The Ox pranced about the meadow proud to show all his might and handsomeness.

‘What a good day to be alive!’, the Ox told himself, as he watched the other animals watching him in awe.

The pastures were lush and the sparkling stream bubbled away at the edge of the forest. To sum it up, the world was just right.

As he was prancing about, the Ox’s beautiful scenery was suddenly tainted by a large Irish wolfhound lying under a sumptuous tree, and making pain filled noises.

The first instinct the Ox had was to go round the tree so as to avoid any conversation. But then, a little voice inside his head said, ‘You are The Ox, you do not avoid anything, not only that but you should tell that smelly old dog to move along and stop dirtying the meadow!’

Encouraged by his own arrogance the Ox approached the whining dog.

‘Ahem …’ and followed it by a polite throat clearing.

The huge grey Dog opened blood shot eyes, and looked up at the well built Ox throwing a shade on him with his large bulk.

As the Dog made no reply, the Ox went on.

‘I say, in the village below there is bound to be a human to help mind your … whatever is wrong with you …’

The Ox stopped there convinced the Dog will take the hint. What animal wouldn’t?

The Dog though did not do what the Ox expected, get up and go, but he let out a low growl, that was enough to signal to the Ox that he would better put some distance between himself and the oversized Dog.

‘Yeah, all right my dear fellow! Feel better!’

The Ox left allowing the other animals to admire him while grumbling to himself about that dirty old Dog. Honestly, some animals!

The day passed in the blink of an eye and soon night covered every corner of the meadow.

The Ox found a lovely, comfy spot and settled in for the night. Just when his sleep was sweeter, he was woken up by unusual sounds, and he was shocked to see that he was surrounded by a pack of terrifying looking wolves.

The Ox did not get too much time to contemplate his faith, when one of the wolves attacked him going straight for his throat, but just at that same moment the old Dog appeared out of the dark night and jumped on the attacking wolf.

The Dog fought the wolves away and the Ox just got a few scratches, but was otherwise safe and sound.

In the new day the Ox was so grateful to be alive! Just imagine, his perfect little world could have been no more, if the Dog hadn’t saved him! The Ox was an honorable animal and he felt he was completely in debt to the old Dog, so he went to express his gratitude.

The only reply he got from the Dog though, was the same low growl as the day before. But the Ox was not easily deterred, so he made it his daily duty to go and visit the Dog.

The Ox would bring water, would provide shade when the sun was too hot, would just chat away to the Dog until an unusual bond formed between the two.

As it turned out, the Dog was just not used to interact with the animals he was quietly guarding. In time though, they both found that, everybody has something to give, even if that might seem doubtful at the first glance and, true friends are sometimes found where pride least expects them.

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Waking up a stray ray of light falling on her arm drew her attention to the red scars marking her. They did not hurt anymore. There was a time when she was young when they needed constant care, but now, in her old age they no longer hurt.

In fact, as she lay there looking at them, bright in the morning sun, Maire wondered when had she got them. The realization that she could not remember surprised her. They had been a part of her for so long, and her life had been so long that now she was at a point where she did not really know when and where she had gotten them.

Maire stood up abruptly as if pushed by an invisible spring. She pulled the covers from her legs and looked at the extensive scars covering them. Some looked like cuts, some like burns, some were just caused by years and years of walking. They were normal scars, usual scars, that every witch got in the course of their life time.

With every spell, with every interference, with every working, witches got a mark on their body so they never took their meddling lightly, and they made sure that they thought carefully before weaving their magic into the human world.

Tears started flowing down her cheeks. Was death close? Was she passing into non existence? Maire never really minded the pain of her scars, but she was now panicked by the prospect of forgetting her history, her past.

Desperate, Maire decided to make a list of all her scars, and to try to remember when and where she got them, at least some, if not all. The memories must be there for sure. Not even witches can wake up one morning and forget it all.

The list was so long that Maire had to continue well into the afternoon to catalogue all her scars. When she was done, she was ecstatic to find that, she remembered where most of them came, and the more she remembered the more she felt like coming back to herself.

By midnight Maire had a complete list of scars and their causes. She was all right, she was not losing herself, moreover, Maire could remember some scars that now were invisible to the eye, scars that had been hidden by other fresher ones.

Some scars were deep and grave. Others made her smile. She had been reckless once. Certain. Fierce in her need to matter. There were marks she would not choose again, and others she would defend still. Youth had not been foolish, only urgent.

She ran her fingers slowly along the pale lines crossing her skin. They did not accuse her. They did not demand remembrance. They simply existed, as the world existed, as the seasons turned without seeking permission.

The list lay open in her lap. She read it once more, then folded it carefully and set it aside. She did not feel the need to memorize it. The knowing had settled somewhere deeper than thought.

Maire laughed then, softly at first, and then with a fullness that surprised her. Not because she had conquered death. Not because she had understood everything. But because she no longer felt compelled to.

The scars no longer felt like sign posts. They felt like weather, passed through, endured, survived.

Outside, the trees bent in the wind. Somewhere a child would fall ill, a quarrel would rise, a roof would threaten to fall. Once, she would have felt the tug of it, the old heat gathering in her palms.

Now she remained seated. Power moved through her, vast and patient, like deep water beneath still ground. She did not reach for it. She did not push it away.

Death had always walked near her path. It did not trouble her now.

There was breath in her lungs. Warmth on her skin. Time ahead not to conquer, not to hurry, but to inhabit.

She leaned back in her chair and let the world unfold without her interference.

And for the first time in centuries, that felt like enough.

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In the old times, the ones humanity barely ever thinks of now, the earth was populated not just by human beings, but also by magical beings.

The humans and the magical beings coexisted and worked together to ensure all were safe and well cared for. But, as evolution has it, the humans were quick to invent things that made their need for help from the magical beings disappear.

So, bit by bit, generation after generation, the magical beings were put aside and they started to live in the shadows of the human world. They were there, hiding, living their life quietly and unobtrusively, hiding their presence from those that did not want them.

And, as all of us, the magical beings had to get with with times, ride the change, and some that did, as did the characters in our story, the Water Fountain Fairies.

With the disappearance of the actual dug out water fountains, the fairies whose existence depended on them, moved along with progress, and attached themselves to what ever water fountain was available.

Many were now living by the water fountains in shopping centers, and were granting wishes to the humans that still followed the old tradition of throwing a coin in the water, others were still roughing it out in the country side trying to find proper water fountains to live by, and some, like the ones in our story were living in buildings attached to small water fountains the humans use to get water from.

The water fountain fairies in our story lived in the National Institute for History being quite pleased with their life, although sometimes, even they had to admit it was quite boring. You might be surprised to know, but not much happens in an institute dedicated to history.

The water fountain fairies were bound to the water, so they could not wander around like the leprechauns did. The leprechauns are the most mischievous little magical beings you can ever meet.

It was not uncommon for leprechauns to read through the researchers’ papers and change what was written about them but they did not like. What is unusual is that, most often, the researchers had no idea the content of their work had been changed. So just that in itself should raise some questions for sure!

Anyway, back to our water fountain fairies. They were good natured magical beings, although a bit nosy and somewhat gossipy.

Once, when they were really bored and needed a little pick me up, they put a spell on the water, just on one big plastic bottle, you know the ones that go glug-glug-crrrk-glug when you take water out of them, so that whoever drank that water was bound to tell the truth. You cannot imagine the mayhem!

The fairies were ecstatic, they knew humans lie, but they could not imagine the extent of it. Of course people put water in small bottles which they took with them, so the water was spread to other people and so on. In the end the truth-telling stopped, but it was quite an exciting time for the fairies, even the leprechauns congratulated them on their creativity.

Now the fairies though were back to their old quiet life and were feeling a bit antsy, so they often entertained themselves by listening to people’s conversations, this is how it happened that they found out about Fiona’s sadness.

The water fountain fairies knew Fiona well, she was one of the researchers in the American History section and often they had seen her zoom past carrying large folders and old dusty books. The fairies liked Fiona so they were really touched when they saw tears run quietly down her cheeks while getting water.

The fairies were able to hear all the story as Fiona told it to one of her close colleagues while secretly chatting next to the water fountain. Seems like Fiona had been in love with one of the professors visiting the institute’s library for years, it was that strange kind of hidden love that only human can carry for years and years, without ever saying a word.

Seems the professor had gotten a job in a different country and in a few months he was due to move there permanently, so now Fiona was heartbroken.

The fairies, in their magical being way, were very bad at accepting defeat, for them there was always something else that could be done, another avenue to try, so they could not fathom that Fiona will be unhappy without even having confessed her affection.

