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Arthur was flabbergasted. After finding himself lost in the darkest depths of the forest and nearly being eaten in his search for the Witch of the Woods, here she was before him, having apparently just stumbled on him and his predicament by mere chance, and if that were not surreal enough of an experience, he had just agreed to have tea with her.

And the night was still young.

“Well?” the Witch asked as she began to lead the way through her forest. “Are you not going to walk with me? You may become lost again if you stay behind, and it would be such a disappointment if my guest were to lose his way and become another beast’s prey before I had the chance to entertain.”

“Oh, right!” Arthur said nervously as he got moving and trailed behind the Witch as she calmly strolled through the forest hollow, but made sure to keep his distance. After all, this woman had effortlessly slain a full grown basilisk and acted as if it were no more worth mentioning than swatting a fly. Even if he needed her help, he did not want to get too close until he was sure it was safe.

The two continued walking for several minutes as the Witch led Arthur to where her cottage lay. Arthur could not help but notice that no beasts or monsters harassed them on their journey as they had when he was searching the forest alone. In fact, the forest seemed to be devoid of animal life where the Witch blazed her trail, without so much as the buzzing of insects or hooting of owls to break the silence. Even the plants of the wood provided no impediment for Arthur’s host, as all low hanging branches, bramble vines and other floral obstacles receded at her approach, as if they dared not to delay the mistress of their domain and her company.

“You are awfully quiet, child,” the Witch observed as she continued on her path, not even bothering to look behind her or even slow her stride.

“S-sorry, ma’am!” Arthur apologised, flustered by the whole situation. “I’m just still coming to grips with the whole situation is all.”

“You do not need to apologise. Your silence was neither a good nor an ill. I was simply stating a fact. Though I do find it curious being invited to tea is so difficult an experience for you to process.”

“Actually, that’s not what I meant, ma’am. The thing is… maybe I should start from the beginning.”

“That seems wise, child. I would probably become very confused if you started with the middle or the end.”

“Well, you see… the reason I was in the forest in the first place was because I was looking for you.”

“Was it really? Splendid! Although I’m curious why you should be so troubled to encounter the person you were looking for in the first place?”

“Well, it’s more that it’s strange I would set out to find you, only for you to just stumble on me right when I was in danger.”

“Yes, I see how that could be a fascinating turn of events. I suppose one could chalk it up to fate, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“Well, I’ve never thought about whether I do or not. If anything, I’d have though you would know if fate was real or not, miss.”

The Witch gave a small chuckle. “Child, I may know of a lot of things that most are not privy to, but whether the hand of fate truly plays a part in our world remains a mystery to us all.”

The pair shared a few more seconds in silence before the Witch broke it again.

“Do you have a name, child? It may become increasingly awkward to continue to speak with you simply calling you ‘child,’ unless you would prefer not to disclose your name.”
“Oh no, it’s fine. I’m Arthur Butcher.”

Turning her head to show a smile, the Witch replied, “Well, I am pleased to meet you, Arthur the Butcher.”

This particular response confused Arthur.

“But… I’m not a butcher, I’m a farmer.”

The Witch raised her eyebrow quizzically.

“Then why address yourself in such a way? It is awfully confusing if you call yourself a butcher and then tell people you are not one.”

“But ‘Butcher’ isn’t my job, it’s my last name.”

“Your last name?”

“Yes…”

“…You mean you have more than one?”

“Um… yeah, most people have one for themselves, and one for their family.”

“I see. So you are from a family of butchers, but became a farmer later?”

“No, they’re farmers too.”

The Witch paused for a moment to wrap her head around the concept. “I will admit to being out of touch with modern customs, but I remember that before I settled down in these woods, people added things to the ends of their names to denote one’s trade, or their lineage or birthplace. I suppose maybe those practices might have blended together since I came to live here…”

Arthur himself was not an avid student of history and didn’t even know the word “etymology,” much less how to educate his host on the subject. Instead, he simply shrugged and said, “I suppose that might have happened long ago. And for what it’s worth, my Pa was a butcher until he married into Ma’s family farm.”

“In that case, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Arthur, Son of the Butcher.”

“Um… likewise, Miss,” Arthur replied, still trying to adjust to the whole affair. “So, since we’re on the subject of names, what is yours?”
The Witch slowed her pace as she looked back towards Arthur.
“My name…” she mused ominously, “you really wish to know of it… do you, child?”
With a gulp, Arthur answered, “Yes, Miss.”
“I see,” the Witch replied, taking a moment of tense silence, before she finally said, “I’m not telling.”
For a moment, Arthur stopped in his tracks, completely astounded, and briefly forgot exactly what calibre of being he was talking to.
“What? Why not?”
“Because I do not want to, child.”
“But… but I told you my name!”
“So you did, nary a minute ago. What’s your point?”
“Well… isn’t it fair that you give someone your name when they give you yours?”
“I suppose it is. Unfortunately, the world cares little for which is fair and which is foul, and I rarely find reason to pretend otherwise. Now if we are done with this topic of conversation, I would recommend hurrying along now, for we are almost at our destination.”
As frustrated as he was by the Witch’s refusal to share her name he did his, Arthur resumed following his host as the two continued walking for a few more minutes, until they reached a part of the wood where the trees stood farther apart from one another, to the point where Arthur could once again see the sky through the branches. It was here that the Witch stopped walking and looked back at Arthur, telling him with a smile, “We are here, Son of the Butcher.”

The Witch then stood aside, granting Arthur a full view of the Witch’s cottage. Standing beneath the largest opening in the forest canopy, it was a modestly sized one-story cobblestone cottage with a stone pillar built into each corner holding up a thatch roof that had a trio of clay chimneys sticking out of the far side of said roof opposite of the front door. Built into the right-hand end of the house’s face atop three stone steps was said door, made of wood and braced with brass, and had a door knocker built into its centre, also made of brass. To the door’s left, at the centre of the house’s front face, was a rectangular glass window from which Arthur could see the glow of the fireplace inside illuminating the house.

The only particularly unusual feature about this house was a stone tower built into its back right corner, the round glass window of its upper floor only slightly higher than the tallest part of the main cottage’s roof. What was so unusual about this tower was that its conical shingled roof was bent in such a way that it resembled a stereotypical witch’s hat. Between the firelight of the cottage and the moonlight shining through the treetops, Arthur could also see other features of the Witch’s property, such as a wooden-roofed brick well just a short walk from the front door, what looked like a wooden stable peeking out from behind the tower, and a sizable garden in view of the front window enclosed by a fence made of thick tree branches.

Still, Arthur’s attention still wandered back to the tower roof, whose eccentric design seemed out of place on what was otherwise an ordinary looking home. Such thoughts must have shown on Arthur’s expression, as the Witch took a look at his face before commenting on it herself.

“I know the tower roof looks a bit tacky, but it’s charming in its own way,” the Witch said with a shrug. “Although come to think of it, I’ve never really worn that sort of hat myself, and I don’t quite remember what exactly possessed me to decide on that design when I had this place built.”

“If you say so Miss, but your home looks lovely, regardless,” Arthur said diplomatically.

“Why thank you, child,” the Witch said sweetly as she lead Arthur to her front door.

With a wave of the Witch’s hand, the cottage’s front door opened seemingly of its own accord, and she stepped aside, motioning with her arm for Arthur to step inside ahead of her. Cautiously, Arthur stepped through the doorway himself, and took a moment to take in his surroundings.

