was that strong.
On this day in particular, he found the girl picking some herbs that were growing by the path. He had noticed that she always used the fireplace and cauldron that had been left behind in the shack for her potion making.
“Why’d you choose to live here?”
Out of the many questions that Sewell had asked so far, this was the only one to which the girl instantly reacted. She glared up at Sewell with murderous intent.
“Am I not allowed to be here? Are you gonna try and chase me off, just like the other villagers?”
The girl’s air was far colder than it had been even a second ago. The emotion that filled Sewell’s breast then wasn’t joy at this long-awaited reply, but guilt.
“Not at all! I just heard that most witches live in a place called a ‘witch village,’ so I was curious... I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”
His furious desire to learn more about this girl had gotten ahead of him, and had resulted in him not asking his question properly.
At Sewell’s honest apology, the fire left the girl’s eyes. And so, she finally answered him.
“My mom died in an accident.”
This was the pain of the girl’s reality, which Sewell, who’d grown up in a well-off household without worries or cares, had never known.
“I dunno who my dad is,” she went on. “I don’t know his name or what he looks like—only that he ran off, abandoning my mom when she was pregnant with me. She gave birth to me all alone and raised me alone too. There was no one in her life that she could ask for help. Then, after mom died, I was chased out of the village where we lived. I walked here, and almost died in the process. That’s the only reason I live here.”
The girl told her tale with all the frankness in the world, and Sewell couldn’t help how he reacted to this sorrowful story.
“H-Hey, stop crying. It’s creeping me out,” she said, visibly awkward.