So the fairies thought and thought, they consulted with the leprechauns, who, in a very uncanny way, always knew what to do, they put this down to their Irish sense of survival, they proudly said that the Irish will always find a way to break through on to the other side, so they often used this innate ingenuity to find the most creative solutions to the problems facing them.

So, the water fountain fairies and the leprechauns came up with a plan, all they had to wait for was the opportunity to put it into action, and happily the chance came sooner than later.

One quiet, winter evening, when the institute was almost deserted, the leprechauns let the fairies know the professor was in the library, so the plan could be rolled out.

The fairies put a spell on the water Fiona had gotten earlier from the fountain and now they activated it. Once she took a sip she was bound to confess her true feelings.

The leprechauns locked all the doors of the institute and cut the wire for the card readers that would open the doors automatically. So Fiona and the professor were stuck, forced to talk and deal with the situation together.

Very unusual for her Fiona found herself talking and talking and talking, pouring out her entire soul in front of the man she had admired from a distance for so long.

I wish I could say that he reciprocated, they fell madly in love and lived happily ever after, but sadly that did not happen. The professor was very gentlemanly and kind, but he told Fiona that he did not feel the same but that he is hugely flattered that such an intelligent and beautiful woman would feel that for him.

The firemen came and managed to open the door. The professor left as quickly as he could and Fiona was left on a chair crying her eyes out. She had made such a fool of herself, she could just die …

‘Well, I hope that will not happen for a very long, long time …’

Fiona looked up and was pinned into place by the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. The fireman helped her up and led her to the ambulance waiting outside.

It seems in other parts of the building people did not take so well to being locked up and there had been some desperate calls to the fire department and the ambulance service.

A few days later the fairies were ecstatic to find out that Fiona had actually gone out with the handsome fire fighter, who was actually and MA student in history also, and had often come to the institute, and had confessed to have had a crush on the beautiful researcher managing the library there.

‘Yes! Me! Can you imagine! And I never ever noticed him! How crazy is that?!’

The fairies and the leprechauns were quite happy with themselves, and this was for sure going to satisfy their sense of adventure for a bit of time. Maybe …

Magical beings work in mysterious ways …

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She put her hair up and went on to study herself in the mirror.

Anxiety was not like any other person you have met. She was a shape shifter.

One day looking into the mirror she saw something, the next day, or even later the same day, she could look and see somebody totally different. Still the same person, but sometimes better or, other times, worse.

While putting her hair up she checked its thickness, a bit less than yesterday it seemed. Is her hair falling more than usual? What causes hair fall? She looked closely and, it seemed, the skin of her skull was more visible than yesterday. Was she going bald?

She started to brush her teeth and it was like she could feel every tooth surface, every bit of exposed root. Were her gums receding? She brushed forcefully, intent on removing any trace of foreign matter on her teeth, although she had done the same the previous evening, so for sure there wasn’t any.

She washed her face with scalding hot water, and then, disapprovingly inspected the red blotches on her face. She had wrinkles and the skin was starting to lose its firmness, becoming the texture of rice paper. Anxiety put on an impressive amount of hydrating face cream, and finally, after an exhausting fifteen minutes, she was out of the bathroom.

When it came to putting clothes on, nothing fit well, they were too tight or too loose, the wrong color or length, the fabrics did not work together, it was chaos. In the end she ended up wearing a black blouse with blue boyfriend jeans, a black hoodie and walking shoes. The jacket was an oversized grey number.

Dressed but invisible, just the way Anxiety liked it.

She double checked she had everything she needed in her bag, she put a bottle of water and some crackers in her backpack, and with a sharp intake of breath she left the house.

The morning was fresh and humid. Anxiety loved nature and was pleased to see the trees swinging lazily in the morning wind, to hear the birds singing the song of bird routine.

She looked at her watch. On schedule. What she did not say was that, she had left home with two hours to spare. Just in case something happened. She could not bear to be late.

She looked around and the deserted street reassured her, so she continued her quick walk to the bus stop.

In spite of the early hour already there were twelve people in the bus stop, she counted them. Although that was a lot, she was hopeful they will all get on the bus, it was still early, it was later that the busses became almost impossible to get on.

Anxiety positioned herself around where she knew the bus doors would usually open when the bus stopped. From under her eyelids she looked at the people around her. At that very early time of day, they were all working people of various ages, shapes and forms. They looked ok, so Anxiety allowed herself to check out the sky, the dark, backlit sky, with long, shapeless clouds crossing it slowly.

The bus came, they all got on, Anxiety squeezed herself into a seat and hugging her backpack she allowed herself a brief break, of course while keeping an eye on all those in her proximity.

She knew what each person around her was doing, where their hands were, all their movements, but she had been doing that for so long that, it was like second nature and she could think about her things while also surveilling them.

Her thoughts wandered to worries about her family, about money, about the economy, about wars, about all the things that were going wrong in the world. About their impact on the small people like her. The people nobody seemed to care about.

Anxiety felt herself getting depressed and overwhelmed, but then her stop came. She got off the bus, leaving on it the thoughts that had just formed like a sweeping tornado inside her mind.

Light was now seeping through the clouds, covering the world in a glittering haze, giving the grey city a fairy tale atmosphere. Anxiety was taken aback by this unexpected beauty and, for a fleeting moment, she forgot all about herself and just felt joy. But then, the Tower Clock sounded the hour and she came back to herself. She must hurry not to be late.

Not to be late, make the wrong impression, upset her manager, get fired, not find another job, not be able to pay her rent, lose the house, become homeless, freeze to death …

Gotta rush!

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Motivation woke up trying to forget the nightmares of the night before. Ugh! Why bother going to sleep at all if that was the plan? The cold air made her want to go back under the duvet, but the memories were too fresh to make it appealing.

She wrapped herself in a large, plastic bathrobe, slipped her aching feet into large woolly slippers and shuffled, groaning out of the bedroom.

Motivation was in one of those stages when mornings were painful. She needed to warm up a bit before the pain subsided enough for her to ignore it.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and was forced to look away. The blotched, puffy face looking at her just deepened her dissatisfaction with everything. As she was brushing her teeth a sharp pain shot from one of her wisdom teeth to her brain.

‘F***ing Hell!’, for sure a sign she had no wisdom left, just a shadow of her former self.

When she finally managed to get out of the bathroom, she was already exhausted and dreaded the trip to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. However, years of habit carried her slowly to the kettle, and she made herself a coffee that was not necessarily the best, but at least it was hot.

She dropped on the couch, careful not to spill her coffee, and sat there sipping the hot liquid without any plans or purpose.

Despite being awake she felt that her arms were very heavy and her eyes sleepy. She wished to do so many things, but her body was just too heavy to move and to make it do what she needed it to.

After forty minutes, maybe one hour, the door bell rang.

Very aware of appearances Motivation jumped up and briskly walked to the door.

The postman was there all smiles and brightness.

‘Package for you!’

‘Thank you!’

She smiled back, she made nice, she closed the door after him exhausted.

She took the little box back to the couch and examined it.

She hadn’t ordered anything, not because she didn’t want to, but she just couldn’t be bothered. What was the point?

The package had her name on it, her address, and the sender was some generic name from China, and she could read on it Zhengzhou province.

Motivation did not know anyone in China, and no matter how much she dug around in her brain she did not remember ordering anything online.

What if it was drugs?

No, it had the stamp of having been checked by customs, it was safe for sure.

Motivation could not resist a mystery so she opened the little package. In it, nicely wrapped she found a scarf and a little red bag.

Whaaaaat?

The scarf had a large Burberry label and it seemed luxurious and soft.

In the little red bag there was a little red box and in the little red box there was a small, yellow metal ring.

Confused, Motivation looked in the bag looking for a note or something, and what she found was a certificate of authenticity which said the ring was a Cartier love ring.

Now, this was really extraordinary!

Motivation turned the little ring on all sides, it was so pretty and shiny. It was so small that it only fit her pinky, but still, what a darling!

Motivation was flabbergasted! She had forgotten all about herself and was just in awe of the package she had received. She looked again at the box, yes it was her name on it, her address.

She took out the scarf from its shiny plastic bag, and indeed, it was luxurious and soft. With the little ring on her finger and the scarf around her neck Motivation felt like something else, like somehow, somewhere in the universe, somebody thought about her and sent her those wonderful gifts.

Of course, as you do, Motivation looked up the items online, they were for sure fake, but she did not care, she loved them so much, and that little spark of joy that they brought made her get up, take a shower, wash the dishes and go out for a walk.

‘No more self-destruction!’, she muttered to herself in front of the cake laden shelf in the shop.

