“EXCUSE me. Is this the dwelling of the Witch of the Lake?”
Startled by the unexpected visitor, the witch Rose froze with her hand on the opened door. She brushed pale-pink locks of hair off her cheek and tucked them behind her ear.
Standing in the doorway to Rose’s not-so-very-big (or rather, quite small) home-turned-workplace was a man hidden deep under a cloak so as to avoid being seen.
“Yes…indeed. This is the dwelling place of the Good Witch of the Lake.”
“I know this is sudden, but I’d like to make a request,” the man tersely said, informing her of his business in a pretentious tone accustomed to commanding others. The face she barely glimpsed under the hood was noticeably handsome even in the dim lamplight. Rose knew who he was even if he didn’t offer his name.
Harij Azm pulled the hood even lower over his beautiful face. It was only natural for visitors to conceal their identity upon coming to see the Witch. Coming to the Witch’s dwelling was a stain on one’s reputation, for no one wanted to be hexed by a fickle witch.
Swallowing hard, Rose watched Harij closely, wondering what absurd request brought the man who had no business here to her doorstep.
Harij spoke with a solemn air. “I want you to make a love potion.”
Too shocked for words, Rose reflexively brought the lettuce she was holding to her lips. She chewed on it like a rabbit might. The crispiness of the tender leaf satisfactorily crunched between her teeth.
“…Unfortunately, love potions are currently out of stock.”
“Then I assume you can make more?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
I might have botched that answer. Hidden just as well as Harij by her hooded robe, Rose realized too late that her evasive reply had failed to do its job, for Harij took her response to mean it could be done.
“In that case, I’ll place an order. I will collect any ingredients you require.”
“…It’s very expensive.”
“I’ll pay your asking price.”
“And it will take quite a long time to prepare…”
“I’ll wait. I’m sorry, but I hope you understand that you have no right to turn down my request.”
MUNCH. MUNCH. GULP.
Rose swallowed the rest of the lettuce.
Harij’s overbearing command was punctuated by a surprising lack of guilt.