Arthur had not been sure exactly what to expect from the Witch’s home. Part of him had expected a dank, cramped cabin with a bubbling cauldron at its centre and cages contained horrible creatures stacked against the walls, while the other part expected the modest cottage to contain a wondrously mansion-like interior magically larger than anything that could possibly fit inside its walls. Compared to those extremes, Arthur’s first impressions of what really awaited him behind the cottage door was somewhat… underwhelming.

At first glance, the Witch’s home did not seem all that unusual for a cottage of this size. Arthur found himself greeted by a modest rectangular foyer with a smooth cobble floor and stone walls supported by wooden beams. Opposite of the door that Arthur had just entered through stood a large fireplace with the logs within ablaze as an iron tea kettle hung by a hook above it, and an iron poker, tongs and other such tools hung on the wall beside it, and a fire bucket stood on a stool underneath. Before the fireplace stood a small, round table carrying a set of plates with empty teacups atop them, as well as an empty larger plate at the centre accompanied by a china sugar jar with the spoon handle poking out from beneath the lid. The table itself stood atop an intricately woven wool rug, and a pair of cushioned chairs on each end.

On the wall left of the table stood a pair of tall bookshelves nearly packed to the brim with books and all kinds, with noticeable scuff marks trailing behind the shelves all the way to the hearth indicating they had been moved recently. Only a few feet from the fireplace there was a wooden staircase built into the wall leading up to the balcony above bordering this whole room, and just under the staircase at the far right of the room was a round opening in the wall leading to a hallway, which seemed to end in what only could have been the base of the tower, which seemed to also the Witch’s kitchen, judging by the wooden counter stacked with dirty dishes that he could see peeking out from beyond the hall’s borders.

But as Arthur took in his surroundings, he began to realise that some details logically couldn’t exist in an ordinary cottage of this sort. For starters, this whole foyer was exactly the size and shape of the entire cottage, and yet the aforementioned hallway still led to more rooms. The cottage was also a single story tall from the outside, but that did not stop the balcony from reaching taller than could possibly fit below the thatch roof. Arthur even looked back up at said balcony to make sure of it, and not only was the balcony taller than the house seemed to be from the outside, but there was several doors built into the wall that only could have led to the roof, but Arthur spotted no such openings when he viewed the house from outside.

Even as Arthur as was still taking in the house’s eldritch dimensions, more unusual things began to make themselves known. At the end of the hallway under the stairs, Arthur caught a glimpse of a mop standing upright and washing the floors with no one to hold it, with a mop bucket waddling after it like a duckling following its mother. He also began to notice that the crackling of the fireplace sounded strange; almost like laughter of a sort. Glancing back at the fireplace, Arthur saw that the fire itself occasionally formed itself into recognisable shapes, from humanlike children to all manner of birds and beasts. These fire spirits, as Arthur supposed they were, would hold their forms only for a few seconds before taking on new ones. They seemed to be dancing inside the hearth, changing of their shapes to the flow of the dance.

The strange crackle-speech of the fire spirits began to take a more whisper-like, but no less mischievous tone, and the flames began to slowly spread out beyond the fireplace, and before Arthur could so much as react, Arthur heard the Witch’s voice behind him sharply scold, “NO!”

Taken completely off guard, Arthur jolted to his left in shock as the Witch stepped inside herself, and hands on her hips, yelled across the room, “Bad fire! You know not to leave your hearth without permission! Or would you prefer to go tomorrow without table scraps?”

The crackling of the hearth took a whining tone as the advancing flames receded back to their original place, the dancing shapes shrinking down in shame.

Looking down at Arthur, the Witch gave a reassuring smile as she said, “I’m sorry if I frightened you, child. I had hoped they would be better behaved after last time, but it seems they still need a good scolding to keep them in line. Luckily we arrived to catch them in time. Besides, I do not imagine seeing one’s host extinguishing a house fire is your ideal start to tea.”

“Well… you’d be right,” Arthur laughed worriedly, his heart still racing from the shock. As he was catching his breath, he jumped again in surprise when he realised the tall wooden coat hanger next to him was bending out of its original shape to display its hooks right in front of his stomach.

“Sorry again, child,” the Witch apologised, suppressing a laugh. “My coat hanger can be a bit eager when accommodating guests. Admirable in its diligence, but it can be a bit of a shock for visitors who are not used to such things. Still, if you would like to hang up your cloak and pack, you’re welcome to do so.”

While still slightly unnerved, Arthur undid his cloak and hung it on one of the coat hanger’s hooks, as well as his traveller’s pack after he had removed his coin purse from it, and the hanger raised itself back to its original shape, just as the sound of the tea kettle began to ring across the room.

The Witch looked to the fireplace and said with a smile, “Well, it seems the little rascals in the hearth have bothered to get the tea ready. Now why don’t I show you to your seat and get your tea ready for you?”

Just as he had finished tying the purse to his belt, Arthur followed the Witch to her table and took a seat as she continued to the fireplace. As Arthur made himself as comfortable as he could in this bizarre set of circumstances, the Witch leaned over to pick up the boiling kettle, but not before pointing one finger towards the nearby fire bucket and sternly reminding the flames, “Be good. We have a guest.”

As the fire spirits whimpered in compliance, the Witch took the kettle in her bare hands, by all appearances completely unharmed by the hot metal, and placed it on the bare plate at the middle of the table, and as she took her own seat, gently asked seemingly to no one, “Kettle, be a dear and pour our guest a cup, will you?”

Just when Arthur thought the Witch’s home had run out of surprises, the kettle and teacups magically came to life, his own teacups hurriedly waddling off of his plate and over to the kettle, which curved its spout down at the cup like an elephant’s trunk and poured tea into it.

“Would you care for sugar in your tea, child?” the Witch inquired as her own cup came to the kettle for its turn.

“Yes please, Miss,” Arthur said, eyes wide with astonishment at the scene unfolding before him, and was no less amazed when the sugar jar stomped over to his cup and used the handles at its sides as arms to remove its lid and grasp the teaspoon resting inside itself, steadily scooping cubes of sugar out of itself and into the teacup before it.

“Be sure to say when once there’s enough,” the Witch advised with a smile as the sugar jar continued its work.

Deciding this advice made just as much sense as anything he’d seen tonight, Arthur almost immediately told the sugar jar, “That’s enough, please,” only for it to just continue scooping sugar into the cup. “Excuse me, I said-“

“When,” the Witch told the jar and it immediately stopped, and hopped over to the Witch’s own cup. “My deepest apologies, child. These utensils tend to take everything a smidge literally, you see. And speaking of which, when.”

As the sugar jar put the spoon back inside itself and hopped back to its place beside the tea kettle, the Witch grasped the handle of her cup and told Arthur, “Help yourself, dear.”

Arthur nervously stared down at the cup of tea as it waddled towards him and leaned its closest side up at him expectantly.

“What is the matter, child?” the Witch said curiously. “Did you want something else instead of tea?”

“No, I like tea just fine,” Arthur reassured his host nervously. “I’m just not used to the tea serving itself.”

“The tea isn’t serving itself, silly boy,” the Witch laughed with a teasing smile. “The cup is doing all the work!”

“Sorry. That’s what I meant.” He cautiously reached onto the table and gingerly picked up the cup, which became as stiff and motionless as any non-enchanted teacup as soon as he did. Still unsure of the fluid being served to him, Arthur carefully sniffed the tea in the cup. It smelled like any ordinary green tea.

