Her first word was ‘witch’

That’s what she had said ever since she could mutter a word. “Witch..witch”. At first her mom thought that she was trying to say ‘Bitch’ and she’d really have to stop cursing so much.

But after a couple months it became clear, ‘witch’, it was. 

When she was pregnant and found out she was blessed with a daughter, her mother had expected interests along the lines of princesses, dolls, building and climbing trees. Being a witch wasn’t exactly that, but it wasn’t straying too far from it either. Every kid loves a bit of make-believe.

So, her mother bought a black cat - they were due for a pet anyways - and Sayla was over the (full) moon (Pun intended).

This was back when her mother could only find children’s books with stereotypical witches in them. Who had pointy hats, black cats, big cauldrons and wooden brooms.

When Sayla was about 8, and had enough of the stereotypes, they started reading books on magical herbs, spells and recipes. It was a bit dry to read as bedtime stories maybe, but they put them into practice the next morning. And added any ingredient that came to them in their dreams. 

Sayla knew her mother was kinda waiting for this phase to be over. Had half expected it to be done by 5 or something, but she just couldn’t shake it. Besides, it was their ritual for so long now, she didn’t think her mother really minded anymore. She was right. Her mother just hadn’t known many kids whose childhood obsessions stayed with them as they grew older. She’d never had one herself and so, naturally, she didn’t think her daughter would have one either. 

But as Sayla got older, and the phase didn’t seem to fade out anytime soon, her mother grew more and more accepting. Not that she wasn’t before. And she definitely wasn’t judging -shudder- her daughters authentic interests.

One of Sayla’s first memories was getting her first cauldron. Which, of course, was just a copper pot. That’s what all cauldrons are after all. It was one of her most prized possessions.

The first few weeks, any and all recipes had to be made in it. As you can imagine, this meant her mother had to wash it up practically everyday.

After a month Sayla got the job to wash it herself. And she did. Sometimes begrudgingly. 

She didn’t remember getting Neena, their cat. In her mind, she’d just always been there. Neena wasn’t hers, or anyone’s for that matter. But she did belong with them. But Neena was getting older, and she knew that she wouldn’t always stay with them. 

One night, Sayla jerked awake in the middle of the night. Going downstairs to get a glass of water when she saw the broom standing in the corner of the kitchen. Next to the fireplace. She’d swept with it only a few hours ago when her mom and her spilled most of the flour. They’d speculated about whether this was a sign from the universe or a simple mistake. 

When she looked out the kitchen window, it happened to be a full moon. “Well well”, she said, “what a wonderful night fate has picked out again.” 

And Sayla took the broom, let Neena jump on and took off.

The night sky was crisp, chilly and I cursed myself for not putting on anything warmer. Figuratively speaking, of course. I would never curse myself for real. It might work. Curses are pretty hard, but I’d never risk it in vain.

I’d left the city in my rearview pretty quickly. It was more like a town anyway. In a couple minutes I was soaring over the forests and the trees. Neena was purring in front of me. It was a crystal clear night and the moon lit up everything.