Slowly she went to the fish counter and bought herself a nice looking piece of fish.

‘One small step at a time.’

The small ring glittered on her little finger.

On the way home she stopped on a bench, in the park, and the scarf fluttered delicately in the wind. When it touched her face it was like the universe gently caressed her and showed her she mattered.

Motivation inhaled deeply and felt tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. Maybe all she had needed was a bit of kindness, she was not hopeless, she was just exhausted.

At home, Motivation put the ring in its box and she put the scarf neatly folded in the scarf drawer. Then she had dinner and read for a while.

Tomorrow is another day for Motivation to take another small step.

Brick by brick, word by word, choice by choice, you can reclaim control one small action at a time. Motivation thought while settling down for the night.

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Your work will change you, especially when it involves shadows.

When she looked in the mirror now, Solas could barely see any resemblance to the young woman she had been a mere twenty years before. She used to look quite different, with rosy cheeks and bouncy, blond hair.

Now, her skin was pale, almost translucent, depending how the light hit it, and her hair, streaked with large strands of grey had changed color and texture.

Saying that Solas did not care about the way she looked would be a lie, she cared.

She meticulously chose her clothes each morning, she carefully combed her hair, she lovingly selected the jewelry that most fit her mood that day, making sure the crystals on her costume jewelry went with the colors of the chakra that dominated that day.

Solas was a magpie of knowledge, with no formal training she had become a counsel for people looking share the burden of their lives with a stranger. Most often though, Solas would soon become a trusted friend to her clients.

She had read about witches, about shadow work, about different belief systems and she had picked from each what was most interesting or shocking, starting to use it in her day to day.

She had changed her name to match her calling, and over the years she had built a steady group of clients, so much so that, she was quite difficult to book, and usually one would need a firm recommendation from a trusted person.

This is how Paula managed to get her 15:00 pm appointment that rainy Tuesday afternoon.

Paula, a thirty something call center agent, heard one of her colleagues talking of Solas and was intrigued. Paula needed somebody to help her clarify what to do next in her life.

The colleague took some convincing, but in the end gave in to Paula’s blue, teary eyes, to her disheveled appearance, and made the appointment with Solas on her behalf.

‘Maybe you could comb your hair a bit before you go. She likes neat people!’

Paula did as advised. She combed her hair, made sure her clothes were in decent condition, and with her heart in her throat she went to keep the appointment.

Solas lived in a small cottage in Dublin 15, and Paula had been under the impression that the bus ride will never end, and when it did, she did not feel that safe in the small estate with bins parked at all angles and all sorts of debris spread over the green.

She rang the old style door and soon she heard heels walking towards the door.

When Solas opened the door, Paula was a bit startled but did a good job of hiding her honest reaction. The woman facing her was unbelievably thin, with a very long neck, thin long hands, and very long, loose hair hanging down her back, covering more than half her person.

‘Hello!’

Paula’s hand in Solas’ looked like the paw of a little bear. Her hand was squishy with short chubby fingers, almost completely covered by the long, slim ones of the host.

The hallway, the kitchen she briefly glanced over, the living room with large floral armchairs, even the smell, all reminded Paula of her house as a small child. Strange how similar they were, she hadn’t thought about it in the longest time. She didn’t need to, it was all forgotten somewhere in the depths of the Beara Peninsula.

‘Have a seat! I made you some tea.’, Paula was not really a tea drinker, but she did not want to offend her host, so she sipped the fragrant liquid trying to buy herself more time.

As if reading her mind Solas gently nudged her.

‘We have fifty-five minutes, so we best get to work!’

The tea had an almost instant calming effect, and Paula felt her stomach settle and her mind become more focused.

‘Just Chamomile, nothing weird! Tell me how can I support you?’, Solas had sat in front of her and it all had the look of a therapy session, which Paula found quite comforting.

‘It is quite stupid really, like, I am in a great situation and all I can think of is how to run from it … I don’t understand it … it is like I want to blow my life to bits and I do not know why, and I can barely contain myself from doing it …’, a sudden noise upstairs made Paula become quiet.

‘I am so sorry … children!’, Solas got up and walked to the bottom of the stairs. As she was walking away Paula saw, as if in a dream, her clothes change and become a flowery dress covered with an apron, her hair get short and curly, held in place with a tight scarf. She had a full figure now … so different …

‘Paula you come down right this moment!’, that voice!

An incredibly small girl bobbed down the stairs holding a well loved doll …

‘Myrtle …’

When the little girl got closer to the bottom of the stairs, she stopped just out of reach of the clearly crossed woman.

‘Come here! I will not hurt you!’, the voice had a sweet ring to it, but the little girl did not seem fooled, the icy tone lay just beneath the surface.

She could not resist her mother any longer and got closer by slowly descending the remaining steps. As soon as she was within reach, the woman grabbed her by the hair and pulled her close to her face.

‘I told you to be quiet! See, this is why your father doesn’t come home in the evening, he cannot deal with your bothersome self! All you are is trouble! An annoying little girl that nobody will ever love!’

Tears ran quietly down young and old Paula’s cheeks. She had to look away. When she opened her eyes, Solas was standing in front of her with a box of tissues at the ready.

‘We have five more minutes. Anything else you would like to know?’

Paula shook her hear and smiled, a grateful, hopeful smile. Now she knew.

As she got up to leave, she thanked Solas and standing in the doorway she looked up the stairs, and there, she saw little Paula closely hugging Myrle and waving. The hugest, crooked smile beaming on her face.

‘You survived Paula, you built a life for yourself, treasure it and enjoy it, don’t undermine it. You can have a good life, that is ok.’ Nobody had said the words, but somehow they rang true in her mind.

Now Paula could see the green outside was actually littered with toys and the bins had just been collected and were waiting to be put back. The estate now looked quaint and friendly.

Solas closed the door behind her most recent satisfied customer, and stepped out of her high heels.

‘These shoes are killing me! Now … what shall I have for dinner …?’

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Mid afternoon brought a peaceful feeling of relaxation mixed in with silence.

The mall parking lot was almost empty and low, heavy clouds were hanging over the emptiness giving it not an eerie air, but a cosy one, like being covered by a huge, fluffy duvet.

Selene, Lenny to her friends, was resting in one of the empty hair dresser’s chairs and was watching the outside through eyes half closed.

Mid-afternoon, right after lunch, was one of the slowest times of the day. People were either having a nap (what she wished she could do), or working away in their, homes or offices.

Lenny was used to the rhythm of the day, and was startled when a woman appeared, as if of nowhere, and crossed the threshold quickly like she was running from something. The bell above the door rang hysterically unhappy of being abused.

The woman, who looked extremely young, Lenny could now see, stopped abruptly in the middle of the room letting out a great sigh.

‘You have to help me!’, her voice was desperate but firm.

Lenny jumped up pointing to the empty chair.

‘Of course, have a seat! What type of hair cut would you like?’

The woman took a step closer and spoke again.

‘No, you really need to help me! Help- help me! Real help!’, the determination in her voice was fading away.

Lenny understood what the woman wanted, she had seen it on her the moment she had walked in the door, but Lenny could not openly admit it, this was the world they lived in, a world in which witches did not exist, were not acknowledged and their magic was just new age mambo-jumbo.

‘I understand.’, and from her tone the woman saw that she did indeed.

‘Have a seat.’

The young woman sat down, Lenny went through the entire ritual of placing a protective cotton apron on her, combing her hair, spraying it with sweet smelling lavender mist, and then when the woman was almost asleep in the chair, Lenny uncovered the mirror.

The young woman startled at the reflection looking back at her. It was still herself but different, looking in a way that she had never seen herself before.

The image in the mirror resembled a very old, faded picture of a woman crumbling under the weight of her life. Her clothes were mismatched and neglected for, her hair matted, her skin sallow and her eyes lost, lacking light.

Lenny saw the image too and continued to comb the young woman’s hair, while humming in a soft voice an awakening tune.

While the woman stared at the reflection she could see the details clearer. She could see that the woman was extremely thin under her grey clothes, she could see that her hands were red because of all the washing, and the circles under her eyes had become permanent because of the chronic fatigue.

The more she watched the reflection, relaxed under the spell of the hair dresser, the woman understood that what she saw was how she actually felt. It was her inside.

She felt tired, so tired, and burdened, so burdened, she felt lost, so lost within herself that she could not find her way back from the shadows.

‘A change is needed, let’s change the color, and maybe add some loose curls?’, Lenny’s voice was mostly stating an intention than asking a question.

The woman nodded watching herself fascinated and heartbroken in the mirror.