Nervously, Arthur asked, “This won’t turn me into a frog or anything if I drink it, will it?”

The Witch curiously raised an eyebrow in response. “Not unless I made an unbelievable mistake in brewing it. Why ask such a strange question?”

“Well… because you’re a witch?”

“I am. I am also a gardener, a seamstress, and a literature enthusiast, among other things. I fail to see how any of those would provide sufficient motivation to change your form without duly informing you.”

“But don’t witches turn people into frogs?”

“I’m afraid I can’t speak for any other witch, but I personally can and will do such things if I am given reason to. But I can’t imagine what reason I would have to do that right now.”

“So, this isn’t some kind of potion that will put me under a spell if I drink it?”

“It is nothing of the sort, child.”

“No poisons or drugs slipped into the drink?”

“Of course not!” the Witch said, seemingly insulted by the idea. “If I did that to my house guests, I wouldn’t have any poison left when I actually needed some.”

Arthur decided not to comment on that particular remark.

“So there’s nothing extra in this tea at all?” he inquired.

“Just honey and lemon, but I hope you don’t find that objectionable.”

“No, that’s quite fine!” Arthur rapidly told his host before carefully taking a sip of his tea. Like the Witch had said, it was perfectly ordinary ginseng tea, if exceptionally well brewed, with, as promised, a hint of honey and lemon.

After a few more sips, Arthur lowered the teacup from his face and said, “This is some very good tea.”

“Why thank you, child,” the Witch said with a touched smile. “Ever since I started growing the plants for my own tea leaves, I’ve been experimenting with different brews, and this one’s my favourite. To tell the truth, I’d honestly subsist on tea alone if I could.”

After taking a few sips of her own, the Witch placed her cup back down on the table and tented her fingers, asking simply, “So, Arthur, Son of the Butcher, shall we discuss your reasons for coming here?”

Arthur bolted upright in shock, nearly spilling his tea in the process. He’d been so caught up in nearly dying in the forest, and the surreal experience of finally meeting the Witch and seeing all her eccentricities firsthand, that he had nearly forgotten why he had sought her out in the first place.

“Well,” he began guiltily, ashamed that he had so easily forgotten Morgan’s plight, “I have a sister…” He paused for a moment in order to process how he would ask for the Witch’s help, only for her to interrupt him.

“Oh, how wonderful!” the Witch said happily, her face brightened with a joyful smile. “I don’t know why you felt the need to come all the way here just to tell me that, but that’s great news! You get along with her well, I hope? My own family relations are a bit strained, so I hope yours are better off.”

Arthur simply blinked in utter bewilderment.

“I wasn’t finished, Miss.”

“Ah. Sorry, do go on then.”

“Well, my sister is sick. Very sick. The town doctor says she won’t live to see the winter. My family doesn’t have a lot of money, so we can’t afford a cure from the wizards or alchemists. Then I heard of you.”

“I see,” the Witch said as she leaned forward with interest. “And you sought me out to heal your beloved sister?”

“Well, yes! I’d heard of the wonderful things you’ve done. I heard you’d healed people poorer than my family of illnesses far worse than my sister’s. Is that true?”

“I have healed the sick as part of my services, yes. What is it ails your sister?”

“The doctors call it tuber-ca-something. Everyone else calls it the White Plague. Does that make a difference?”

“Of course it does, child. I can’t just wish away sickness with a wave of my hand, or brew up a potion that cures all ills. Magic simply does not work that way. I have to know what I am curing to know how to help. But now that I know what ails your sister, I am sure I can cure her.”

Relief swelled up in Arthur the likes of which he had never felt in his life. Thank the gods his sister would live!

“The thing left to be determined then,” the Witch continued, “is the matter of my payment, should you be willing to see this through.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Arthur said as he hastily rummaged through his belt and removed the small coin purse and placed it on the table, the meager amount within ringing from the impact. “I’ve been saving this money for months. Like I said, my family isn’t wealthy, but I heard you’ve healed even beggars, so hopefully it should be enough for you?”

The Witch gave Arthur a look of pity and said, “I’m afraid that will not be sufficient payment, child.”

"I-it’s not enough?” Arthur stammered, devastated. Desperately, he pleaded, “It’s all the money I can spare, please take it! Please, help my sister!”

The Witch sighed. “That is not what I meant, child. It is not the amount I am refusing, but the method of payment entirely.”

Harold brought his head up to the Witch’s eye level and gave a puzzled look. “I… don’t understand.”

“Evidently not,” the Witch sighed. “I rarely accept mortal coin as payment, Son of the Butcher, for I have little use for it. I grow my own food. I weave my own clothes. This forest provides more than enough wood to warm my hearth. I only have a use for money when I need something that I can only acquire outside of my domain, and those times are few. Instead, I charge in goods and services.”

“So instead of money, you’d accept livestock or a day’s work, or something like that?”

“Sometimes I would. It depends on what I am being paid for, my dear. If anyone wants my services, they must be willing to trade something of equal value to the services rendered, provided that it is something useful to me, of course.”

Arthur did not know how to feel about this revelation. On one hand, the Witch’s refusal to accept a monetary payment meant that healing his sister wouldn’t make it any harder for his family to keep food on the table. But on the other, what could he possibly have to offer that was worth the cost of curing Morgan that the Witch could find useful? Surely not even their most prized cow could be worth that much.

The Witch gave Arthur a quizzical look. “You’re conflicted about this,” she said simply.

“How did you know?” Arthur asked. “Can you read my thoughts?”

“Maybe I can,” the Witch said with a sly grin as she raised her teacup to her mouth and took a sip. “Or maybe you’re just very easy to read. The answer to that question does little to help you either way.” Finishing her tea, she placed the cup back down on the table and asked, “Would it put your mind at ease if I simply told you what I ask in return for your sister’s health?”

After taking a deep breath to calm himself, Arthur said, “Yes.”

“Wonderful. You said that without my help, your sister will die, correct? So seeing as I am being asked to save a life, I would require a life in return.”

Arthur nearly fell out of his chair in shock. “You mean… my life?”

“I would assume so,” the Witch said as if this was the most ordinary conversation in the world. “I do not imagine anyone else’s is yours to offer.”

Arthur gulped. “So to save my sister… I’ll have to die?”

The Witch immediately dropped her air of aloofness and gave Arthur a look of absolute bewilderment. “Goodness no, my child, why would I want that?”

“But you just said you want my life as payment…”

“Child, did you not hear me when I said that I only accept payments I have a use for? Killing you would simply prevent me from putting your life to use, for what use is that which no longer exists? A fire that has been snuffed out can warm no one, and your life is no different.”

“Then, how would you be ‘using’ my life?”

"As my servant, of course.”

Arthur was taken aback. “As your servant?”

“Yes, that is what I said. As you can imagine, in my line of work it would be a great help to have an extra pair of hands to assist in all manner of tasks. Cooking, cleaning, gardening, and whatever else I would have need of help for. I trust as a farm hand, you are experienced with such tasks?”

“W-well yes, but… why would you need my help to do those things? From what I’ve seen, you can just make any object in your house come alive to do all the work you need.”

“Oh, but if only,” the Witch sighed. “I’m afraid neither of those sorts of help are as reliable as they may seem at first glance. First, it is true that the enchantment I have laid upon the utensils around my house certainly saves me a lot of work around here, in truth it only gives each object enough autonomy to know what it’s for.”

