So instead of writing this chapter… I read four books. Four. And these were massive chapter books – nothing like War & Peace, mind, but they weren't any Junie B. Jones, neither. …When I procrastinate, I procrastinate. But here it finally is!


Blackberry Scones


Molly felt nauseas. The room was warm and there was a thick smell about it. Like multiple lit candles or someone sprayed too many perfumes. She blinked her eyes, realizing there was a crick in her neck from resting her head on her chest.

The young farmer held a hand up to steady her spinning head. What happened? Where was she?

The rather passive girl looked about the room, slowly blinking her eyes from the throbbing headache. The walls were a light beige color and half of the furniture was pink or purple. Her eyes scanned a book shelf, a bed with a deep violet duvet, and the white table where she was sat. She was sitting in a chair. A rather uncomfortable chair. Her hair and clothes were just starting to dry, but they still stuck distastefully to her pale skin.

More awake and alarmed, Molly heard footsteps in the next room where loud bubbling sounds came. She gaped in surprise as a woman stepped cheerily out to greet her.

"Why, hello! Finally up, eh?" The silver-haired girl smiled. She slinked about Molly and sat on the table, crossing her slim, stocking covered legs.

"Where… What…?" Molly asked, rising to her feet.

The woman wouldn't have any of that. She gently pushed Molly's collar bone and sent her back into her chair. At the close proximity, Molly saw her eyes were a bright copper color. She couldn't help but gasp in surprise. The girl paid no attention, gently leaning back on her palms. "So… where you from?"

"T-Town…" Molly answered, giving her a good look up and down. She was ridiculously dressed in striped short shorts that poofed out. She wore a black corset and some sort of small cloak that tied with a bow around her neck. The drooped, pointed hat strapped round her head was the weirdest though. This woman was dressed for Hallows Eve!

"Whatcha doin' in the forest?" The woman continued to interrogate her, now swinging her legs like a merry little girl.

"I… I… was following the blue bird." Molly mumbled, wondering why she was explaining herself to this peculiar stranger. But then again, she was rather used to being ordered around so it wasn't anything new.

"Ooo, going to propose? That's… sweet," She sniffed haughtily.

"I had better get going…" Molly tried to stand up again and was pushed back into her seat, slightly more roughly than last time. The copper eyes flashed dangerously and for the first time, Molly actually felt scared to be in the small cottage.

"Tsk, tsk," The woman tutted. A light ring went off in the next room and she leapt to her feet. "Ooo, they're done!"

Molly quickly surveyed the room. Her eyes locked on a wooden door, but it was quite a distance. She hated to be rude, but the house was intimidating and she felt woozy in the stuffy air. And the woman who kept the place was strange and creepy and Molly had never seen her before. It was time to flee.

But the woman skipped back into the room as quickly as she had left. This time, she carried a hot metal pan in her oven mitt clad hands. She set the tray down on the table. "Mm! Blackberry scones? Made fresh, see?"

Molly smiled, feigning friendliness. "I'm quite alright, thanks."

"Oh, come on!" The other pouted, throwing her hands on her hips. "I put the kettle on and everything! Won't you have just one?"

"I really should be going," Molly repeated, standing up firmly this time.

The other woman glared, but she put the plastic smile back into place just as fast. "You're not going to stay? Just for tea?"

"I really have to get home. My fiancé will be worried about me," Molly insisted, walking briskly to the door.

The other woman sprung up and threw a light from across the room. As Molly's hand touched the door knob, it made a loud click and jarred. Molly twisted and jiggled it, but the door refused to open after being hit with the light. Spinning around on her heel, her eyes wide with fright, Molly accused: "You're a… a witch!"

"Surprised the hat didn't tip you off. Idiot," The Witch said, eying her nails in boredom.

The insult jabbed at her and Molly became more indignant. "Now… Now you open this door! Immediately!"

The silver-haired vixen smirked. "Or what? You going to brandish the pitchfork in your pocket at me? I don't think so."

Molly instinctively moved to her rucksack at her waist and jumped when she saw it was missing. So no axe or hammer for her. The farmer glared, her temper rising with each plea. "Open this door this very instant! I want to go home!"

The Witch attempted one last time to play nice, her guard rising, too. "I'll let you go home after you sit and have tea with me. Don't you want to be friends?"

Molly, not the wisest girl on Castanet, shouted: "I don't want any of your stupid scones or smelly tea, and I don't want to be you friend! I want to get the hell out of this ugly house and go home! Let. Me. GO!"

She ended by stamping her foot, and The Witch didn't take kindly to it. Stomping straight over to meet her, eyes flaming, Molly cringed slightly as the other woman snatched the hot metal tray, spilling the scones across the table and floor. She raised it threateningly over her head as she approached her. "You ungrateful, little mortal!"

Molly closed her eyes as the pan made contact, her world and mind spinning as she slumped to the ground. The last thing she remembered was The Witch grabbing her by the ankles and dragging her across the floor.