As the cut hair started to fall on the floor, so the woman’s body in the mirror seemed to be less burdened. As new color shone in the tired hair, so the woman in the mirror seemed to regain some of her vitality.

Under the patient care of the hair dresser, the woman saw how her reflection also started to transform, and although she was still thin and tired and a little bit lost, she had found a little ray of light to walk on towards herself.

When the woman left, with a spring in her step, Lenny sat back on the chair and looked at her own reflection in the mirror before covering it.

Lenny smiled at the old crone having tea and a scone.

‘You deserve it!’, Lenny whispered.

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After losing to the turtle Bunny Bun's life took a strange turn.

She was fast, she was maybe faster than she had ever been. The shame of losing to the turtle had motivated her to train to exhaustion.

But, despite her amazing form, race organizers were reluctant to have her in their events.

'I don't know how to say this', an overweight hedgehog told her in a shy voice. 'Nobody wants to see you win...'

After a short break he added:'Are you willing to lose?'

Bunny Bun exploded.

'No, of course I am not willing to lose! That was ... a... hm... accident.'

The hedgehog shrugged his prickly spikes and excused himself.

'Gotta run, the wife has a card game and I need to take over minding the babies.'

And he disappeared in the golden rust of the fallen leaves.

Bunny Bun felt forlorn and purposeless. She had postponed having a family in order to become a high performance athlete.

She had won race after race, until she fell victim to her hubris and all that she had built crumbled. And now, now she felt like there was nothing left for her to do, unwanted and discarded.

Her feet hopped her around until she found herself staring at her sad reflection in the mirror of a cold lake.

The ears hanging dissolute around her face showed her a side of her she was not really familiar with.

Bunny Bun had never had time to think about things, she had always been moving and doing thinks.

She was a mover and a shaker, while this bunny looking back at her, was somebody foreign whose strangeness gave her the chills.

A large tear slid from her sad face and merged into the cold water. When this happened the lake surface shimmered and quivered in an unusual way.

Bunny took a step back, wondering what scary creature lurked beneath the surface, but to her surprise, it wad not a creature, but a shapely woman that rose from the water.

She was covered in flowy verdigris gauze and weirdly was holding a wide glass which had in it two olives and a cloudy liquid.

'Behold I am the Lady of the Lake...' a sudden cough made the woman shudder and stop.

When she recovered, she took a sip from the glass delicately balancing between her fingers and continued.

'Sorry, s'been a long time since I did that, and this water, I swear s' getting colder by the year. Who are you?'

Bunny Bun was sure she lost her mind.

‘Who? Me?’

The Lady of the Lake nodded from behind her glass, floating effortlessly above the shining water.

‘Bunny Bun …’

‘You don’t sound so sure!’, the Lady caught on the tone of disbelief.

‘And what do you do Bun?’, a joking smile flourished on her face.

For some reason unclear to her, Bunny felt compelled to answer.

‘I am a runner … I mean I was one, not sure now …’

The Lady finished her drink and dropped the glass in the lake where it sunk noiselessly.

‘I never could run, not to save my life! Swim yes! Did you ever try swimming? Sooo relaxing! The best thing ever!’

Bunny had never swam, and as far as she knew never had anyone in her family swam.

‘Nooo, never! The water is so scary!’, and she took a step back unconsciously wanting to add distance between her and the lake.

The Lady of the Lake went in and out of the water surfacing closer to Bunny.

Bunny could now see that the Lady had bright purple eyes and her hair was so long that it surrounded her in the water mingling with long strands of water grass.

‘Bunny, if you love running run, if you love swimming swim, if you do not know what you love, try different things until you find your passion.’

The Lady sounded almost sane.

‘Ok, but no swimming!’

‘Yes, Bunny!’, laughed the Lady splashing around in the water.

Bunny found the Lady’s joie de vivre and lightness of being contagious. Without thinking about it she started running around the lake while the Lady was telling her some weird story about a guy called Arthur.

‘That is quite a long tale!’, she said when the Lady had finished and she was resting munching on a wild apple.

‘That it is Bunny, that it is! And just like yours, it is a tale old as time!’

Bunny nodded enjoying the setting sun sliding behind the trees.

She did love running, it was maybe even more than that, running was part of her, and now she understood that, maybe, racing was not.

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In her sixtieth year Maud had become a content, well rounded, little woman.

She had never been too adventurous, but now she could avoid adventure a lot easier than before, as she could bring up excuses as her age, her weight, various ailments when prompted by close or distant relatives to travel and visit.

Maud was happiest at home, with her routine, driving her snug Mini to work, taking her Receptionist seat in the small, glass cubicle she was the only master of, and whose space she occupied almost in its entirety.

Maud was very kind with all the people she met, but she was very private, so only those that had been working with her for a long time or her neighbors knew that Maud had a particular way of being in the world.

Some of her colleagues had got a sight into it once, a few years back, when at a Christmas party one of them got a bit tipsy and while dancing too erratically kicked over a mirror and smashed it.

Nobody got hurt, but for days after Maud talked incessantly about how unlucky it was for the person that knocked it over, as they will have seven years of bad luck. Maud was so convinced of it, and repeated it so many times, that everybody in the center where she worked became very cautious around mirrors.

Maud was not very flexible, but sometimes, totally at random, you could see her nimbly bending down and picking up a coin. It did not matter if it was one cent or one euro, Maud would pick it up and slip it in her pocket (somehow her clothes always had pockets) and would mutter to herself a few words.

One of her colleagues with whom she had been working for a long time, saw her do this, and dared ask about it. The reaction surprised them! Maud was not bothered at all, but she was bright and pleasantly surprised when she answered:

‘Money attracts money! So if you pick it up and you will it to attract money your way, it will!’

The statement could not be disputed and the colleague was happy to have had the action clarified although they could not really believe it was true.

Also, sometimes, the hallway where Maud’s glass reception cubicle stood, would resound with powerful knocks echoing in the quiet emptiness. As her desk was metal, Maud would wheel her chair close to the wood paneled hallway wall, and knock on wood to ward off bad luck or not to tempt faith.

An unfortunate accident happened though once caused by Maud’s penchant for superstitions. During lunch in the employee lounge somebody knocked over the table and the salt contained in a plastic tub got spilled everywhere. Quick as lightning Maud took a big pinch and threw it over her shoulder to blind the devil, only the devil turned out to be the centre’s meek accountant who got hit with the salt right in the eyes.

The accountant yelled from the top of his lungs and a huge commotion ensued. Maud empathized with the accountant’s pain, but did not feel bad for causing it, she was doing a good thing, for all of them. She was keeping them safe!

From that moment on the accountant steered way clear of her and Maud did the same, being somewhat suspicious of the short, stocky man. He looked too buff to be an accountant as far as Maud was concerned.

For a quiet life Maud had her fair share of running intos. She brought a child to tears yelling at her not to dare open the umbrella she was playing with in the waiting room. The mother made a complaint to the center manager who sat Maud down and explained that nothing bad happens if somebody opens an umbrella, it is just an old wives’ tale. Maud begged to differ and left the room huffing and puffing.

Maud’s quirky nature made her an acquired taste, and while there were those that disliked her deeply, there were others that found all her little stories fascinating and they would sit to have tea together in their break listening to her tell them about why she never takes the stairs, or where throwing coins in water originated.

It was clear to see that Maud’s superstitions were quite a compulsion, but that did not stop them from being fascinating. When they were bored and gossiping some of them thought that she needed a really good therapist to fix her.

What they did not know was that Maud’s superstitions gave her life color, they gave it richness and a magical side that embellished it by connecting Maud to a wider reality than theirs.

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George looked from under his yellow, pointy hat at the expanse of green on which he had been placed.

‘This is one big garden!’ he mutter to himself while trying to see if there are other creatures or ornaments he could hang about with.

To his surprise though, the well manicured garden seemed completely empty. Even the handful of plants were extremely trimmed and seemed very well behaved.

‘Ok, this looks good! Not bad at all, if I say so myself!’, George the garden gnome congratulated himself.

To be fair, gnome life is very unpredictable. You never know where you will end up. They build you, they paint you in pretty colors and then, they ship you in the big, wide containers to wherever people with gardens live.

In a huge garden store, George had been waiting patiently for ages to be picked up and taken somewhere, but for a reason or another he was never exactly just right.

He had heard the people looking at him saying:

‘He is too small!’

‘His hat is yellow!’

‘He does not look cute!’

‘You cannot see his eyes!’

‘No, he is not right!’

And as nobody picked him up and valued him, George understood that all those things they were saying about him were bad things, and as there were so many bad things about him, most likely he was bad too, and, for sure, if he ever landed in a garden it would be a bad one.