“Would you be surprised if I said I don’t know what you mean?”

The Witch couldn’t help but smile at that remark. “It would not, child. Doubtless you understand that every tool and utensil crafted by living hands is made for a specific purpose. A broom is made to sweep dirt off the floor. A washcloth is made to wash dishes…”

Pointing down at the empty teacup at her end of the table, the Witch continued, “…and a teacup is made to carry tea for its drinker. Perhaps a demonstration should illustrate my point best. Teacup, I have a request to make of you!”

Hearing its mistress’s call, the Witch’s teacup peaked up its rim enthusiastically like a dog expecting to be thrown a stick.

Upon seeing the cup respond, the Witch sharply commanded, “Fetch my clothes off the line out back.”

The teacup simply continued to look up at the Witch expectantly, not making so much as an attempt to even comprehend what she was asking of it.

With her demonstration having finished, the Witch continued, “Aside from that, to be frank, the objects I animate with this spell rarely end up being all that bright. They rarely comprehend instructions more complex than ‘come this way’ or ‘stir the soup until I come back,’ or ‘fetch my clothes off the line.’ Not to mention what can go wrong if I don’t bother to be specific in my orders. I learned that the hard way when I first laid the enchantment. I asked the kitchen utensils to put soup in the pot to cook, and when I got back from collecting firewood the entire contents of my pantry were burning in there.”

Even in his current predicament, Arthur couldn’t help but crack a smile at that story, but immediately returned to a straight face when he remembered whose story he was laughing at. “S-sorry miss, I didn’t mean to make light of your old troubles!”

With a reassuring smile, the Witch told Arthur, “Do not feel the need to apologise for your amusement, child. I will fully admit that event is much funnier in retrospect than it was four hundred years ago. Luckily, I had thought to pick mushrooms while I was out that day, so I didn’t completely go hungry after that. Now where was I?”

“Perhaps you could tell me what else being your servant would entail?”

“Ah, but of course! How rude of me to ask such a thing of you with so little information first! However, there shouldn’t be too many tasks I would require of you that you should be unfamiliar with. Like I said earlier, most of the things I’ll have you help with should be things you are familiar with, such as tending to the herb garden and the stables, helping with the cooking and cleaning, gathering firewood and supplies in the forest, and doing errands out in town when I am unable to. I trust you would know your way around such things?”

“Yes, you could say that, miss. So there wouldn’t be anything you’d require of me that I wouldn’t be familiar with?”

“Well, not very often, anyway. Probably the only thing I’d ask you to do on a regular basis that you would not know how to do already would be helping me to brew potions, but that’s not too different from cooking when you get down to it, and I’ll be sure to teach you what you need to know of the subject regardless. Anything else that would be new to you would likely only come up once in a blue moon, if at all.”

Well, that didn’t seem too bad, Arthur though as the Witch took another sip of her tea. He had been afraid that she would ask him to help with making blood sacrifices or something like that. However, there was still one thing he needed to know before he agreed to the Witch’s terms.

"So how long will I need to serve you for, then? A few weeks? A month?”

“For until the end of your days, of course,” the Witch answered nonchalantly as she finished her tea.

Arthur’s face went white with shock and chill crawled up his spine.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“Well, I’m working under the assumption that you wish your sister to be totally cured of what ails her, and as I mentioned earlier, the only fair trade for one life is another. I should hope that should be a reasonable arrangement?”

Panicked at the thought, Arthur immediately tried to bargain with the Witch.

“W-wait, maybe we could come to a different arrangement! Like maybe I could serve you for about a year or something?”

Placing her finger on her chin for a few seconds of contemplation, the Witch curiously said, “That is quite the interesting proposal. Very well, if you are only willing to offer to serve me for a year, then I would be glad to remove your sister’s illness for one year.”

“What?! No, you can’t-“

“No, I perfectly understand, child. If you do not value your sister’s health highly enough to provide sufficient payment, I would be happy to simply postpone the illness’s effects until you’re finished-“

Before the Witch could even finish, Arthur immediately stood up and furiously slammed his hands on the table and yelled, “DON’T YOU DARE IMPLY I DON’T CARE ABOUT MORGAN!!!!”

Suddenly, the Witch went silent and stared Arthur in the eye with a surprised expression on her face. As Arthur took a few deep breaths to calm himself, he noticed that his hands had comes down on his plate so hard that it had cracked, and a few broken ceramic shards were now painfully piercing his palms. Arthur immediately gritted his teeth in pain, curling his fingers as he looked into his bloodied palms.

As his thoughts refocused, Arthur remembered who it was he had just lashed out at and in a panic, fell back into his chair as he began to stammer, “I-I’m so sorry, Miss, p-please forgive-“.

“Think nothing of it, Arthur Butcher,” the Witch sighed as her shocked expression changed to one of pity. “You are far from the first to lose your temper in trying to bargain something of me, and I doubt you will be the last.”

Getting up out of her seat, the Witch slowly walked around the table towards Arthur and softly requested, “Now let me have a look at your hands.”

Though fearing what might now become of him, Arthur cautiously extended his hands out to his host, palms up. Tenderly taking his hands, the Witch took one quick look at Arthur’s cuts and began softly muttering an incantation that Arthur couldn’t make out. Before even a second had passed, the wounds on Arthur’s hands began to close. By the time Arthur blinked, it looked as though his cuts were never there.

When the wonder had faded from his mind, Arthur sighed, “Will I have to pay for that as well?”

“Not at all, child,” the Witch said with a reassuring smile as she spun her index finger, causing the broken pieces of the plate to mend themselves back together. “I am simply doing what I can to be a good host. However, we still must get back to business.”

Bending down on one knee to look Arthur in the eye, the Witch continued, “I am truly sorry, Arthur, but I will only deal in equal trade. And far too often that means those searching for my aid find themselves unwilling to agree to the payment I ask of them. Naturally, they try to negotiate my prices. But if they cannot pay, then I will not help. This may sound callous, and I apologise for it, but you get what you pay for.”

“I get that, Miss,” Arthur quietly said as he looked down to the floor and tears began to well up in his eyes. “It’s just… a lot to take in. I’ve always thought I’d live my whole life tending our farm, and now you’re saying I have to leave all of that behind forever if I want Morgan to live.”

Placing her hand on Arthur’s shoulder, the Witch reassured Arthur, “I understand I am asking much of you, my child. Mortal lives are swift and fleeting, and few want to give up what time they have left. If you choose not to go through with this, then treasure all the time you have left with your sister. Because illness or no illness, she will die someday, and no healing I can provide will change that. All you can do is choose whether you will be there by her side as she passes, or buy her time in exchange for your own.”

Standing back up to her full height, the Witch picked up Arthur’s mended but still bloodied plate and as she walked over to the other side of the table, continued, “But if you are not ready to make that choice, I may as well bring these dishes out to the kitchen so that I might wash them when I find the time.”

Arthur sighed. Clearly this was not a tale where everyone would live happily ever after. But by now, it mattered little whether he would see a happy ending. His choice was already made. Taking a deep breath, Arthur said, “Wait.”

Having picked up her plate at well and just about to head for the kitchen, the Witch turned back around and gave Arthur a glance of interest. Placing the dirty dishes back down on the table, she said, “It would seem that you have made up your mind, my child.”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, I have.”

Seeing the fire in Arthur’s eyes, the Witch stretched her hand out for him to take and asked him, “So, Arthur Butcher… do we have a bargain?”

