As the potion brewed in the cauldron over the flames Merope turned the page of the spell book she was using as a guide. She had become quite good at potion making by now and enjoyed it as past time. She had even used some to change her appearance. She now had longer more wavy locks of brunet hair that fell to the middle of her back, and piercing blue eyes. The rest of her beauty was natural. After the departure of her father and brother she now had the time and the freedom to do what she pleased. In this case actually take care of herself. Fair skin that was lightly bronzed at the cheek bones from working in the garden where dotted with freckles were lightly spread. Now that there was no soot to hide her features she had a radiant glow about her that filled a room leaving it with nothing but a warm feeling of happiness. She did however keep the scars of her old beatings behind and did nothing to change or hide them. Leaving the marks behind on her body was a symbol to her and a remembrance that she would never let something happen like it again. Ever.
As she stirred the clear liquid it began to bubble. She smiled to herself and knew that she had added the ingredients correctly. She always took pride in her work when she accomplished something new. Mostly because it proved to her that she wasn't the worthless being her father had made her out to be. Proving her father wrong was all she did these days. Teaching herself how to be a better person, a better witch was even more of an achievement than she thought she could ever reach.
As the bubbles subsided she looked down at the now tinted pink concoction and added the last factor to the brew and stood back to wait and watch what would happen. Holding her breath with fingers crossed she now waited. After two minutes of simmering the potion began to bubble over again but once meeting with the stone floor disappeared into pink smoke. She giggled as the potion began to move the cauldron from side to side with gentle jerks. She had finally got it. After weeks of practice and tireless work she had mastered the forget me not potion. She danced on her tip toes as she took a flask of the draught and bottled it. She took her wand and quickly labeled it with a paper strip that stuck to the side of the glass jar. She then took a quill from the inkwell that rested in the desk beside her and in her loopy cursive wrote: forget me not. Still smiling she placed it on the shelf above the mantel with the rest of her accomplished potions that sat like trophies and began to clean up the now gooey residue that stuck to the inside of her cauldron. With a flick of her wand she gathered it up and let it hover out the open window into the garden. Resting itself between the blooming flowers and sinking into their roots. In her experience and knowledge from her spell books it made for great planting soil. The garden that she had tended to while her father and brother were still living with her had grown beyond what she had ever thought possible. Without the daily trampling and stomping from her brother it had doubled in size and splendor.
After finishing in the kitchen she put the now shining copper pots and pans to work and lit the old stove that she had been once a slave too. She waved her wand in the general direction of the clinking sounds and let the steak fall into the pan with a splat. It began to sizzle with the heat from underneath and flipped itself over every so often to make sure it cooked evenly. After it had cooked itself medium rare it slid from the pan onto a blue china plate and following directly by the greens she had begun to steam right after the meat had been started. Sitting down at the kitchen table she summoned a fork and steak knife to her and began to cut and eat her evening meal. She sighed as she kept a bite of steak in her mouth lightly sucking the flavor while thinking to herself how much she would have enjoyed a friend during the dinner hour. Her father and brothers company were not wanted in the slightest but the thought of not having a companion, a lover, someone, was overwhelming. She knew that no one in the village would ever think of coming near her cottage because of the reputation her father and brother had established. But at the same time if she went into town even if people didn't recognize her as soon as she brought them back to her home they would know exactly who she was. But more importantly they would judge her because of the actions her family had displayed in the past. The thought of moving had come to her many times. Beginning a new life under a new name in a new house with a whole new identity. But after thinking it through she couldn't bring herself to do it. Knowing she was a witch was one thing but living a lie was something else, something she couldn't accomplish on her own.
No one knew she still lived in the cottage. In fact she didn't even think they knew she existed. The only thing keeping them away from the household was probably the bad luck and jinxes they thought they would obtain if they came near it. She didn't mind being left alone and not bullied but the town's folk but at the same time longed for friends and a family. Something she knew she would never have as long as she lived with her fathers' name. The one thing he still had over her. Even thousands and thousands of miles away in a locked cell he could still silently torture her. Not with his fists or words but with loneliness.