Witches Isle Chapter 10
A New Day
After a few days of sleeping, crying shamelessly, and moping about the house, she woke up and decided she was sick of feeling like this. She had never let herself feel her feelings so thoroughly, let herself succumb to angst and depression, swept away by it, lost in the storm until it had played itself out. She’d never had the luxury to just stay in bed when she had no desire to do otherwise. Here, she had all the time and space in the world, but for the last few months she had still been resisting her feelings. She’d let herself explore the hard feelings, sit in the sad for a few minutes, let a tear fall, and then would whisk it away, get her body moving, her mind focused on something new until the feeling faded back into the background.
She’d done it, let the feelings consume her. And now she was done with them; ready to move on. She sat up and stretched. Her body was aching to be moved, her stomach begging to be fed on more than the canned foods she’d scrounged for days. She busied herself gathering eggs, tomatoes, and squash to mix into an omelet. She mixed up dough for a loaf of bread and left it proofing in the kitchen while she tended to the neglected garden, spending a few hours catching up on the weeding, watering, and harvesting. By the time she was satisfied with her work, her cheeks were rosy and muscles sore. She brought a blanket out to the front porch and did a slow, steady yoga flow, stretching out all her muscles, gently engaging her breath and body in celebration of mobility, balance, and strength. When she was done, she sat and meditated, returning to the practices that had gotten her through her hardest seasons in the past. She felt her shoulders relax, and her body settle into itself, comfortable and familiar like your favorite chair.
Stepping back inside, she moved to the love seat and closed her eyes. Scarlet, Cocoa, are you here? I missed you. She waited a few moments, trying not to worry that she’d lost her friends for good. After a minute or two, she picked up a book and started reading. A gentle pressure on her knee drew her eyes, and there was Cocoa, looking up at her with soulful eyes, tail wagging when he caught her gaze. Her eyes moistened as she laid her head on his back, wrapping him in a hug. “Thanks for coming back, buddy. I missed you. I’m here now, I’m ready to be present, to do this.” He stretched out on his side, using her thigh as a pillow. She settled back, relieved.
The book she’d set down on the ottoman started flipping pages on its own, and she opened one eye, wary. The pages settled, and she leaned forward just enough to catch a glimpse of the page. Her eyes landed on this passage:
When overtaken by a curse or a spell of bad luck, much like a summer storm or wave of ill feelings, the only way out is through. Do not waste your energy on counter-spells, nor seek out novel luck charms. What’s done is done. Hold fast to your talisman, trust your intuition, and let the curse run its course. After three days, take a turn through the forest, speak your mantra, and shake off the curse with vigor. It will fall away and return to whence it came, and you will be free.
No way out but through. She’d heard that one before, it was a therapy-speak phrase that had been popular, floating around the internet for a while when she was knee-deep in self-help books and self-care, protect-your-peace TikTok. To see the sentiment repeated in this context lent it a certain gravitas, a weight it hadn’t held in the context of a 160-character-limited tweet. She felt decidedly better after her self-care routine but decided to try this witchy solution as well.
While she was searching around for her shoes, she recounted the steps to herself. Walk through the forest, I can do that. Something about a trinket… she paused to reread. Talisman. Talisman, what do we think that might be? She looked at the shelf full of curiosities by the door. She had dabbled in the metaphysical before, crystals and sound bowls were yoga staples, so she found her eyes drawn to the shiny stones. One small one, situated between a clump of dried out moss and a black candle, felt familiar- probably a quartz, it had the classic hexagon shape in uneven proportions, with glints of gold running through it. She grasped it, savoring the coolness in her palm. “I guess I’ve chosen a talisman” she murmured to Cocoa, who cocked his head and raised on ear. “I don’t know about a mantra, but I’ll figure that out on the way. You ready boy, wanna go for a walk?” Cocoa leapt to his feet and hurried past her to wait at the door, stamping his feet and looking back at her impatiently.
