It is not exactly Prunella's sixteenth birthday, but it is close
enough to safely call her sixteen years old. Although she has been working
hard for over five years, and beaten almost daily, her beauty has only
grown. Her eyes are still deep violet, and they still dance, although it is
usually under a shimmer of tears. Her skin is still pale, though it is a
bit darker than it was when she came, and it is marred by a few scars and
bruises. Her hair is still as black as coal, though now the plait reaches
her thighs. Her lips are still rose-petal pink, but they have not turned up
in a smile for years. Her body has filled out, her face has matured. The
sunlight filters in through the window and wakes her up. She knows that she
is to be tested today. She also knows that she will undoubtedly fail, and
she will die. Her spirits are low as she swings her feet over the bed. She
hears footsteps coming up the first few stairs.
"Oh, Prunella, little thief, get up, get dressed, get down here! It's time fer yer first test!" Noita's voice starts out sickening sweet and ends up puckering sour.
Prunella does not want to die, but she tells herself that it is better this way. No more chores, no more beatings, no more anger, no more sorrow, and most of all, no more loneliness. She does as Noita bids her. When she gets downstairs, she sees Noita is holding a bucket in her twisted fingers.
"Take this bucket out to the well and fill 'er up. Then bring it to me." she says. "If ya don't get it done by the end o' the day, I'll kill ya." She thrusts the bucket into Prunella's hands, then pushes her out the door.
Prunella goes to the very back of the yard to the old well. She secures the bucket to the rope and cranks it down to the bottom. When she draws it back up, she is overjoyed to see it is full of water. Her heart sings. Perhaps she will live to see another day. She unties the rope and starts to carry the bucket towards the house. As she does, the water seeps out of the bottom of the bucket as though it were a sieve. Prunella's heart sinks like a stone. She tries over and over again, but in vain. The bucket refuses to hold any water. She sees the sun overhead passing towards the west. Cold, tired, hungry, lonely, and devastated, she sat down next to the well, put her head in her hands, and cried, much as she had that very first day.
"Prunella, why are you crying?" She jumps up, startled. The warmth and compassion in that voice means so much to her that she hasn't noticed that it is masculine, and when she sees the person who spoke to her, she blushes. It is a young man, perhaps a year or so older than her. His handsome face shows concern. He appears to be strong, as though he has worked every day of his life. The light, burnished-gold color of his skin reinforces that suggestion. Thick, dark hair tumbles over his forehead and into his deep brown eyes. They meet with hers for a few seconds, long enough for her to see the touch of sadness within them, then he drops his gaze shyly. He has a quiet demeanor about him. For a moment, she is sure that she dreams; for another moment, she believes he is an angel.
"Who are you?" she asks in bewilderment, ignoring his question.
"My name is Bensiabel," the young man says. "I am the witch's son." At this, Prunella shies away from him. "Don't be afraid, my dear. I am here to help you. I will fill your bucket for you. All I ask in return is a kiss. Will you give me one?" His face is hopeful. He knows he would be lucky just to hold her hand, just to caress her skin, just to touch her hair. Already he feels like he is dreaming, to talk to her and hear her talk back, to look into her violet eyes and know she sees him. And he feels guilty, blackmailing her into this show of affection she does not feel. Yet he wants more than anything in the world to touch his lips to hers. After all these years, he has fallen in love with her. Perhaps he has loved her since first he saw her.
"No!" she gasps, horrified. Her eyes remain fearful as she grimaces. "I could never kiss the son of a witch!"
Bensiabel's face falls as though his heart is breaking. The light in his lovely brown eyes fades away. He looks much like the little boy who learned that his mother's new apprentice would never know he exists: hopeless and alone. He feels betrayed, yet he knows he could never let her die, no matter what she thinks of him. He needs to save her so that he can escape with her. Let them go their seperate ways then; Bensiabel would be happy just knowing she was safe from his mother.
To Prunella's surprise, Bensiabel picks up the bucket in silence and fills it at the well despite her reaction to his request. He uses his magic to keep it full. He walks towards the house, motioning for Prunella to follow. She obliges. At the door, he hands her the bucket, and without a word, he vanishes.