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Arthur was flabbergasted. After finding himself lost in the darkest depths of the forest and nearly being eaten in his search for the Witch of the Woods, here she was before him, having apparently just stumbled on him and his predicament by mere chance, and if that were not surreal enough of an experience, he had just agreed to have tea with her.

And the night was still young.

“Well?” the Witch asked as she began to lead the way through her forest. “Are you not going to walk with me? You may become lost again if you stay behind, and it would be such a disappointment if my guest were to lose his way and become another beast’s prey before I had the chance to entertain.”

“Oh, right!” Arthur said nervously as he got moving and trailed behind the Witch as she calmly strolled through the forest hollow, but made sure to keep his distance. After all, this woman had effortlessly slain a full grown basilisk and acted as if it were no more worth mentioning than swatting a fly. Even if he needed her help, he did not want to get too close until he was sure it was safe.

The two continued walking for several minutes as the Witch led Arthur to where her cottage lay. Arthur could not help but notice that no beasts or monsters harassed them on their journey as they had when he was searching the forest alone. In fact, the forest seemed to be devoid of animal life where the Witch blazed her trail, without so much as the buzzing of insects or hooting of owls to break the silence. Even the plants of the wood provided no impediment for Arthur’s host, as all low hanging branches, bramble vines and other floral obstacles receded at her approach, as if they dared not to delay the mistress of their domain and her company.

“You are awfully quiet, child,” the Witch observed as she continued on her path, not even bothering to look behind her or even slow her stride.

“S-sorry, ma’am!” Arthur apologised, flustered by the whole situation. “I’m just still coming to grips with the whole situation is all.”

“You do not need to apologise. Your silence was neither a good nor an ill. I was simply stating a fact. Though I do find it curious being invited to tea is so difficult an experience for you to process.”

“Actually, that’s not what I meant, ma’am. The thing is… maybe I should start from the beginning.”

“That seems wise, child. I would probably become very confused if you started with the middle or the end.”

“Well, you see… the reason I was in the forest in the first place was because I was looking for you.”

“Was it really? Splendid! Although I’m curious why you should be so troubled to encounter the person you were looking for in the first place?”

“Well, it’s more that it’s strange I would set out to find you, only for you to just stumble on me right when I was in danger.”

“Yes, I see how that could be a fascinating turn of events. I suppose one could chalk it up to fate, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“Well, I’ve never thought about whether I do or not. If anything, I’d have though you would know if fate was real or not, miss.”

The Witch gave a small chuckle. “Child, I may know of a lot of things that most are not privy to, but whether the hand of fate truly plays a part in our world remains a mystery to us all.”

The pair shared a few more seconds in silence before the Witch broke it again.

“Do you have a name, child? It may become increasingly awkward to continue to speak with you simply calling you ‘child,’ unless you would prefer not to disclose your name.”
“Oh no, it’s fine. I’m Arthur Butcher.”

Turning her head to show a smile, the Witch replied, “Well, I am pleased to meet you, Arthur the Butcher.”

This particular response confused Arthur.

“But… I’m not a butcher, I’m a farmer.”

The Witch raised her eyebrow quizzically.

“Then why address yourself in such a way? It is awfully confusing if you call yourself a butcher and then tell people you are not one.”

“But ‘Butcher’ isn’t my job, it’s my last name.”

“Your last name?”

“Yes…”

“…You mean you have more than one?”

“Um… yeah, most people have one for themselves, and one for their family.”

“I see. So you are from a family of butchers, but became a farmer later?”

“No, they’re farmers too.”

The Witch paused for a moment to wrap her head around the concept. “I will admit to being out of touch with modern customs, but I remember that before I settled down in these woods, people added things to the ends of their names to denote one’s trade, or their lineage or birthplace. I suppose maybe those practices might have blended together since I came to live here…”

Arthur himself was not an avid student of history and didn’t even know the word “etymology,” much less how to educate his host on the subject. Instead, he simply shrugged and said, “I suppose that might have happened long ago. And for what it’s worth, my Pa was a butcher until he married into Ma’s family farm.”

“In that case, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Arthur, Son of the Butcher.”

“Um… likewise, Miss,” Arthur replied, still trying to adjust to the whole affair. “So, since we’re on the subject of names, what is yours?”
The Witch slowed her pace as she looked back towards Arthur.
“My name…” she mused ominously, “you really wish to know of it… do you, child?”
With a gulp, Arthur answered, “Yes, Miss.”
“I see,” the Witch replied, taking a moment of tense silence, before she finally said, “I’m not telling.”
For a moment, Arthur stopped in his tracks, completely astounded, and briefly forgot exactly what calibre of being he was talking to.
“What? Why not?”
“Because I do not want to, child.”
“But… but I told you my name!”
“So you did, nary a minute ago. What’s your point?”
“Well… isn’t it fair that you give someone your name when they give you yours?”
“I suppose it is. Unfortunately, the world cares little for which is fair and which is foul, and I rarely find reason to pretend otherwise. Now if we are done with this topic of conversation, I would recommend hurrying along now, for we are almost at our destination.”
As frustrated as he was by the Witch’s refusal to share her name he did his, Arthur resumed following his host as the two continued walking for a few more minutes, until they reached a part of the wood where the trees stood farther apart from one another, to the point where Arthur could once again see the sky through the branches. It was here that the Witch stopped walking and looked back at Arthur, telling him with a smile, “We are here, Son of the Butcher.”

The Witch then stood aside, granting Arthur a full view of the Witch’s cottage. Standing beneath the largest opening in the forest canopy, it was a modestly sized one-story cobblestone cottage with a stone pillar built into each corner holding up a thatch roof that had a trio of clay chimneys sticking out of the far side of said roof opposite of the front door. Built into the right-hand end of the house’s face atop three stone steps was said door, made of wood and braced with brass, and had a door knocker built into its centre, also made of brass. To the door’s left, at the centre of the house’s front face, was a rectangular glass window from which Arthur could see the glow of the fireplace inside illuminating the house.

The only particularly unusual feature about this house was a stone tower built into its back right corner, the round glass window of its upper floor only slightly higher than the tallest part of the main cottage’s roof. What was so unusual about this tower was that its conical shingled roof was bent in such a way that it resembled a stereotypical witch’s hat. Between the firelight of the cottage and the moonlight shining through the treetops, Arthur could also see other features of the Witch’s property, such as a wooden-roofed brick well just a short walk from the front door, what looked like a wooden stable peeking out from behind the tower, and a sizable garden in view of the front window enclosed by a fence made of thick tree branches.

Still, Arthur’s attention still wandered back to the tower roof, whose eccentric design seemed out of place on what was otherwise an ordinary looking home. Such thoughts must have shown on Arthur’s expression, as the Witch took a look at his face before commenting on it herself.

“I know the tower roof looks a bit tacky, but it’s charming in its own way,” the Witch said with a shrug. “Although come to think of it, I’ve never really worn that sort of hat myself, and I don’t quite remember what exactly possessed me to decide on that design when I had this place built.”

“If you say so Miss, but your home looks lovely, regardless,” Arthur said diplomatically.

“Why thank you, child,” the Witch said sweetly as she lead Arthur to her front door.

With a wave of the Witch’s hand, the cottage’s front door opened seemingly of its own accord, and she stepped aside, motioning with her arm for Arthur to step inside ahead of her. Cautiously, Arthur stepped through the doorway himself, and took a moment to take in his surroundings.

