When the Mistress
made me she was full of angry things, that’s why so am I.
She pulled
red threads over skin too tight and she couldn’t turn me, so all the ugliness I
was supposed to hide was out for all to see. Like little crisscrossing scars.
But that’s alright.
She messed
up my head a little bit, stitch, stitch stitching. She fixed it as much as she
could, and in the process she found pause.
She looked
at me, me, for the first time. And
sighed.
She rubbed
her eyes and let go of me almost completely, and I thought she would forget
about me.
But she
didn’t.
She put
more gentle things in me this time. Not for the sake of the enemies of our Kingdom,
but for mine. So I wouldn’t feel so alone.
Instead of nails
she gave me a hawthorn berry for a heart, and soft, soft cotton.
And then
she brushed her thumb across my cheek and clothed me.
“Why?” The
others said.
“So he
feels no cold.”
And then
she gave me a sword, the only sword,
and I felt special.
“Why?” The
others asked.
“You never
send a soldier to war unarmed.”
She pressed
her lips against my forehead and her warm air filled my head.
“A witch’s kiss
is a blessed thing,” they said.
She tugged
on the seams of my pepper filled legs and the rosemary in my chest swelled.
Maybe the mint in my cheeks blushed, but just a little bit.
She gave me
hematite so my will would be strong and shiny, and then she whispered it was my
duty to look after the Junglegreen.
“Protect us
all, my brave little soldier.” And before she left she turned and over her
shoulder blew me a final kiss.
This is my
mission!
There are
no other soldiers. I’m the one and only. I protect the Junglegreen and the Mistress
day and night. I march between the Pottedplants and am a diplomat with the Faepeople,
I see who can visit the kingdom or not, depending if they’re good at heart.
When the Mistress
made me she didn’t have to love me, but she did.
The Carving Witch 