The senex stared at the garlic, the little cast-iron pot. Should she summon the Old One? What would it demand this time? But half her staff had been taken, the other half, turned. The chorus-women deserted. Once again the child zealots had led them astray.
She removed the pot, chanting:
The Outsider’s here, siddle-siddle, hiss Lay the garlic in the pan, make yourself a wish Round about it go, dance in despair I’m the one who betrays with a siddle-siddle, kiss.
If only there were some other way to be re-elected.
But at what cost? At what cost??
word count: 100
written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers
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The four friends sat in the pale moonlight beside a flickering fire. The youngest of them was just short of thirty, the others led by four or five. They had long met in this clearing by the marshes, surrounded on all sides by woods. As the darkness grew heavier, their thoughts turned inward to the Marsh Fiend of Vetiver and Thyme. She travelled alone like a ghost far from home luring travelers to her side. And once they had seen her and gazed quietly at her while she smiled her forlorn smile.
“Clumsy, you are,” the old Tutor said, looking at the woman before him.
She bowed down her head like a wounded deer, the shame creeping up her neck
Like a phantom of heat engulfing her head until she sank down before him.
There before them lay the shattered remains of the crystal goblet of Cardis.
It sat on the shelf like a glowering menace, dusty with age and disuse and fine cobwebs like a gauzy shroud. Even buried as it was behind apothecary jars and pestles, it was still the first thing the visitors to the six hundred-year-old museum wanted to touch.