Arthur had not been sure exactly what to expect from the Witch’s home. Part of him had expected a dank, cramped cabin with a bubbling cauldron at its centre and cages contained horrible creatures stacked against the walls, while the other part expected the modest cottage to contain a wondrously mansion-like interior magically larger than anything that could possibly fit inside its walls. Compared to those extremes, Arthur’s first impressions of what really awaited him behind the cottage door was somewhat… underwhelming.

At first glance, the Witch’s home did not seem all that unusual for a cottage of this size. Arthur found himself greeted by a modest rectangular foyer with a smooth cobble floor and stone walls supported by wooden beams. Opposite of the door that Arthur had just entered through stood a large fireplace with the logs within ablaze as an iron tea kettle hung by a hook above it, and an iron poker, tongs and other such tools hung on the wall beside it, and a fire bucket stood on a stool underneath. Before the fireplace stood a small, round table carrying a set of plates with empty teacups atop them, as well as an empty larger plate at the centre accompanied by a china sugar jar with the spoon handle poking out from beneath the lid. The table itself stood atop an intricately woven wool rug, and a pair of cushioned chairs on each end.

On the wall left of the table stood a pair of tall bookshelves nearly packed to the brim with books and all kinds, with noticeable scuff marks trailing behind the shelves all the way to the hearth indicating they had been moved recently. Only a few feet from the fireplace there was a wooden staircase built into the wall leading up to the balcony above bordering this whole room, and just under the staircase at the far right of the room was a round opening in the wall leading to a hallway, which seemed to end in what only could have been the base of the tower, which seemed to also the Witch’s kitchen, judging by the wooden counter stacked with dirty dishes that he could see peeking out from beyond the hall’s borders.

But as Arthur took in his surroundings, he began to realise that some details logically couldn’t exist in an ordinary cottage of this sort. For starters, this whole foyer was exactly the size and shape of the entire cottage, and yet the aforementioned hallway still led to more rooms. The cottage was also a single story tall from the outside, but that did not stop the balcony from reaching taller than could possibly fit below the thatch roof. Arthur even looked back up at said balcony to make sure of it, and not only was the balcony taller than the house seemed to be from the outside, but there was several doors built into the wall that only could have led to the roof, but Arthur spotted no such openings when he viewed the house from outside.

Even as Arthur as was still taking in the house’s eldritch dimensions, more unusual things began to make themselves known. At the end of the hallway under the stairs, Arthur caught a glimpse of a mop standing upright and washing the floors with no one to hold it, with a mop bucket waddling after it like a duckling following its mother. He also began to notice that the crackling of the fireplace sounded strange; almost like laughter of a sort. Glancing back at the fireplace, Arthur saw that the fire itself occasionally formed itself into recognisable shapes, from humanlike children to all manner of birds and beasts. These fire spirits, as Arthur supposed they were, would hold their forms only for a few seconds before taking on new ones. They seemed to be dancing inside the hearth, changing of their shapes to the flow of the dance.

The strange crackle-speech of the fire spirits began to take a more whisper-like, but no less mischievous tone, and the flames began to slowly spread out beyond the fireplace, and before Arthur could so much as react, Arthur heard the Witch’s voice behind him sharply scold, “NO!”

Taken completely off guard, Arthur jolted to his left in shock as the Witch stepped inside herself, and hands on her hips, yelled across the room, “Bad fire! You know not to leave your hearth without permission! Or would you prefer to go tomorrow without table scraps?”

The crackling of the hearth took a whining tone as the advancing flames receded back to their original place, the dancing shapes shrinking down in shame.

Looking down at Arthur, the Witch gave a reassuring smile as she said, “I’m sorry if I frightened you, child. I had hoped they would be better behaved after last time, but it seems they still need a good scolding to keep them in line. Luckily we arrived to catch them in time. Besides, I do not imagine seeing one’s host extinguishing a house fire is your ideal start to tea.”

“Well… you’d be right,” Arthur laughed worriedly, his heart still racing from the shock. As he was catching his breath, he jumped again in surprise when he realised the tall wooden coat hanger next to him was bending out of its original shape to display its hooks right in front of his stomach.

“Sorry again, child,” the Witch apologised, suppressing a laugh. “My coat hanger can be a bit eager when accommodating guests. Admirable in its diligence, but it can be a bit of a shock for visitors who are not used to such things. Still, if you would like to hang up your cloak and pack, you’re welcome to do so.”

While still slightly unnerved, Arthur undid his cloak and hung it on one of the coat hanger’s hooks, as well as his traveller’s pack after he had removed his coin purse from it, and the hanger raised itself back to its original shape, just as the sound of the tea kettle began to ring across the room.

The Witch looked to the fireplace and said with a smile, “Well, it seems the little rascals in the hearth have bothered to get the tea ready. Now why don’t I show you to your seat and get your tea ready for you?”

Just as he had finished tying the purse to his belt, Arthur followed the Witch to her table and took a seat as she continued to the fireplace. As Arthur made himself as comfortable as he could in this bizarre set of circumstances, the Witch leaned over to pick up the boiling kettle, but not before pointing one finger towards the nearby fire bucket and sternly reminding the flames, “Be good. We have a guest.”

As the fire spirits whimpered in compliance, the Witch took the kettle in her bare hands, by all appearances completely unharmed by the hot metal, and placed it on the bare plate at the middle of the table, and as she took her own seat, gently asked seemingly to no one, “Kettle, be a dear and pour our guest a cup, will you?”

Just when Arthur thought the Witch’s home had run out of surprises, the kettle and teacups magically came to life, his own teacups hurriedly waddling off of his plate and over to the kettle, which curved its spout down at the cup like an elephant’s trunk and poured tea into it.

“Would you care for sugar in your tea, child?” the Witch inquired as her own cup came to the kettle for its turn.

“Yes please, Miss,” Arthur said, eyes wide with astonishment at the scene unfolding before him, and was no less amazed when the sugar jar stomped over to his cup and used the handles at its sides as arms to remove its lid and grasp the teaspoon resting inside itself, steadily scooping cubes of sugar out of itself and into the teacup before it.

“Be sure to say when once there’s enough,” the Witch advised with a smile as the sugar jar continued its work.

Deciding this advice made just as much sense as anything he’d seen tonight, Arthur almost immediately told the sugar jar, “That’s enough, please,” only for it to just continue scooping sugar into the cup. “Excuse me, I said-“

“When,” the Witch told the jar and it immediately stopped, and hopped over to the Witch’s own cup. “My deepest apologies, child. These utensils tend to take everything a smidge literally, you see. And speaking of which, when.”

As the sugar jar put the spoon back inside itself and hopped back to its place beside the tea kettle, the Witch grasped the handle of her cup and told Arthur, “Help yourself, dear.”

Arthur nervously stared down at the cup of tea as it waddled towards him and leaned its closest side up at him expectantly.

“What is the matter, child?” the Witch said curiously. “Did you want something else instead of tea?”

“No, I like tea just fine,” Arthur reassured his host nervously. “I’m just not used to the tea serving itself.”

“The tea isn’t serving itself, silly boy,” the Witch laughed with a teasing smile. “The cup is doing all the work!”

“Sorry. That’s what I meant.” He cautiously reached onto the table and gingerly picked up the cup, which became as stiff and motionless as any non-enchanted teacup as soon as he did. Still unsure of the fluid being served to him, Arthur carefully sniffed the tea in the cup. It smelled like any ordinary green tea.