Prunella walks in and gives the bucket to Noita. The old crone gives her a wary look. "Did anyone help ya?" she asks suspiciously. Prunella cannot bring herself to lie; she only looks at the floor and says nothing. Noita's craggy face grows dark. "Well, we'll see who wins in the end, girl." She pauses. "Yer next test is tomorrow."
"Oh, Prunella, little thief, get up, get dressed, get down here! It's time fer yer first test!" Noita's voice starts out sickening sweet and ends up puckering sour.
Prunella does not want to die, but she tells herself that it is better this way. No more chores, no more beatings, no more anger, no more sorrow, and most of all, no more loneliness. She does as Noita bids her. When she gets downstairs, she sees Noita is holding a bucket in her twisted fingers.
"Take this bucket out to the well and fill 'er up. Then bring it to me." she says. "If ya don't get it done by the end o' the day, I'll kill ya." She thrusts the bucket into Prunella's hands, then pushes her out the door.
Prunella goes to the very back of the yard to the old well. She secures the bucket to the rope and cranks it down to the bottom. When she draws it back up, she is overjoyed to see it is full of water. Her heart sings. Perhaps she will live to see another day. She unties the rope and starts to carry the bucket towards the house. As she does, the water seeps out of the bottom of the bucket as though it were a sieve. Prunella's heart sinks like a stone. She tries over and over again, but in vain. The bucket refuses to hold any water. She sees the sun overhead passing towards the west. Cold, tired, hungry, lonely, and devastated, she sat down next to the well, put her head in her hands, and cried, much as she had that very first day.
"Prunella, why are you crying?" She jumps up, startled. The warmth and compassion in that voice means so much to her that she hasn't noticed that it is masculine, and when she sees the person who spoke to her, she blushes. It is a young man, perhaps a year or so older than her. His handsome face shows concern. He appears to be strong, as though he has worked every day of his life. The light, burnished-gold color of his skin reinforces that suggestion. Thick, dark hair tumbles over his forehead and into his deep brown eyes. They meet with hers for a few seconds, long enough for her to see the touch of sadness within them, then he drops his gaze shyly. He has a quiet demeanor about him. For a moment, she is sure that she dreams; for another moment, she believes he is an angel.
"Who are you?" she asks in bewilderment, ignoring his question.
"My name is Bensiabel," the young man says. "I am the witch's son." At this, Prunella shies away from him. "Don't be afraid, my dear. I am here to help you. I will fill your bucket for you. All I ask in return is a kiss. Will you give me one?" His face is hopeful. He knows he would be lucky just to hold her hand, just to caress her skin, just to touch her hair. Already he feels like he is dreaming, to talk to her and hear her talk back, to look into her violet eyes and know she sees him. And he feels guilty, blackmailing her into this show of affection she does not feel. Yet he wants more than anything in the world to touch his lips to hers. After all these years, he has fallen in love with her. Perhaps he has loved her since first he saw her.
"No!" she gasps, horrified. Her eyes remain fearful as she grimaces. "I could never kiss the son of a witch!"
Bensiabel's face falls as though his heart is breaking. The light in his lovely brown eyes fades away. He looks much like the little boy who learned that his mother's new apprentice would never know he exists: hopeless and alone. He feels betrayed, yet he knows he could never let her die, no matter what she thinks of him. He needs to save her so that he can escape with her. Let them go their seperate ways then; Bensiabel would be happy just knowing she was safe from his mother.
To Prunella's surprise, Bensiabel picks up the bucket in silence and fills it at the well despite her reaction to his request. He uses his magic to keep it full. He walks towards the house, motioning for Prunella to follow. She obliges. At the door, he hands her the bucket, and without a word, he vanishes.
Prunella walks in and gives the bucket to Noita. The old crone gives her a wary look. "Did anyone help ya?" she asks suspiciously. Prunella cannot bring herself to lie; she only looks at the floor and says nothing. Noita's craggy face grows dark. "Well, we'll see who wins in the end, girl." She pauses. "Yer next test is tomorrow."