‘This is not bad, not bad at all!’, but, inside, George was convinced that the bad was about to follow. There was no other way for such a bad gnome as himself!

Then, when a big, unusually fluffy cat appeared in the garden, George was sure the bad are about to start.

The cat looked at him briefly with intense green eyes, and then, impassible, walked on seeming not to care in the least that there had appeared a gnome in the garden.

George was baffled as his expectations of the evil cat were thwarted. ‘Whaaaa …?’

Then, when night descended as a dark, gauze veil, engulfing the garden, George shivered with fright, as he was sure the bad that he deserved was about to unleash itself over the garden.

The clocks ticked slowly along and slugs showed up in the garden, going about their relaxed business of munching plants and gossiping with each other. They said hello to the frightened gnome and followed their path.

When George saw a huge, spiky monster crossing the garden, he was sure that his end had come. The monster though passed him by, while saying hello in a squeaky voice and uncovering a pink face from under the scary spikes.

The nigh was chilly, but George was enjoying it and was fascinated by the unbelievable world living in darkness.

As the dawn came a huge racket was spun from the trees surrounding the garden by the lot of birds that had been sleeping throughout the night.

‘This is it! The end!’

But it wasn’t. In the golden dawn the birds of different sizes landed in the garden looking for food, chatting loudly, and generally being everywhere at all times making a racket and being bothersome.

No bad things happened to George that day either, or the next, or the next. And George started to forget that he was bad and that he was meant to have bad things happen to him. George got used to his new life and even started to enjoy the noisiness of the birds.

George still believed in his core that he is not worthy of a good life, but he accepted it gladly, and slowly, he learnt how to accept that good things happen to him too. Moreover, one of the nosy blackbirds had taken a shine to George and would spend countless hours with him noisily sharing all the gossip from the neighborhood.

Although George was afraid to admit it even to himself, so as not to jinx it, life turned out much better than he ever though a bad gnome would deserve.

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You would think all is light and magic in a white witch’s life. You would! Really! But you would be wrong.

Sometimes even white witches weep when living among humans, in a world where witchcraft and the belief in the magical world has almost vanished.

Witches have no other option than to live hiding in plain sight, tying to survive in a world where they are no longer welcome. It is quite true what they say, being forgotten is as bad as non existence and witches are almost gone, but for a handful who have managed to incorporate their magical self in their human self, and the only belief they need is their own faith in themselves.

As long as these witches believe in themselves, while adapting to the world changing around them, they will survive. They will lead magical lives in the shadows of the human paths they must follow in order to survive.

Faith, faith in themselves is all they need to have to be able to exist in a world convinced that they never existed.

And faith is what started to waiver in a middle aged, white witch living on the north side of Dublin.

In her human life the witch was a dental nurse, employed by a clinic based in the ground floor of a mock Tudor house, sporting brown stripes and fake lead windows.

Kath, the dental nurse white witch, was happy with the little world she had created for herself there. The work was nice and clean, had set hours allowing her to dedicate time to her true calling, magic.

Life was good going until one day Kath was faced with the greenest eyes she had ever seen. The eyes seemed to engulf her and to take away from her the ability to speak.

‘I have an appointment at twelve.’, the man with the green eyes said in a pleasant voice while looking at her intensely.

Kath pressed a key on her laptop and the schedule disappeared which caused her to become even more flustered. ‘This is ridiculous!’, she said to herself while trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism.

‘I am so sorry, the laptop seems to be acting up. Please take a seat and I will get back to you shortly.’, Kath had trouble breathing properly and felt the words were like chunky stones rolling from her mouth.

‘Ok, thank you.’

He went to sit on the chair right opposite her desk and was keeping a close eye on her.

The bit of space between them gave Kath the chance to catch her breath and her laptop restarted. She felt ridiculous, a woman of her age to react like that, even more, a witch who had seen quite a few bad things in her life. This goes to show that life can always surprise you.

Kath made sure she was away from the desk when the green eyed man left the office.

Ever since that first encounter Kath was haunted by the man, but also by the lack of understanding of why had she been so troubled by him. Then, one night, when she was tossing and turning, it all became clear to her. It was magic.

The man with the eyes, there was magic involved, but she did not know what its purpose was or who was wielding it.

The next day Kath checked the appointments schedule and found that he was due for a follow up visit in two days time.

‘Perfect! Enough time to prepare!’, Kath muttered to herself while formulating a plan in her mind. It was clear she needed a self-containment potion. She could not lose herself as she had before.

The potion was easy to procure from a potion making witch working in a pharmacy near by. The two of them knew each other for as long as they could remember, and they both had navigated the changes of the world as sisters, leaning on each other.

‘Be careful! You never know what might be going on!’, Kath took the potion promising not to take any unnecessary risks.

The day came and Kath, although well prepared, still had butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing the green eyed man again, and sure enough, she was still surprised when he walked through the door and came up to her desk.

‘Hello! How are you?’, his voice had a crystal ring to it.

Kath was trying not to look up, but despite the containment potion she did it, and when she did, once more she found herself inexplicably affected by his presence.

‘Hi! Ok. In five minutes. You can go in.’, she spoke like a robot and heat waves were crashing against her heart.

‘Thank you so much! You are so kind!’, and he went to sit.

All this was mind boggling to Kath, the self containment potions had always worked! Never before had she experienced such shyness and awkwardness. For sure he must be one very strong wizard to be able to cause that kind of reaction in a witch as old as her.

Although Kath looked to be in her late thirties, she had been alive for hundreds of years, and in all this time she had never experienced anything similar.

‘I must be getting too old …’, she thought to herself while cleaning an already spotless desk.

‘Hello!’

She looked up startled. It was him.

‘It is me Jonathan Murray …’, he laughed, ‘So silly of me of course you know who I am … I was wondering … aham … would you like to go grab a coffee?’

The waiting area was full but somehow Kath was caught in a cloud of extreme silence.

As she did not reply he felt the need to continue.

‘If you want … can, of course I understand if you cannot. You might be spoken for!’, and he gave an awkward laugh.

Surprising herself Kath answered:

‘Yeah, sure, why not! I am due my break now anyway!’

She grabbed her bag and they both walked out in the warm sun.

They walked for a bit in silence and then after getting their coffees from a near by coffee shop, they sat down at a small table close to the sidewalk.

‘I am sorry if I was too forward, it is just the strangest thing, ever since I met you all I can think about is you…’

Kath frowned slightly while listening to him.

‘No, no it is not like that I am not a psycho. It was just the weirdest thing, I have never experienced that … so I had to talk to you, to try and understand it …’

Kath listened to him recognizing her own reactions in his words but unwilling to share them.

‘So, what do you do?’, she preferred to shift the conversation to more neutral grounds.

‘Painter/decorator and struggling artist. I mean I paint, that is my thing, but I am not good enough to pay the bills, so I do the other kind of painting also. Walls I mean…’

His honesty and ease of being made Kath want to find out more about this unusual man that had made her feel so out of place in her own life. In her very settled, warm and cosy life.

They met again and with each occasion they learnt more about each other and got closer. Kath was still suspicious of the man that had so suddenly appeared in her life doing all the right things, being too good to be true. And, as it happened, Kath’s suspicions paid off.

One evening, weeks and weeks, after their first encounter, the painter invited the witch to his little studio to show her his work. As a lover of beauty and quite taken with him, Kath accepted with no second thoughts.

The studio was crammed with paintings facing the walls and smelt pleasantly like the chemicals he used, that she could sometimes smell on his clothes. The night outside was dark but the room was flooded by a powerful, white light, all the corners of the room were revealed under the exceeding brightness, making the backs of the paintings stand out even more.

Kath thought that maybe he needed that light to paint so did not comment on it, just waited for her eyes to adjust. He gave her a cup of tea and then disappeared among the paintings.

Kath thought that the tea tasted funny, like herbs her friend used to keep in well shut jars. A feeling of unease came over her and at that moment she felt something was wrong. She spilled the tea under the couch, careful not to be noticed in case somebody was watching, and then pretended to doze off.

Not even ten minutes later the Painter came back whistling a strange tune. He called her name a few times checking if she was awake. Kath pretended to be asleep.

He gave her a few more minutes while he pulled out a large canvas and seemed to prepare some paints. While he was doing this Kath’s spirit left her body to take a look at the paintings facing the walls, as it was clear what he was planning, was linked to his art.

Kath’s heart broke. All the paintings revealed women of all ages, of all types, set to pose in very strange ways, set up, obviously, by somebody else than them. The more she saw, the more Kath hurt, and then tears started running down her body’s face.