Nervously, Arthur asked, “This won’t turn me into a frog or anything if I drink it, will it?”

The Witch curiously raised an eyebrow in response. “Not unless I made an unbelievable mistake in brewing it. Why ask such a strange question?”

“Well… because you’re a witch?”

“I am. I am also a gardener, a seamstress, and a literature enthusiast, among other things. I fail to see how any of those would provide sufficient motivation to change your form without duly informing you.”

“But don’t witches turn people into frogs?”

“I’m afraid I can’t speak for any other witch, but I personally can and will do such things if I am given reason to. But I can’t imagine what reason I would have to do that right now.”

“So, this isn’t some kind of potion that will put me under a spell if I drink it?”

“It is nothing of the sort, child.”

“No poisons or drugs slipped into the drink?”

“Of course not!” the Witch said, seemingly insulted by the idea. “If I did that to my house guests, I wouldn’t have any poison left when I actually needed some.”

Arthur decided not to comment on that particular remark.

“So there’s nothing extra in this tea at all?” he inquired.

“Just honey and lemon, but I hope you don’t find that objectionable.”

“No, that’s quite fine!” Arthur rapidly told his host before carefully taking a sip of his tea. Like the Witch had said, it was perfectly ordinary ginseng tea, if exceptionally well brewed, with, as promised, a hint of honey and lemon.

After a few more sips, Arthur lowered the teacup from his face and said, “This is some very good tea.”

“Why thank you, child,” the Witch said with a touched smile. “Ever since I started growing the plants for my own tea leaves, I’ve been experimenting with different brews, and this one’s my favourite. To tell the truth, I’d honestly subsist on tea alone if I could.”

After taking a few sips of her own, the Witch placed her cup back down on the table and tented her fingers, asking simply, “So, Arthur, Son of the Butcher, shall we discuss your reasons for coming here?”

Arthur bolted upright in shock, nearly spilling his tea in the process. He’d been so caught up in nearly dying in the forest, and the surreal experience of finally meeting the Witch and seeing all her eccentricities firsthand, that he had nearly forgotten why he had sought her out in the first place.

“Well,” he began guiltily, ashamed that he had so easily forgotten Morgan’s plight, “I have a sister…” He paused for a moment in order to process how he would ask for the Witch’s help, only for her to interrupt him.

“Oh, how wonderful!” the Witch said happily, her face brightened with a joyful smile. “I don’t know why you felt the need to come all the way here just to tell me that, but that’s great news! You get along with her well, I hope? My own family relations are a bit strained, so I hope yours are better off.”

Arthur simply blinked in utter bewilderment.

“I wasn’t finished, Miss.”

“Ah. Sorry, do go on then.”

“Well, my sister is sick. Very sick. The town doctor says she won’t live to see the winter. My family doesn’t have a lot of money, so we can’t afford a cure from the wizards or alchemists. Then I heard of you.”

“I see,” the Witch said as she leaned forward with interest. “And you sought me out to heal your beloved sister?”

“Well, yes! I’d heard of the wonderful things you’ve done. I heard you’d healed people poorer than my family of illnesses far worse than my sister’s. Is that true?”

“I have healed the sick as part of my services, yes. What is it ails your sister?”

“The doctors call it tuber-ca-something. Everyone else calls it the White Plague. Does that make a difference?”

“Of course it does, child. I can’t just wish away sickness with a wave of my hand, or brew up a potion that cures all ills. Magic simply does not work that way. I have to know what I am curing to know how to help. But now that I know what ails your sister, I am sure I can cure her.”

Relief swelled up in Arthur the likes of which he had never felt in his life. Thank the gods his sister would live!

“The thing left to be determined then,” the Witch continued, “is the matter of my payment, should you be willing to see this through.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Arthur said as he hastily rummaged through his belt and removed the small coin purse and placed it on the table, the meager amount within ringing from the impact. “I’ve been saving this money for months. Like I said, my family isn’t wealthy, but I heard you’ve healed even beggars, so hopefully it should be enough for you?”

The Witch gave Arthur a look of pity and said, “I’m afraid that will not be sufficient payment, child.”

"I-it’s not enough?” Arthur stammered, devastated. Desperately, he pleaded, “It’s all the money I can spare, please take it! Please, help my sister!”

The Witch sighed. “That is not what I meant, child. It is not the amount I am refusing, but the method of payment entirely.”

Harold brought his head up to the Witch’s eye level and gave a puzzled look. “I… don’t understand.”

“Evidently not,” the Witch sighed. “I rarely accept mortal coin as payment, Son of the Butcher, for I have little use for it. I grow my own food. I weave my own clothes. This forest provides more than enough wood to warm my hearth. I only have a use for money when I need something that I can only acquire outside of my domain, and those times are few. Instead, I charge in goods and services.”

“So instead of money, you’d accept livestock or a day’s work, or something like that?”

“Sometimes I would. It depends on what I am being paid for, my dear. If anyone wants my services, they must be willing to trade something of equal value to the services rendered, provided that it is something useful to me, of course.”

Arthur did not know how to feel about this revelation. On one hand, the Witch’s refusal to accept a monetary payment meant that healing his sister wouldn’t make it any harder for his family to keep food on the table. But on the other, what could he possibly have to offer that was worth the cost of curing Morgan that the Witch could find useful? Surely not even their most prized cow could be worth that much.

The Witch gave Arthur a quizzical look. “You’re conflicted about this,” she said simply.

“How did you know?” Arthur asked. “Can you read my thoughts?”

“Maybe I can,” the Witch said with a sly grin as she raised her teacup to her mouth and took a sip. “Or maybe you’re just very easy to read. The answer to that question does little to help you either way.” Finishing her tea, she placed the cup back down on the table and asked, “Would it put your mind at ease if I simply told you what I ask in return for your sister’s health?”

After taking a deep breath to calm himself, Arthur said, “Yes.”

“Wonderful. You said that without my help, your sister will die, correct? So seeing as I am being asked to save a life, I would require a life in return.”

Arthur nearly fell out of his chair in shock. “You mean… my life?”

“I would assume so,” the Witch said as if this was the most ordinary conversation in the world. “I do not imagine anyone else’s is yours to offer.”

Arthur gulped. “So to save my sister… I’ll have to die?”

The Witch immediately dropped her air of aloofness and gave Arthur a look of absolute bewilderment. “Goodness no, my child, why would I want that?”

“But you just said you want my life as payment…”

“Child, did you not hear me when I said that I only accept payments I have a use for? Killing you would simply prevent me from putting your life to use, for what use is that which no longer exists? A fire that has been snuffed out can warm no one, and your life is no different.”

“Then, how would you be ‘using’ my life?”

"As my servant, of course.”

Arthur was taken aback. “As your servant?”

“Yes, that is what I said. As you can imagine, in my line of work it would be a great help to have an extra pair of hands to assist in all manner of tasks. Cooking, cleaning, gardening, and whatever else I would have need of help for. I trust as a farm hand, you are experienced with such tasks?”

“W-well yes, but… why would you need my help to do those things? From what I’ve seen, you can just make any object in your house come alive to do all the work you need.”

“Oh, but if only,” the Witch sighed. “I’m afraid neither of those sorts of help are as reliable as they may seem at first glance. First, it is true that the enchantment I have laid upon the utensils around my house certainly saves me a lot of work around here, in truth it only gives each object enough autonomy to know what it’s for.”

