The Witch stared at her hands. Plain. Ordinary. Dull. They carried not a single spark or mote of the powers she once wielded. The only energies that flowed through them now were the physical. The metaphysical denied her calls.

Her reverie was interrupted by a knock at her study door. “Miss?” her doll gently called from the other side.

She couldn’t face her doll. Not right now. Not like this. Not so… “What is it, dear?” the Witch responded. Too late she realized that her voice was bereft of the gravitas it needed.

There was a pause. She hoped her doll hadn’t noticed her timbre’s betrayal. “The dishes have stopped washing themselves,” the doll reported. “It’s not a problem. This one can do it, Miss. She just thought you would like to know.”

Of course it was the dishes that ran out first. What enchantments were due next for refreshing? The brooms? The books? The weathering on the house would hold for several more months, but that would depend on how compliant the weather was… Likely she’d need to go into town and purchase matches for the candles and—

“Miss?” the doll called again, derailing her Witch’s runaway thoughts.

“Yes, dear?”

“Is everything going to be…” the doll paused. The Witch braced herself for the inevitable, unanswerable question. “Is everything going to be ok…?”

Quietly the Witch sighed to herself. The Magicks would have to answer her once again. Inevitably. They couldn’t just abandon her completely. Could they…? After all the years… no, decades now spent honing her craft… They’ll answer again. She would wield them again. She would once more weave a glorious tapestry of spellcraft, like none she had befo—

“Miss…?” the doll implored.

Brave face. Game time. She couldn’t afford to waver. Her doll needed her reassurance. It was time to put on her Big Hat. In as confident a voice as she could muster, the Witch called back, “Everything will be fine dear. You’ve nothing to worry your pretty, little head about. Why don’t you start up those dishes and I’ll come down and help in a minute?”

No answer came.

All the Witch received in response was the clacking sound of her doll’s heels walking away from the study door. She hoped the doll had bought it for now. The Magicks would answer her call again. They had to. She needed them t—no. Confidence. Bravado. Was she so shaken that she’d forgotten the first thing about Magick? A Witch does not ask the world to bend to her will. A Witch makes it bend. She would split the Earth and sunder the very Heavens if that’s what she had to do.

She had to. Her doll’s Magicks wouldn’t last forever.

End 🧵