March 21, 2018

Pymascia, a young witch in search of a certain charm, looked down from her broom at the forest of garven trees. “Magenta root,” she muttered. Swerving left, she dove to darkness under the pale yellow garven canopy. Lightly landing, she stepped to the impressive trunk of the nearest garven tree. Wrinkled in swirls of magenta and black, the bark of the tree purred silent satisfaction.

“Yes,” said the witch. “I find ye as it was foretold.”

She fell to her knees and began to dig. Crumble dirt, easy to move, she tossed aside in clumps. She paused when she unearthed the root, the magenta root, the glowing magenta root.

“Yes,” said the witch.

She tore under the root with her talons in a frenzy. She leaped to her feet, thrusting her right fist toward the sky.

“I have it!” she cried.

Laughing a high shriek, away on her broom she soared. Forever after, all she had to do following a wild coven party was to raise the charm overhead and turn one full circle, thereby making her cottage spotlessly clean and neatly organized.

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