“Would you be surprised if I said I don’t know what you mean?”

The Witch couldn’t help but smile at that remark. “It would not, child. Doubtless you understand that every tool and utensil crafted by living hands is made for a specific purpose. A broom is made to sweep dirt off the floor. A washcloth is made to wash dishes…”

Pointing down at the empty teacup at her end of the table, the Witch continued, “…and a teacup is made to carry tea for its drinker. Perhaps a demonstration should illustrate my point best. Teacup, I have a request to make of you!”

Hearing its mistress’s call, the Witch’s teacup peaked up its rim enthusiastically like a dog expecting to be thrown a stick.

Upon seeing the cup respond, the Witch sharply commanded, “Fetch my clothes off the line out back.”

The teacup simply continued to look up at the Witch expectantly, not making so much as an attempt to even comprehend what she was asking of it.

With her demonstration having finished, the Witch continued, “Aside from that, to be frank, the objects I animate with this spell rarely end up being all that bright. They rarely comprehend instructions more complex than ‘come this way’ or ‘stir the soup until I come back,’ or ‘fetch my clothes off the line.’ Not to mention what can go wrong if I don’t bother to be specific in my orders. I learned that the hard way when I first laid the enchantment. I asked the kitchen utensils to put soup in the pot to cook, and when I got back from collecting firewood the entire contents of my pantry were burning in there.”

Even in his current predicament, Arthur couldn’t help but crack a smile at that story, but immediately returned to a straight face when he remembered whose story he was laughing at. “S-sorry miss, I didn’t mean to make light of your old troubles!”

With a reassuring smile, the Witch told Arthur, “Do not feel the need to apologise for your amusement, child. I will fully admit that event is much funnier in retrospect than it was four hundred years ago. Luckily, I had thought to pick mushrooms while I was out that day, so I didn’t completely go hungry after that. Now where was I?”

“Perhaps you could tell me what else being your servant would entail?”

“Ah, but of course! How rude of me to ask such a thing of you with so little information first! However, there shouldn’t be too many tasks I would require of you that you should be unfamiliar with. Like I said earlier, most of the things I’ll have you help with should be things you are familiar with, such as tending to the herb garden and the stables, helping with the cooking and cleaning, gathering firewood and supplies in the forest, and doing errands out in town when I am unable to. I trust you would know your way around such things?”

“Yes, you could say that, miss. So there wouldn’t be anything you’d require of me that I wouldn’t be familiar with?”

“Well, not very often, anyway. Probably the only thing I’d ask you to do on a regular basis that you would not know how to do already would be helping me to brew potions, but that’s not too different from cooking when you get down to it, and I’ll be sure to teach you what you need to know of the subject regardless. Anything else that would be new to you would likely only come up once in a blue moon, if at all.”

Well, that didn’t seem too bad, Arthur though as the Witch took another sip of her tea. He had been afraid that she would ask him to help with making blood sacrifices or something like that. However, there was still one thing he needed to know before he agreed to the Witch’s terms.

"So how long will I need to serve you for, then? A few weeks? A month?”

“For until the end of your days, of course,” the Witch answered nonchalantly as she finished her tea.

Arthur’s face went white with shock and chill crawled up his spine.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

“Well, I’m working under the assumption that you wish your sister to be totally cured of what ails her, and as I mentioned earlier, the only fair trade for one life is another. I should hope that should be a reasonable arrangement?”

Panicked at the thought, Arthur immediately tried to bargain with the Witch.

“W-wait, maybe we could come to a different arrangement! Like maybe I could serve you for about a year or something?”

Placing her finger on her chin for a few seconds of contemplation, the Witch curiously said, “That is quite the interesting proposal. Very well, if you are only willing to offer to serve me for a year, then I would be glad to remove your sister’s illness for one year.”

“What?! No, you can’t-“

“No, I perfectly understand, child. If you do not value your sister’s health highly enough to provide sufficient payment, I would be happy to simply postpone the illness’s effects until you’re finished-“

Before the Witch could even finish, Arthur immediately stood up and furiously slammed his hands on the table and yelled, “DON’T YOU DARE IMPLY I DON’T CARE ABOUT MORGAN!!!!”

Suddenly, the Witch went silent and stared Arthur in the eye with a surprised expression on her face. As Arthur took a few deep breaths to calm himself, he noticed that his hands had comes down on his plate so hard that it had cracked, and a few broken ceramic shards were now painfully piercing his palms. Arthur immediately gritted his teeth in pain, curling his fingers as he looked into his bloodied palms.

As his thoughts refocused, Arthur remembered who it was he had just lashed out at and in a panic, fell back into his chair as he began to stammer, “I-I’m so sorry, Miss, p-please forgive-“.

“Think nothing of it, Arthur Butcher,” the Witch sighed as her shocked expression changed to one of pity. “You are far from the first to lose your temper in trying to bargain something of me, and I doubt you will be the last.”

Getting up out of her seat, the Witch slowly walked around the table towards Arthur and softly requested, “Now let me have a look at your hands.”

Though fearing what might now become of him, Arthur cautiously extended his hands out to his host, palms up. Tenderly taking his hands, the Witch took one quick look at Arthur’s cuts and began softly muttering an incantation that Arthur couldn’t make out. Before even a second had passed, the wounds on Arthur’s hands began to close. By the time Arthur blinked, it looked as though his cuts were never there.

When the wonder had faded from his mind, Arthur sighed, “Will I have to pay for that as well?”

“Not at all, child,” the Witch said with a reassuring smile as she spun her index finger, causing the broken pieces of the plate to mend themselves back together. “I am simply doing what I can to be a good host. However, we still must get back to business.”

Bending down on one knee to look Arthur in the eye, the Witch continued, “I am truly sorry, Arthur, but I will only deal in equal trade. And far too often that means those searching for my aid find themselves unwilling to agree to the payment I ask of them. Naturally, they try to negotiate my prices. But if they cannot pay, then I will not help. This may sound callous, and I apologise for it, but you get what you pay for.”

“I get that, Miss,” Arthur quietly said as he looked down to the floor and tears began to well up in his eyes. “It’s just… a lot to take in. I’ve always thought I’d live my whole life tending our farm, and now you’re saying I have to leave all of that behind forever if I want Morgan to live.”

Placing her hand on Arthur’s shoulder, the Witch reassured Arthur, “I understand I am asking much of you, my child. Mortal lives are swift and fleeting, and few want to give up what time they have left. If you choose not to go through with this, then treasure all the time you have left with your sister. Because illness or no illness, she will die someday, and no healing I can provide will change that. All you can do is choose whether you will be there by her side as she passes, or buy her time in exchange for your own.”

Standing back up to her full height, the Witch picked up Arthur’s mended but still bloodied plate and as she walked over to the other side of the table, continued, “But if you are not ready to make that choice, I may as well bring these dishes out to the kitchen so that I might wash them when I find the time.”

Arthur sighed. Clearly this was not a tale where everyone would live happily ever after. But by now, it mattered little whether he would see a happy ending. His choice was already made. Taking a deep breath, Arthur said, “Wait.”

Having picked up her plate at well and just about to head for the kitchen, the Witch turned back around and gave Arthur a glance of interest. Placing the dirty dishes back down on the table, she said, “It would seem that you have made up your mind, my child.”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, I have.”

Seeing the fire in Arthur’s eyes, the Witch stretched her hand out for him to take and asked him, “So, Arthur Butcher… do we have a bargain?”