There was rose quartz all inside the cave. Pink overlapping pink until the eye grew sore. A single witch, shrouded in white tassels, sat quite still on the ground. She slipped her hand into her pouch and quietly laid out five rounded crystals on a tree stump before her. The witch placed a finger on top of each stone, her middle finger coming to rest on a deep pomegranate red crystal. It vibrated slightly under her touch.

A crescent of light filtered into the cave through a single crack. The witch opened her mouth and bit her bottom lip. The air was fragrant. Her almond eyes focused on the red stone. She began to hum, from the back of her throat, a slow melody. She parted her lips and let the sound grow. The pink quartz sparkled around her, echoing her invocation. The witch picked up the red crystal and held it under the shaft of moonlight, she murmured a single word prayer.


The moonlight seemed to dim. The witch held her breath, her head tilted toward the pink ceiling. She performed this invocation once a month, every month. The crystal trembled in her soft palm.

A thin breeze entered the cave. Within its whisper something small, something tiny started to fall through the crack. It cast a shadow on the quartz walls as its blood red body tumbled over itself again and again. The witch let it fall, watching serenely as the rose petal landed, finally, on her navel.

The witch released a deep sigh. She always put pleasure first. Rose quartz was her favourite aphrodisiac. Smiling, she scooped up the crystals and returned them to her pouch. She could hear meowing in the distance. In the ethereal world it is a truth universally acknowledged that a witch in possession of a feline companion, must take care of her pussy. Within seconds a snowball of a cat meandered into the cave. The witch petted its white fur and plonked the purring creature into her empty cauldron.

It was time to leave. The witch attached the cauldron to her dragon bone broomstick and strode outside. A midnight sky awaited her. The witch swung her leg over her broomstick and kicked off into the night.

‘Leave the bats alone Violet,’ she murmured, the cat withdrew its claws but kept its eyes fixated on their fluttering wings. The witch was flying to a place she deemed an unorthodox heaven, a place she truly belonged where the roses grew wild and the women grew wilder. The planet Venus winked at her brightly as the witch skimmed the treetops of a large forest. She focused on the shadows, looking for a faint gap in the trees. Spotting her opening she descended rapidly, her feet coming to rest on a leafy enclosure. Violet meowed in petulant thanks and then hurried off in search of food.

The witch sat calmly underneath a broad oak tree and ran her fingernails down its rough bark. The tree shivered under the witch’s touch and morphed delicately into an uncouth wood nymph. The nymph pushed her tousled hair behind pointy ears and knelt beside the witch. A long scar glimmered on her cheek.

‘I knew you were coming,’ the nymph said. ‘I drew you a milk bath and stirred it with honey.’ The witch blushed an almost criminal shade of crimson.


Words: Brigitte de Valk, Illustrations: Shauni Adekoya