The painter saw the tears, and like a hunter he was drawn to the weakness of his prey. He got closer and caressed her seemingly sleeping face, touching her painful tears.

What the painter did not know is that a white witch’s tears alter all that they touch. They turn ugliness into beauty, they heal all wounds, they transform evil into good.

So, when the painter touched her tears, he fell down and was transformed, his personality erased, his actions non existent, his thoughts a blank.

Kath went back to herself and left before he could ever see her, making sure to erase all the paintings in his studio, now filled just with hundreds of empty canvases.

Kath went back to her life grateful that it was her whom he had met this time, as that was the end of his wickedness, in the white witches weeping.

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The castle stood tall in the distance and the closer they got the bigger it got. It almost seemed like a plastic prop, plopped in the middle of the scenery awaiting a period movie to be filmed.

When they finally reached it, walking on the cobbled street under the scorching sun it felt even more unreal than before. With its tall towers, roofs gleaming in the sun, huge stone walls that seemed impenetrable.

It was a sight, that was sure!

What made the scenery even weirder were all those people in their jeans, sun hats, taking photos and selfies with their phones. There was this strange visual clash between the people milling around and the building itself, large and sturdy, allowing them to meander through all its corridors, rooms and passages.

‘How old is it?’, Rita asked almost whispering.

‘You have a phone, don’t you?’, his gruff reply took a bit from her excitement, but that is how he was, how he had always been, she had learnt how to deal with it, not to let it upset her.

They had traveled all the way to Ireland to trace his ancestors, the people that in the eighteen hundreds had left their home, everything they knew, in search for a better life.

They had visited some cottages that were like the ones they would have had all those years before. Rita looked around and was not sure how entire families, some even with twelve children, had been able to live in them. Some of the cottages were smaller than her entire wardrobe.

And they were so tiny. When they went in they both had to duck, and then had to go out quickly as the walls seemed to be just too close.

‘We forget sometimes,’ Rita told herself, ‘how things have changed.’

Rita was not of Irish descent herself, but as he was so proud and he had instilled the same pride in their children, somehow she felt an allegiance to the people that fought so hard to survive and succeeded.

Now, after seeing all of those things from their past, she felt even closer to them.

As they were making their way slowly around one of the towers, Rita caught with the corner of her eye some movement in a small hallway, and she was sure she had seen somebody struggling.

She wanted to tell him, but even before she started to speak he gave her such a stern look that she swallowed her words and pretended to blow her nose. Rita slowed down her pace, and then she snuck back to the hallway, where she thought she had seen the flutter of a summer dress.

To her surprise the hallway was empty. Unwilling to give up, she followed it until she came to face a heavy, wooden door. Next to the door a thick, red rope lay discarded on the floor.

Rita listened and was sure that she heard movement behind the beautifully decorated door. There was nobody else but her on the hallway, so she decided to chance it and check what was behind it.

Rita pushed slowly the door that opened noiselessly to reveal a round room, with floors covered in a crimson, thick carpet. The walls were covered in book shelves, top to bottom, the only spaces between them being three large windows that flooded the room in the most unusual, iridescent light.

She was stunned, never had she seen such a beautiful space, such a relaxing space, and she had had her fair share of spa trips and wellness retreats.

The breeze blew through one of the open windows and Rita saw again the fluttering dress, that is when she saw a woman standing next to one of the shelves reading something.

‘I am so sorry!’, Rita was all flustered.

‘I did not want to disturb, I thought somebody needed help, and came here … such a beautiful place …’

The woman turned and Rita was surprised to see that there was something familiar about her. She smiled without saying anything.

‘Do I know you? You seem vaguely familiar …’

The woman still did not reply and Rita tried to place her. She did not know anyone here, this was his place, his ancestors’ came from there, not hers. To be fair her family had not had this obsession with ancestors, they just were wherever they lived, happy to have a roof over their head and to be safe.

The woman put down the book she was looking at and came closer. Her eyes, the eyes were the first thing Rita recognized, they were the eyes she had been starting at for the past sixty five years, they were her eyes.

The woman was a very young Rita. Once she recognized herself, Rita also remembered the dress. It was the first dress she had made with her own hands. She was twenty two and all she wished for was to read, to sew and to create wonderful garments. That had been her calling which she had pushed away when she fell in love and started her family.

Rita had been happy with her choices, she loved her family and her gruff husband, but still she felt sadness for a part of her that had disappeared along the way.

The dress her younger self was wearing was stunning, and Rita could remember the work she had put into it. ‘The drawing must still be in the attic somewhere…’

‘Rita, Ritaaaaaaa!’, his voice managed to sound both annoyed and concerned.

She turned to face the door and, when she looked back, the room had disappeared together with her former self, leaving behind just the large windows through which light flooded the empty space.

The door opened abruptly and he stood there all sweaty and out of breath.

‘There you are! What got into you to go in here! Honestly woman, sometimes you don’t know what you are doing!’

He did not wait for her to reply, but turned around marching back to where he had come from.

‘Ritaaaa, come on!’ There is a concert downstairs and you know how you like that music!’

Rita smiled, indeed she did like that music. She bopped after him in the narrow corridor throwing one last look to the light filled room, where she was sure she saw the colorful hem of a summer dress flowing in the breeze.

Rita did not question her encounter, but it did leave a deep mark and awoke something in her that she did not even remember feeling.

When they got home, after she unpacked everything, did the wash and their lives went to their old, familiar rhythm, Rita went into the attic and took down a wooden box that had lived there quietly for the past forty something years, since they had bought that house.

Rita’s passion was now fully awake and in bloom. She set up a small studio in her wardrobe and with a brand new sewing machine (it took her two hours just to learn how to thread it from Youtube), she started drawing and sewing.

They were not very good, her drawing or her clothes, but they brought her so much joy that somehow it did not even matter.

Rita had answered her inner calling and that was all that she had to do.

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‘If you stand really, really still, they will not notice you and they will not hurt you.’

The Garden Gnome told the quivering leaf hanging next to him.

‘No movement whatsoever! They will just pass you by as not interesting and unwanted. And that is what you want, to be left alone!’

The Garden Gnome did not confirm understanding from the green, shiny leaf, he was just happy to have somebody to chat to. It had gotten so difficult these days to find somebody trustworthy to chat with.

They all seemed to have ulterior motives, nobody was just genuine nowadays.

The Gnome sat motionless surveying the garden.

Black birds were coming and going making noise and keeping busy with building yet another nest.

‘Wait ‘till the cat sees it!’, the Gnome muttered to himself making sure he was as still as possible.

The female Black bird (she was Brown actually, but in the old age tradition she had taken on the name of her husband) was carrying big smocks of dry grass somewhere in the ivy covering the garden walls. Her burden was bigger than her head, and the Gnome wondered how was she able to see where she was flying with the grass pointing at all angles in front of her eyes.

‘Whatever!’, the Gnome muttered to himself and made sure to remember to stand completely still so as not to draw attention.

That was when a large wood pigeon landed close to him and started to pick at the grass looking for seeds. The Gnome really would have liked it if all these birds had gone somewhere else, but unlike him, they did not sit still, they flew all about the place, made lots of noise and were a nuisance to the Gnome that just wanted to pass unnoticed.

Days were blending in nicely one into the other and the Gnome happily gave out to the sparrows, the doves, the finches, the black birds, the wood pigeons, and when they were at a safe distance even to the crows, all, of course, making sure he was motionless and unnoticed.

Until, on a bright, sunny day, the Gnome felt himself being plucked from the comfy garden soil and brought to the water faucet. Here, with quick hands, the woman of the house cleaned him and then, once done, put him up on a table to dry in the sun.

The Gnome felt so exposed there, high up, for everyone to see, freshly washed, with his camouflage of green moss and dirt all cleaned up. The end was near, he could feel it in his terracotta bones.

As the day progressed and the Gnome dried out, he could feel a nice warmth coming over him.

‘So, this is how the sun feels!’, he was surprised at how pleasant it was. He had never allowed himself to go to the sunny part of the garden, because that would have implied for him to move and everybody knew that movement can mean the end.

The Gnome spent the night high up on the table, and the next morning he enjoyed the most wonderful sunrise. He had never seen anything like that before and part of him was still in disbelief that it truly existed.

All these things were in the world, all these colors, truly mind boggling.

Another day spent in glorious sun, and the woman and the man came out of the house and joined him. While they were chatting companionably, the woman pulled out a box of paints and painstakingly started to paint him, bringing back to life all his beautiful colors faded by all the years spent hiding in the darkest, most humid corners of the garden.

When she was done, the Gnome was in awe of how beautiful his colors were and he was surprised at how happy that made him. He had forgotten all about what it means to take care of yourself and what effect that has on your state of mind.

