The weather was frigid.

The god of ice seemed content to freeze the lands of Vylia--or at least, that’s how it felt to the young witch, Serif. Bundled in an arctic fox fur coat, enchanted with a warmth spell: she pushes against the icy breeze to the little shop on the corner of Garna and Bleivie.

Finally shutting the door behind her, gentle chimes singing a welcome… She blows a kiss to the room and it lights up on cue.

“Prince, put the kettle on please. Haestith appears to want a faster-approaching winter and my hands do not agree.” Shedding her coat, she summons a dear spirit to take the fur upstairs. “Prince, wake up.” She reaches above her head and taps the floating bowls of fireflies that light the room--waking up the sleepy bugs as she makes her way to the counter where a stack of envelopes sit. She sighs at the height of the papers, and begins sifting through them to find the easiest requests.

A soft but powerful presence makes itself known beside her, and she turns to see her familiar: a large hound with a coat of clouds and the heart of a dragon; a very powerful spirit indeed. He holds a black kettle between his jaws and balances a forest-colored mug on his head--huffing in impatience. “Good morning to you too, Prince,” The witch purrs, taking the kettle and the cup and making herself some tea. She reaches above, beckoning the lemongrass, lavender, and chamomile plants to float through the air towards her. Plucking off a few leaves of each and dousing them in the hot water, the witch sits back; sipping on her tea while she flips through the letter requests once again. “So many curses… Several are family heirlooms.” She sighs, annoyance like a cloud above her head.

She looks down at her familiar who lays at her feet and asks:

“What do you think? Should we keep the shop closed today and redecorate instead of tackle these, Prince?” The creature does not reply immediately. He lifts his head and stares at her… Letting his tongue loll out of his mouth, he woofs in agreement.

~~~~

The day trickles by like honey as Serif and Prince tidy up the little curse shop. They replace incense and renew the crystals in the corners of each room, reinforcing the seal of protection around the building. Potted herbs are tended to and watered with care and the ripe leaves stored for job purposes. Earthly singing rings from a steel pan as it’s played, tuning the rhythm of which they both meditate. They accomplish many quiet things during the morning.

~~~

A muted knock rings at the door. Whoever it is prompts the lightning bugs to shine brighter; the plants to stand up taller, the air to feel much cleaner, and Prince to go ballistic. The familiar launches himself at the door with a flurry of barks and yips and whines. He jumps like a rabbit at the door in greeting to who stands behind it.

“Hey now, careful! You’ll break the door again!” The witch makes her way to the entrance and opens the door. The room chimes with the smile on her face. “Hello, my dear! I didn’t think you’d stop by today.” Stepping around Serif to enter the warmth of the witch shop--and standing firm against Prince’s barrage of excitement--the woman rubs her hands together to get the feeling back in her fingers. “I couldn’t let you sit here in this weather by yourself…”

“Anon… You didn’t have to walk through this chill just to see me;, though,; I would love the company.” Serif takes the woman’s coat and gives it to the appearing deer spirit who kindly bows to both ladies, leaving with a trail of fog.

“Honey, did you spend today tidying up instead of focusing on your requests?” Anon chuckles, bending down to properly greet Prince who may have self-combusted if he had not received any affection within the next ten seconds. “Hewwo Princy-poo! Didja miss me, buddy??” She plays with his ears and fluffs his cheek fur, prodding his tongue to loll out of his mouth, as in love with the woman as Serif.

The witch laughs.

“Yes, I did spend the day cleaning instead of answering the requests… I didn’t feel like answering curses today.”

“Maybe you’d be in the mood for something else?” Anon smiles, standing up and tenderly gracing Serif’s lips with her own. She pulls away, arms around Serif’s shoulders. “I brought chocolate!” She exclaims, excited.

Serif smiles brightly, “Chocolate? You know me too well!” She laughs, holding Anon’s hand and heading to the back of the shop. “Would you like to read with me for the rest of the day? I’ve tended to all the plants and crystals already. The futon in the back has blankets that I just dried so they’re nice and warm and maybe--”

“-actually…” Anon interrupts her quietly, pulling her hand away. Serif turns to ask, “What’s wro-” She stops. She stares down at Anon, kneeling down on one knee with an ornate black little box open in her hands. A simple silver band binding a red crystal sits in the cushion of the box: held up and presenting a promise.

Tears fall like liquid gems: worlds of joy overflowing. Praise and love… Devotion and loyalty… Trust and assurance…

Serif stands with her mouth agape. She chokes out her answer through the happiness constricting her capabilities to think. They weep promises of forever--and then some. Time is slow, as slow as a breath, and as slow as a ring placed on the finger of the heart.

The weather is frigid. But inside their little shop, whispers of sweet nothings and love brew, stirred by the excited twirling of a familiar friend.