They started out on the familiar trail heading for the cliffs overlooking the ocean, but when she got to the last large oak before the trees started thinning out, she noticed what looked like the remnants of a long unused path veering back around into the forest. “What do you think, boy? It did say a walk through the forest, so I guess we should stay here with the trees.” Cocoa wagged his tail and followed his nose to the base of the tree, sniffing for squirls. “Well, let’s give it a shot. We can always retrace our steps back this way.” He followed her as she forged ahead, pushing aside overgrown branches and stepping over fallen logs. The path crossed the creek and circled back, into denser woods than she was used to, leading her probably somewhere back behind the house. The shade was thicker here, like a false dusk. She gripped the crystal in her pocket and kept walking.
The trail veered close to the creek again, coming to an open bank with a spot of blue sky above. “This seems like a good spot, huh Cocoa?” He had made his way into the creek, ever a water dog, seemingly annoyed at his unsuccessful attempts to lap up the water. Then she remembered: “Mantra! Shoot I didn’t think up a mantra.” She bit her lip, wondering if an impromptu mantra would work. She thought back to phrases she’d used like mantras before, usually the sort of peppy, truth-concealing lines you say to yourself and others to gaslight everyone into believing you were ok when you weren’t. That wouldn’t do. Then she remembered the words she’d uttered when entering the house. Maybe a variation on that would do? What was is exactly… She straightened up and braced herself. Taking the crystal in her hand, she spoke slowly and clearly. “I come with open hands. I take nothing not offered freely, receive nothing not meant for me, and offer only what I have to share with a whole heart.” She paused and added “I release any curses placed on me. I’m ready to be free.” She shook out her hands, gradually making the movements bigger until her whole body got into it, tossing her hair around, letting her limbs fly free. It felt so good! She suddenly had the urge to swim in the creek. The summer warmth had eased, and there was a hint of chill in the air, but she didn’t care. She knew she needed to do this. Slipping off her clothes, she hurried into the water before she could change her mind. It was cold but invigorating. She dipped her hair back under water, and releasing her feet she let herself float on her back, laughing with glee at the freedom she felt.
Cocoa swam up to her and nudged her hand, and she let her feet find their way under her again. “Ready to go, boy?” He was already back on shore, shaking the nonexistent water from his translucent fur. Old habits. She wrung out her hair and put her shoes and pants back on but didn’t bother with her top. She let her upper body drip dry as she retraced her steps back to the main trail, relishing the daring feeling of going topless outside. For some reason she felt self-conscious once she was back in familiar territory and slipped her shirt back on before arriving back at the house. It wasn’t like there was a chance another person would see her, but the house had its own kind of sentience, and it felt wrong to walk up in a state of partial undress.
Once inside, as she turned to close the door, she had the thought Looks like you finally figured it out. “Nice to have you back, Scarlet.” When she turned back around, she saw the cat perched on the table, not currently hissing but still casting disparaging glances at Cocoa, who was already on his way back to his favorite chair. I wondered how long it would take for you to figure out you cursed yourself. “Wait, what did you say?” She moved closer, making eye contact with the cat. You think you can throw around curses when you’re drunk without consequence, in this house? You’re dumber than you look. She furrowed her brow, trying to remember back to what she’d said the couple times she’d gotten drunk since being here. You don’t remember do you? She shook her head. Let me refresh your memory. Suddenly her mind was flooded with a memory of that night she’d polished off the bottle of wine she’d brought. She had just killed the bottle and was wailing “Noooo. Curses on Past Me, she should have brought more than one fucking bottle of wine.” “No. NO! No, really? That was a curse?!?” You literally said “curses on me.” “I know but people just say stuff like that, they don’t mean it!” Not witches. Not here. She paused. “Fair.”
“Wait, my headache, it’s gone!” She turned to the book still on the ottoman. “That was the curse I had to break, one I’d cast on myself?!?” Lucky you said Past Self, otherwise it would have been a full-blown migraine. This was just the leftovers of a cursed hangover the potion cure couldn’t fully heal.
“You know, you could have told me all this a long time ago, saved me weeks of a literal headache.” Scarlets tail twitched. Then a voice from nowhere answered.
“That’s not her job. She’s not your familiar. She’s mine.”
