She sighed.

The view was lovely. It always was. Especially now, in late spring. The meadows spread out in all directions below her, from horizon to horizon. Above, the sky was bright blue and clear.



She watched the grass as it moved, blown by the gentle breeze that swept across the hillside. The movement reminded her of how a cat's fur behaved when it was softly stroked by a loving hand, flattened for a moment, and then slowly rising again.



Her left buttock was slightly numb. She adjusted her position, shifted her weight slightly, and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. Much better.



She noticed a small cloud of dust in the distance, making its way along the road that led to her cottage.



"I have to go." she said. "She's here".



She slowly gained her feet and smoothed down her crumpled skirt and brushed a few blades of crushed grass from her backside.



"I'll be back tomorrow." she said. "I love you."



She made her way down the hill, along a well worn path that snaked through the grass, down the hillside to the small cottage below.



She liked her house. It wasn't large or spacious, but it was comfortable. She had everything she wanted, everything she could have.



The wind picked up slightly as she walked, blowing her long silver streaked red hair about her face. She combed her fingers through it, bringing it together in her hands, and pulled it over her shoulder where she tucked it into the bib of her dress.



The cloud of dust had stopped by the cottage and was slowly dissipating, revealing the sleek shape of a bright red sports car. She could see a figure get out of the car and walk up to the front door of the cottage. She considered calling out. She could make herself heard, even from this distance. But she felt quiet, at rest, and didn't want to disturb the peace within her or around her.



The walk from the tree at the top of the hill to the front door of her cottage typically took four and a half minutes. The walk back took her six minutes, or seven minutes if the ground was particularly wet and she had to watch her footing. She'd timed the journey a few times the past, though she didn't time herself anymore. Time didn't matter.



She sat on the steps leading up to the front door and pulled of her boots, then massaged her feet. She noticed the pair of sneakers thrown casually on to the side of the front door. At least this time her visitor had remembered.



She entered the cottage and made her way down the small hallway to the kitchen. The kitchen was small and rather old fashioned, but bright, with large windows which caught the afternoon sunlight. She went to the sink and turned on the faucet, and held her mouth under the running water, gulping in mouthfuls of cool water.



She'd expected her visitor to be in the kitchen, raiding the pantry. That was her usual activity. Perhaps she was in the bathroom.



She returned to the hallway and stopped outside her study door. It was open slightly. She always shut this door. Without fail. She felt a quick flush of anger. She stood, motionless in the corridor, pushing down the anger until she felt calm once again. Then she pushed the door open and entered her study.



A young girl, dressed in blue jeans and a white jumper, stood on the other side of the study, staring intently at some of the objects which rested on the shelves which lined the whole room. Quickly, the girl turned around, her eyes wide open in alarm.



"Aunt Willow!" the girl said in a startled voice. She suddenly looked very guilty, and lowered her eyes and stared intently at the floor. "Um, I'm sorry. I was looking for you. I thought that you might be here.. I know I'm not supposed to come in here. I'm so sorry."



Willow tried to look stern and vexed. But the young girl reminded her so much of her friend, she couldn't do it. She had the same intense blue eyes, the same bright blond hair, the same slight but strong frame, the same pretty bunny-like nose. She looked just how her mother had looked when she was sixteen.



"It's alright, Sarah." Willow said, gently. "But you shouldn't be in here. Let's go into the kitchen. I've got some lemonade in the fridge."



Sarah didn't move. The girl's eyes darted from left to right. "But, Aunt Willow," she said. "Can't I just look around the study a little? Now that I've seen it and all. I mean, I might as well have a look, no?". She had her mother's stubbornness too.



Willow frowned. She didn't like people in here. It was her place. A part of her. A part she longed to forget. A part she must remember. A part she hated.



She was about to repeat her instructions to leave the study, but Sarah had turned around and was staring at the shelves again, carefully touching the spine of an old book.



Willow sighed. "Okay, Sarah. A few minutes." she said, reluctantly. She went to her old walnut desk and sat in the worn leather chair, and watched Sarah carefully inspect a part of her self.



The study was, at a casual glance, a busy, messy place. Books and jars and strange shaped contraptions piled on shelves that ran from from floor to ceiling. But upon closer inspection, it revealed itself to be a well organized collection of old books, artifacts and neatly labeled bottles of various substances.



Sarah circled the room, very slowly, reading the titles of the books, the labels of the bottles, carefully touching each as if to verify its existence. She paused frequently, quickly turning her head around to the center of the room, glancing at Willow's face to make sure she hadn't over-stepped a boundary, that she hadn't touched something she wasn't supposed to.



She had looked at almost half of the hundreds of items in the room, when she turned around and stared at Willow. "It's true, isn't it?" she said, her voice hushed with a mixture of awe and fear. "You are. You are a witch."



Willow frowned. She looked at the surface of her desk.



"No." she said in a quite, clear voice. "No, I am not."



Sarah's eyes widened. "But all of this stuff? Look at it!" she said, pointing at the shelves. "You must be. Why else would you have all these things? And all these books. They are spell books. They look so real. And, anyhow, they all said you were. I wasn't supposed to hear, but I did. You are. You have to be."