Once the paint was all dried and he was ready, the woman returned him to the garden by placing him in the sunniest and most visible spot, she knew he usually liked to hide, but she thought to give it a try, you never know, maybe he had a change of heart.

And, as it turned out, he did. The Gnome loved his new spot, all nice and dry on a large flag stone, in a place where the sun seemed to shine only its gentlest rays all day, out of the way of the cat or the hedgehog, where he could still see all the birds and make sure they were behaving themselves.

Sometimes, when he was sure nobody was looking, the Gnome would even allow himself a little dance of happiness as sometimes, the happiness he felt needed to be expressed as otherwise he would burst out of his nicely painted shell.

‘This is happiness!’, the Gnome muttered to himself, while being battered by the Irish rain, ‘to know you are where you belong in the world.’

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There was this red cottage somewhere in the deep forests of the Slieve Bloom Mountains.

The cottage had a deep, slanted roof and it was red, because, its owner had read somewhere in a book that, copper powder mixed with fish oil and made into a paint protected the house from rot and damp.

The book she had read that in had come from a traveling pixie on her way back to Sweden.

The hag that lived in the cottage was called Nóinín and she was a herbalist, coming from a long line of herbalists performing their craft all over Ireland.

I would not be able to tell you how old Nóinín was, but what I can tell you for sure is that she had seen the seasons passing over the silky mountains hundreds and hundreds of times.

Her looks were those of a well preserved, taken care of woman. It was obvious she had out of this world knowledge about herbs and plants. Her skin was free of wrinkles and her dark, like covered in flour hair, was braided in two long, thick braids framing her beautiful face.

Her eyes were the color of amber and when she first met him, the shock of stumbling over a human being in her woods almost made them black with anger.

She tried to get rid of him, to scare him away, but for some reason, the seasoned hunter would not allow himself to be pushed aside.

Out of all these forced interactions a beautiful companionship blossomed.

The hag and the hunter would spend interminable days walking the forest picking plants, chatting and enjoying each other’s company.

As a favor to her, the hunter stopped hunting, and the hag was humbled by such a significant action. It proved how important her company was to him. Until then she had been perfectly fine by herself, but now she discovered that when he was away it felt like she was missing something, although she was not able to put her finger on what it was exactly.

Things went like this for about two or three months, and then Nóinín, the hag, had to travel to one of her sisters across the bog and the fields, to honor a time old family tradition. The hag and the hunter said their good byes and vowed to see each other in two weeks’ time.

The hag left with a heavy heart, but at the same time looking forward to see her sister and share all that had happened. Across the bog and across the fields the hag walked chatting across the way with the wind and the world.

On her way back, the closer she got to her woods, the more her heart grew anxious with the desire of being together again. Nóinín walked faster and faster until, she could not bear any longer, and started running across the fields, up the hill to her red cottage in the woods.

He had promised to wait for her there, but the closer she got the stranger the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach grew.

The cottage was dark and quiet. Nóinín called out to him, but nothing moved just the forest animals stirred, scared by her shouts. He was not there. The hunter, her beloved, was nowhere to be found.

Nóinín was heart broken until she got into her cottage and then she was angry.

He had robbed her. How did she know it was him??? The cottage was magical and only beings that were allowed by her could pass the threshold. And right before she left she allowed him to go in without her. And now … all her precious books, all her mementos gathered over hundreds of years were gone, stolen, by him.

The hag was not sure what made her angrier, the fact the he had stolen her things or that he had fooled her, and she had actually fallen for him.

Nóinín locked herself in the cottage, put a new spell on it making it invisible in the forest and fell on her bed crying, her hurt and anger pinpointing her into inaction.

I would not be able to tell you how long she sat there crying her heart out, berating herself for her foolishness How did she not see the signs? How did she not see beyond his kindness and good humor? She wanted to be fooled that is how, it was all just her fault.

And the crying continued until one day when something snapped inside Nóinín and she decided for the first time in hundreds of years to leave her cottage and go out in the world looking for him.

She had no idea of what she would do when she found him but she knew that if she stayed there she would just cry herself away until she melted completely into her tears.

With nothing but a small bag of creams and potions Nóinín left her beautiful red cottage and ventured into a world that was totally foreign to her.

‘I am such a fool!’, she whispered to herself as she started her journey.

Days and nights passed and soon Nóinín was out of the woods finding herself entering a busy town filled with the strangest things. Big, round, things that were floating across the sky with little baskets attached to them, seemingly carrying objects. With people dressed in very colorful clothes, each having a long stick supporting their walk.

Nóinín was not sure why they were all walking like that as they seemed well able and not needing a crutch. She was surprised to see, when she went to the inn looking for a room, that even small children had their own little sticks and were walking awkwardly supporting themselves with the sticks.

As she watched them she saw that actually the sticks were more of an impediment than a support. The poor children could not run and jump and play, they were hindered by the sticks nobody ever let go of.

After a good dinner consisting of steamed broccoli and cheese, while she was sipping a hot cup of ginger tea in the dining room Nóinín ventured a question to the inn keeper, a sturdy, round woman that skillfully maneuvered her stick among the busy tables.

‘Excuse me, may I ask you a question?’

The woman seemed surprised by the formal way of addressing her and amused got closer to Nóinín’s table.

‘Of course darlin’…’

Nóinín tried to find a way to ask without breaking any unknown boundaries.

‘Aham … the sticks. I could not help but notice how beautifully decorated they are. Is this a long tradition here?’

The woman smiled, a wise smile, slightly tinted at the corners with sadness. She came and sat down, gently placed her stick by her side, and with her hands crossed in her lap she told Nóinín all about their sticks.

‘A long time ago, longer than anyone here can remember, there was a very naughty boy whose father was the mayor and the richest man in town. One day the boy refused to listen to his teacher, got up a tree and he fell. He broke his leg so badly that he could never walk without a crutch ever again. The boy was extremely unhappy and hated the fact all the other children were jumping around and playing things he could not because of his crutch.

So, the father, because he loved his son so much, and he had the power to do so, he forced all the children in school to carry a stick. The parents tried to speak up, but the mayor had too much power.

To make it easier for their children the parents also started to carry sticks, so the young ones don’t feel different or punished. Soon everybody in town was walking carrying a stick and using it as a crutch, and it has been like that for ages and ages. That is us now, as unusual as it might sound.’

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Nóinín was grateful to the inn keeper for her openness and her story and when going to bed that night she thought a lot about the people walking with crutches as a tradition.

The next morning she said her goodbye to the inn keeper.

‘This is for you, a cream that will help you walk without your stick if ever you want to do so. Thank you for your hospitality!’

As she was waving good bye the inn keeper threw the cream in a bin, there was no need for that, they were fine as they were and had been so for generations.

Nóinín decided that she had quite enough of traveling and that the hunter can do whatever he wants, she will not waste one more minute of her life on him.

Once she was back in her wonderful, red cottage she did a through cleaning and made space for all the new books she needed to find.

Sometimes, when she was wondering through the woods looking for herbs, Nóinín would think about the stick people and wish them the best wondering if they ever used the cream she had left … altough she had a good idea of what the answer to that was.

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Magic, magic everywhere, but not a spell for her. Better said, she did have a spell, a dry spell that was.

Moira looked outside the window gloomily. The Irish weather, the perfect reflection of her desolate self. Oversized grey clouds loomed in the sky menacing with the storm to end all days, but she knew that it was just business as usual for the weather here. It was like this one minute, and the next the clouds would part suddenly making place for the blinding sun.

Moira had had enough. She drew the curtains shut with an abrupt movement and went to wallow in her unhappiness on the couch. If only she could read, but she knew she couldn’t, her mind drifted by itself to the events of that morning. Why didn’t they want her there? She was one of them after all.

Yeah, she couldn’t perform any magic to show them she truly was a witch, but she was, she felt it in her bones, in her core. If they were true witches, they would have felt it, they would have known.

All bundled up on the couch Moira revisited in her mind the large, square room she had found herself in just a few hours before.

She could see the large windows, the paneled walls, she could smell the heat of the bodies moving about spreading a mix of perfume, almond odor and talcum powder. The mix of smells, the heat and the constant chattering made them all feel like a very busy insect congregation.

Moira was happy to be there but she felt tensed and awkward. The rest, all seemed to know what to do, what was expected of them, but Moira did not, she felt like an outsider and all she wanted was to belong, to be one of them, seen, recognized and accepted.

When it came to introductions, they would say their name and a word or two about the field of work they were doing. For example, an old, plump, curly woman, dressed in a plum colored two piece, introduced herself as Siobhan, crystal healing and somatic massage.