Molly never really considered herself aggressive. Sure, when she was a little girl, she would rough house with the island boys and scare the other little girls with bugs (how she met Luna, actually), but as she grew older, she became more and more like the object of her affections: Gill, the mayor's son. She became quieter, more passive. Less likely to argue and more likely to smile and shrug it off. Her friends were right: Molly had lost her fire. Or at least most of it. Because this time when she woke up, she was a fighter.

Molly tensed: her muscles stiff against the restraints. The rope tied about her middle kept her hands behind the same chair she woke up in before. Her hair was disheveled and her brain was pounding with the new lump on the back of her head. She blinked her eyes a few times, testing her vision.

"—something fierce," The Witch was muttering away somewhere behind her. Back in that kitchen room with the bubbling sound. "Because this is all your fault, you know. I've never prided myself on my temper, but you really like to bring the worst out of me, don't you? Just like that – oh, you're awake?"

Shuffling turned into footsteps and the smiling face of The Witch was before her. Molly glared bitterly at her, pushing against the rope that was keeping her in the chair. In a deadly voice, she muttered: "Let me go."

The Witch rolled her eyes. "Look, I'm not planning on keeping you like this forever. Maybe you'll learn to like it here. After some training, I'll take the rope off. But you need to learn some manners first and respect your hostess."

Molly kicked her legs out, nearly reaching the woman's shins. The Witch jumped out of the way without any trouble and made her way back into the kitchen.

Ready to play the game, Molly called: "If you untie me, I might consider being your friend. Friends don't tie up friends!"

"Pfft!"

"Or kidnap them for that matter!"

"Take a breather," The Witch said. "When you're in my position, you don't waste what you've been given. Hell, I haven't had a trespasser… ever, I don't think. I haven't even had company in eighty years…"

How old was she?! She knew that witches were mystics, but she didn't realize that affected their age. Then again, that would explain the 'mortal' comment… Molly shuddered at the idea of being locked in this room for eighty years. She needed to get out. Desperately, she called: "Please! My wedding is just a week away! I haven't even picked out my dress yet! You're a girl – you understand, right?"

The Witch re-entered the room with a fresh tray of steaming blackberry scones. The hot berry smell filled the room, which Molly actually enjoyed compared to the over-whelming scent of incense. "You're worried most about your dress? You really are an idiot."

Molly hung her head, the panic fading and despair replacing it.

The Witch took no notice. She placed two cups before them on the table and filled them to the brim with dark tea. She held a scone under of Molly's nose. "Here, have one! You know, since you can't exactly hold it yourself… This is what friends are for!"

Molly did her best not to scream or spit at her. She had lost this fight. Silently, she took a bite. She chewed it slowly and swallowed. It was good despite the bitter taste of captivity.

The Witch smiled and gave her a pat on the head. "Good, friend!"

Molly wondered if this witch knew the difference between 'friend' and 'pet.'

The two continued to eat the scones and tea, The Witch feeding Molly her share. A few quiet moments passed before Molly tried her hand at being sly. She had never had trouble making friends. So why should that stop now? "So… what's your name?"

The Witch looked glad to see that Molly was finally coming around to the idea of friendship, but at the same time, she looked grieved. She set down her scone, looking down at her hands in her lap. "I… can't tell you that."

"Why not?" Molly asked. "My name's Molly."

"Well, 'Molly,'" The Witch gave a small smile, "My name is a secret. I only give it to people I can trust."

Molly wrinkled her nose, but forced a smile. "Well… friends are people you trust. If you really want to be friends, you need to share your name. I can't be your friend if you're nameless."

The Witch was having a serious internal battle as Molly watched, trying to pressure her with her ceaseless stare. When she decided it wasn't working, she continued: "I can just call you 'The Witch,' but that hardly seems friendly. It's not like it's—"

"Vivi," The Witch said, eyes pinched shut tight.

"What?" Molly asked, leaning forward as much as she could in her bonds.

"I said, Vivi. My name is Vivi," The Witch repeated.

"Oh. Well… nice to meet you, Vivi," Molly admitted. She was actually rather shocked she told her. This witch must've been more desperate for friendship than she already realized. Molly somehow started feeling sorry for her.

"Nice to meet you, too, Molly," Vivi nodded. "But don't think I'm going soft – I won't take any of your mortal nonsense!"

"Mortal nonsense?" She asked, baffled.

"None of that 'marriage' or 'wedding' stuff. Ridiculous human things," Vivi rolled her eyes and took another sip of tea.

"You mean… You're not going to let me go?" Molly asked.

The Witch laughed; a tinkling, mocking sound. "Of course not!"

"I'm going to miss my own wedding?!"

Vivi stood, taking the dirty plates with her in a huff. "Goodness, you're so selfish! We haven't even finished tea and you're already talking about leaving again! Ugh!" She soon returned, grabbing a wooden staff from beside the bed and quickly looking in the mirror to straighten her hat. "Well, I'm off. You be good, mmkay, Molly? Toodles!"

"Bu-but, Vivi, wait!" Molly called, not able to follow after her as Vivi opened the front door and stepped out into the fresh air. The door shut behind her. "I'm not finished talking to you! Maybe we can work something out? Please?! Vivi! VIVI!"

Ignored, Molly stared up at the ceiling and groaned. Gill was never going to believe this…