Willow felt her stomach tighten. She shivered slightly. "No. I am not." she repeated. "I mean, I was. But I am not. Not now."



Sarah grinned. "Yes! You were! I knew it!", she said, excitedly. "My Aunt, the witch. That is so cool!"



"No!" Willow spat out, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. "It is not! It is horrible!"



Sarah shrank visibly, her excitement rapidly evaporated, replaced by shock and alarm. Her aunt had never spoken to her like that. She had never known Willow to raise her voice at all, no matter what Sarah might have done. Sarah watched her aunt, who sat gripping the armrests of her chair, her face white, her jaw clenched tightly. She loved this woman dearly, and had only known kindness in her presence. But now Sarah felt her stomach flutter. She feared her aunt.



"Aunt Willow?" Sarah said, softly. " I'm sorry."



The color slowly returned to Willows cheeks. She relaxed her grip on the chair and bowed her head. She didn't look up at Sarah. But she spoke, softly, so quietly that Sarah could hardly hear her.



"It's okay, Sarah." Willow said. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to shout at you."



Sarah was about to reply, to say it was okay, that she had obviously not understood something and had blundered in on a sensitive area, as usual. But Willow continued to speak.



"I was a witch. I.. I am a witch. I cannot deny that. I do not want to be one, but I am, and I always will be." Willow said, her head still bowed over the desk, her hair covering hiding her face from Sarah.



"I was a good witch.. once. Long before you were born." said Willow. "I helped your mother for many years, when we were in school together, and at college. I think I did good, back then. I was good. But it changed. It changed slowly, and I didn't see it."



Sarah stood, silent, hoping that Willow would continue. She thought it might be good to ask a prompting question, so she would keep talking. She struggled to think of something sensible.



"Er..how did it change, Aunt Willow?" Sarah said, eventually.



Willow did not move. But she did speak. "Things change. You can't see it, but they do. You think you have a handle on things, that you are in control. I.. I started using dark magic, powerful magic. Only a little, at first. Then more, more easily each time. I thought I could control it, use it. I thought I was good, immune from its evil effect. But it takes hold, slowly. You start off doing things with the best of intents, but then the fact that you can do things takes hold, and the intent changes. The magic becomes everything. Little else matters. I couldn't see it. I was blind. But.. but she could see. She could always see.. understand me. She knew. But I didn't believe her.."



"Who, Aunt Willow?" Sarah asked. "My Mom?"



"No. Not your mom." Willow said, in a thick, choked voice. "It was.." But she could bring herself to say her name. She hadn't uttered her name for twenty years. "It was someone else. It was my.. my love. My always. She knew. She.. she saved me.. and I lost her.. I .. I .. oh dear.."



Willow stopped speaking. Sarah could see Willow's shoulders shaking gently, and felt tears well in her eyes as she witnessed her aunt's anguish. She should go. She should leave her aunt in peace. No. That would be wrong. She should stay. Shouldn't she?



"Um. Aunt Willow?" said Sarah. "Are you okay?"



Dumb question, thought Sarah. Willow stopped shaking and didn't move for several minutes. Slowly she lifted her head and swept her hair over her shoulders. She wiped her red eyes with her sleeve and sniffed. Then she took a deep breath and looked up at Sarah, a wan smile on her face.



"I'm sorry, Sarah." said Willow. "Got a little.. nostalgic"



Sarah moved quickly to her aunt and hugged her tightly. "It's okay, Aunty." she said. "It's okay."



Willow hugged Sarah back. "Thanks. I'm okay." she said, trying to sound confident. "Shall we get that lemonade?"



Sarah made her way to the door, then turned quickly. "Oh no!" she said, frowning. "I have to go. I promised Mom I'd be back by six. We've got a dinner party to go to. Oh no."



Willow smiled. "That's okay. You go."



Sarah looked anxious. "I can stay, Aunty." she said. "If you don't want to be alone. I can keep you company for a while. Mom won't mind. Well, she will. But.."



Willow stood and walked over to Sarah. "No, it's okay, Sarah." said Willow, brushing a stray strand of gold hair from the pretty girl's cheek. "I'm very used to my own company. I'll be just fine. And I have someone to visit, too."



"You do?" said Sarah, brightening. She looked at her watch and winced. "Erm, well, good. That's good. Have a great time, okay." She made her way down the hallway to the front door.



"You too, Sarah." Willow said, following her. "Say hi to your Mom for me."



"Sure will!" Sarah said, slipping her feet into her shoes. "Bye!" She turned and ran lightly to the car. In seconds, she was gone. Willow stood on the front step of the cottage, watching the dusty trail left by the car as it sped away into the distance.



Willow turned and looked up the grassy at hill, and her eyes settled on the tree that grew at the very top. It was beautiful tall tree. It was her tree. She had planted herself, twenty years ago, atop a grave she had dug with her bare and bleeding hands.



Willow slipped on her boots and walked down the front steps.



"I'm coming." she said, quietly.



-end-