"If it's as you say, you may take as much rampion away with you as you like, but on one condition only -- that you give me the child your wife will shortly bring into the world."
The tiny baby was the prettiest thing the one called the witch had ever seen. Even though she was just an hour old, her big blue eyes showed an older, wiser soul. Every time the witch looked at those deep blue eyes, they pulled her in and wrapped her in oceans and oceans of comfort. Her own brown eyes looked away as her shaking hand reached for her abdomen.
She looked at the trembling couple holding each other—the woman gripping the man's arms as if they were the only things holding her up. The horror that she saw in the woman's eyes caused a pang in her chest. She looked away and blinked back sudden tears. No. She must not feel any pity for the woman. The woman will have more children, enough to fill the small cottage, whereas she would be alone if not for this child.
It really was a tiny little cottage. It was actually just a large room. A rickety bed and a small table occupied one side of the room and the baker's table was on the other half of the room. An almost-empty bag of flour was on the table, the sides drooping. An equally ragged and empty looking bag of sugar sat beside it. The smell of burnt bread filled the room and stuck to her dress, and no matter how hard she would wash it later at home, it would always smell like burnt bread.
"Please. Don't take her away from us." The woman, like her, was clutching her abdomen. Tears rolled down her face and fell onto her shift. The man held her tighter, rocking her and stroking her hair and murmuring two words over and over again. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
"No. You made a promise. Promises must be kept." The witch's voice lowered to a whisper as she said the last sentence.
"What are a few pieces of lettuce?" The man suddenly looked at her, his breathing ragged, his eyes blazing. "Surely this is not a fair exchange." His voice turned pleading. "I can give you money. I can sell more bread. Why, just yesterday a man came in here and bought three loaves of bread. I can feel it, things are good, it will be, it has to be."
"I have no use for money," the witch heard herself say. She sounded different, and that voice that wasn't hers scared her more than anything else. Her hand trembled as she adjusted the baby's blanket. The baby made a gurgling sound, searching for food. A tiny wail arose from the infant as she realized that food was not on the person that held her. The witch held the baby closer to her chest and took a step backward.
"Please." The woman was weeping silently, but that single whispered word pierced every bone in her body.
"Promises must be kept." The witch's whisper was soft—so soft that she doubted the couple heard her. It didn't matter. She was gone before they could do anything but fall on their knees and hold each other. The woman's wail held a single note, piercing the air, sharp and strong and full of despair before it dissolved into a series of sobs that seemed to wrack her soul with each shake. Their child was gone. Their only child.
a/n: please please please review? hahaha i would really love to hear comments, critiques on how to improve, etc... hehehe... it might spur me on to write the next chapter... hint hint hint... hehe