Our little witch was watering her garden, a place that gave her peace and quiet.
"I wake up at noon~" hummed the witch.
"...Ah-huh!" replied the sunflowers, who could speak, for some reason, with a unified, glazed-over stare.
"I grumble at the sun~"
"...She does grumble at the sun!" the sunflowers agreed. One of them even struck a model's pose, vines on its stem like arms on hips.
"I drink enchanted herbal tea, steeped in ghost-pepper leaves~"
"...Oh no, our witch needs therapy!" cried the sunflowers. They couldn't fathom such a ridiculous thing.
"I water carnivorous tulips~"
"...From a very safe distance!" the sunflowers sang along, their voices in perfect tune, though it barely masked their growing concern.
From her garden, one could see the majestic-looking, thick black treehouse that rose above the canopy.
She named it "The Blackened One," as it was the only forsaken tree in the forest. She was proud of its sheer size, as it held enough space to accommodate all her lazy needs.
But Mister Tulip was spewing words of wisdom toward our little witch, yet she looked perplexed. Are you wondering why?
"I'm so sorry, Mister Tulip! Please be kind, I'll water you more!"
They're not called carnivorous tulips because they eat meat, they're called that because they drop slurs.
Only the witch could understand whatever vile things the tulips hurled her way, because, frankly, I don't think the narrator has the courage to type it.
Then again, how does one describe the voice of a tulip?
She wanted to use the canister, but this time, especially in such a dire situation, she opted for water magic.
Sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle.
The tulips that were getting splashed with water moaned and made such euphoric expressions, you could almost forget they were fluent in botanical hate speech.
But underneath the fertile soil, a colony of mushrooms was forming a rebellion!
They frankly didn't find the tulips to be good neighbors, as they had been labeled "molds with irrelevant opinions" by the tulips.
This insult, while technically inaccurate, still stung deeply.
Unfortunately, every time they grew and tried to reach the tulips, the witch plucked them up for mushroom stew.
"Our goddess is eating us," said one of the mushrooms, voice trembling with tragic acceptance, but they don't mind being eaten by her.
In fact, that's a blessing within their mushroom hearts.
The witch continued to water the entire garden. Not so lazy now, huh, little witch?
Well, the only thing that makes her move is starvation.
How relatable.
The narrator is currently feeling that dire situation right now—
Speaking of potatoes, the witch had saved an entire space for the little guys. Potato privilege is real, gentlemen.
"My brethren!" exclaimed the witch.
But next to the potatoes were cabbages, one even tried to take a nibble at her!
She dodged. Such a graceful movement.
"Nuh-uh," she said, the thing.
"You're my first victim, Cabbage Sir." And that was it. The cabbage's fate was sealed.
It will now be used tonight... as salad.
But first, she had to water the entire potato section.
Which, unfortunately, was so comically larger than the rest of the garden that she immediately lost all motivation to do it.
Unless, of course, there was some magical thingy she could pull out of thin air.
She smirked and gazed up into the clouds.
The clouds, sensing her gaze, began to sweat in fear, which, of course, became rain.
But the droplets didn't dare touch her skin.
They shifted midair, moving out of the way as they fell from the sky.
Even the very concept of wetness and dampness was too afraid to manifest around her.
Now isn't that bullsh—
...Sigh.
(That's the narrator sighing.)
Long live Aurelia Orlandei...
With the garden done, she gathered the ingredients or rather, the victims: a cabbage, a mushroom, and one random fish who didn't consent. But it's the witch. The fish immediately realized its position.
"Dear witch, make me into a fine meal," said the fish, just as it was tossed into a hot pot.
"Did the fish just talk?" asked the witch, who absolutely could not understand the fish language.
Such dark humor, but not nearly dark enough.
The witch cast a veil above the canopy, cloaking the swamp in an illusion of night. After all, the night was her preference.
There, it was dark enough to enjoy a cozy afternoon.
Especially when not even a single speck of dust dared to gather around her treehouse. Her broom worked tirelessly like an unpaid laborer, sweeping away even the already moving dust.
In its own silly way of earning its keep.
The candles that lit the place, along with the fireplace nestled inside the treehouse, burned brighter, just to give her light and warmth. Some of the firewood even rolled itself into the hearth voluntarily, while the ashes floated politely away from the premises.
After all, they couldn't afford to pay rent.
It was a peaceful life, a good life, A beautifully boring, non-interactive life.
A magical mirror of truth floated closer to the witch who was sitting on her couch, enjoying her meal of mushroom, cabbage, and fish dish.
One could only wonder if she forgot the seasonings… again. Perhaps the witch's only true weakness was her own taste buds.
There's not a spell in this world that can save the witch from awful cooking, but she doesn't mind. After all, she appreciates the small things in life.
But the mirror advised the witch to socialize.
The witch took great offense, so she hexed it to become the Mirror of Compliments.
"Witch, you're the best. People envy your lifestyle. Please, dear witch, keep looking at me—"
Such a drastic personality change for the mirror, but the witch was pleased.
One can only hope to maintain such a lifestyle, but life, fate, and unfortunately, the narrator, had other plans.
Soon enough, the witch would find herself caught in a web of problems.
Knock knock!
The door to her treehouse echoed with a knock.
Who could it be? But the witch already knew.
It was Mr. Beast.
Chapter End.