Or another woman, thin as a stick and wearing the brightest yellow dress Moira had ever seen, firmly shook her hand, looking at her intensely with piercing, blue eyes and introduced herself as Solas, shadow work. Moira was not even sure that was a real name, but there, at that moment, it did not seem to matter all that much.

‘I am Moira…’, her voice trailed unsure of what to say next.

‘Very nice to meet you Moira. And, what do you do?’, Solas’s voice was calm and clear lacking pressure, but in a way commanding an answer.

‘Ah … I am a witch …’, before she got the chance to continue, a frill covered woman from behind her, gave out a bellowing laugh.

‘Did you hear that? She is a witch!’, and the laughter continued now accompanied by other new ones.

Moira got all flustered and felt faint.

‘You need to give us more than that Moira. We are all witches here.’, Solas was comforting and encouraging.

Moira nodded unable to look up from her shoes. All the air from her lungs seemed to have gone and she was unable to breathe in any new one.

‘Stop laughing ladies, that is not the way to treat a fellow witch!’

‘As if!’, the disdain in the voice knocked Moira down completely and turning around, she made her way out of the room running as far as she could.

She had looked forward to this for so long and now the pain of being rejected was more than she could bear. The Witches’ Convention turned out to be a nightmare.

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She had hoped they could see it in her, that she was like them, that she belonged with them. Now she was all alone again, with no idea of what to do next.

Moira had taken the bus home feeling dejected and disillusioned. For so long she had considered herself a witch, it was her thing, what made her special and unlike the rest of them all, of all those she could not relate to, and now, it turned out she was not one of them either. She was resentful and upset.

Maybe they were not witches! How about that? Not real witches at least, with real powers. What is that, crystal healing, shadow work, somatic massage?!? Oh, please! Give me a break!

Real witches cast spells, they changed shape, they created potions and, and they could fly …

That is when the idea sprung into her mind. Real witches could fly! She would prove them she was a real witch, she would fly and that would show them!

Imbued with the righteousness of her idea Moira thought about how to make it happen. She needed to study and she needed to try it all out before actually showing up in front of the witches.

This was a plan! She set about creating a list with all the things necessary for her endeavor. Books, a broom, a really good broom … Moira looked at the timeline. Oh, this will take her a bit of time, she might be able to join the witches in a year, maybe two. But it was ok, she had so many things to do!

With her mind going a million miles an hour Moira laid out the plan for her learning path. This will do nicely!, she said to herself, and a pleasant feeling of purpose and belonging comforted her.

This will do nicely indeed! First stop, the library!

Ain’t life grand!?!

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It was 2007, he could remember it well, when he knew that he wanted to be a Wizard. Not wanted, no, that is the wrong word, that he was destined to be a wizard.

He had read all the Harry Potter books, over and over and over, until that reality was as real as his.

He was seventeen now, too old for Harry Potter books, they were uncool with people his own age, so he had to hide his interest so the others would not laugh at him.

Or maybe he had to hide it because, each time anyone made fun of anything Harry Potter related he hurt, he actually felt pain, like somebody was hurting his family.

Which maybe they were. Harry Potter and his world were so familiar to him like his own little room, in their quaint house, in the small village situated at one of the ends of Ireland.

His name was not Harry, although sometimes he fantasized it was, his name was Finn, he had dark, lustreless hair, a pimpled face, dark blue eyes, and in general features that, it seemed to him, will never come together to combine in a pleasant way.

Finn’s most treasured possessions in the whole wide world were his Harry Potter hard back books. It had taken him a long time and a lot of trouble to gather them, and now he was fiercely protective of them. Nobody was allowed to touch or handle them in any way.

When his younger siblings started to have an interest in reading the books (not much to do at the end of Ireland, and when it is bitter cold and windy you cannot play outside) Finn would only lend them the cheap charity bought books.

This was then though, now, seven years later, Finn was twenty five, living in Dublin, working as a plumber’s apprentice, sharing a house in Fairview with three other lads.

As he was the poorest he could only rent the box room, which was truly similar to a box. As you entered it on the left side you had a single bed ending in a small wardrobe. He also had a small table with with a stool in front of it. And that was it.

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Finn was only too happy to have it. He had a window and a door of his own, and that was more than he had ever had.

He did not want to live in one of those rooms with bunk beds and many people, so he never complained about how tight the space was or how he could barely fit in the small bed.

Sometimes, on Sundays, when the world was quiet he would take out from under the bed a little wooden box, beautifully carved, and he would bring out of it his priceless Harry Potter hardback books. He would check them to make sure there is no mold or anything, he would check the bindings and then, when he was satisfied they were alright, he would start reading one of them allowing himself to slip into that wonderful world he knew so well.

The accident took place on a Thursday afternoon. It was just one of those freak accidents that become part of the folklore of the area where it took place. Only this time it would be the mythology of Ireland.

They had driven out, Finn and the registered plumber he was apprenticing with, to a house in Togher, to work on a sink that had started leaking.

When they got there they found it to be the most routine job ever, change the tap and job's a good 'un. The plumber said that Finn can do it easy, he will wait in the car.

The woman living there was busy upstairs so Finn was left by himself to finish the job.

The plumber was almost falling in a sweet, sleepy daze when the scariest scream he had ever heard reached the car. He jumped out and when he got to the kitchen the most horrific scene unfolded in front of his eyes.

Finn lay on the floor, blood everywhere, the woman kept screaming and in one of the corners of the kitchen a small animal, that looked like a fox, was frantically trying to escape or hide.

In the most unbelievable way possible, the fox had bit Finn’s left carotid artery and he had bled out well before being found.

What nobody knew was that in those few minutes while he was lying there on the floor, Finn had become a wizard, he had gone to Diagon Alley, chose his wand and had made it all the way to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where he was welcomed with opened arms.

Finn had never been happier in his life than in that moment when he felt he was finally going where he always had known he belonged.

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The woman walked slowly glancing at her phone and then around her. She was never able to figure out which direction that Google maps arrow was pointing towards. Only when she saw it eating up little dots on the map she was sure she was going in the right direction. Crumlin boasted handsome houses with large green spaces between them. She had never been, or maybe she had passed through by bus but never registered it.

The phone showed she is just a few minutes away from the address she was looking for, but instead of feeling relived she felt dread and doubt. Was she crazy to come here to see this woman? Sally had convinced her! God knows how Sally had this power of convincing people of the stupidest things! She should run for president at some point! She could charm the skin off a snake!

Although, in fairness, she herself was to blame for blabbing on and on about her troubles, Sally was just trying to help. What in the world possessed her to get involved with two men at the same time? It was so out of character! Now she was in so deep with both of them that she had no idea how to go further! If she chose one, should she admit that at some point there had been two? Will she lose both? The rabbit saying came into her mind! Annoying ancestral knowledge!

Sally went on and on and on how the clairaudient can help her clarify to herself what she should do! Clairaudient, what a word! She had to google it. People that hear things! But, is it not like they hear the dead? She had asked Sally, very suspicious of this new information that had just entered her world.

Yeah, yeah, that too! Buuut! Buuut! Sally had brought her face very close to hers to make sure she had her undivided attention. It is much more than that! She can hear the future! You in your future saying things! It is outstanding! Trust me! She will blow your mind!

Famous last words!

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But, she did take the advice and had made an appointment online. What a world where you can book a clairaudience appointment online, pay for it and then you just go about as it is another normal thing in your day.

Finally, she stopped in front of an inconspicuous three bed semi-detached house that could have been in any street in Ireland. Nothing about it drew attention, if anything, it seemed almost to blend in the row of houses it was part of.

Paula struggled a bit with the drive gate, but then, when she stepped in she was surprised to see that from up close the house looked so much brighter and more colorful. If felt like she had stepped through a wall of transparent fog which kept the house faded and once past that, a burst of color rejoiced the senses paired with beautiful, enchanting smells.

While she stood there, admiring the flowers around her, the big blue door opened and a woman stepped out of the shadows. She was everything Paula did not expect a clairaudient to be. Instead of a New Age tie-dye kind of person, the woman was wearing high-heels, a grey wool two-piece, perfectly tailored to her, glasses and a strict bun on top of her head. She looked more like a corporate accountant than somebody claiming to hear voices.

Paula felt overwhelmed by the entire circumstance and remained there, pinned in place, looking at the woman that had invited her in. Understanding the situation, the latter walked out of the house, after blocking the door with her foot by pushing with her impeccable shoe a big door-stopper in the shape of a black cat.

‘I have to do that! You have no idea how many times I locked myself out! And the only way in is to climb over the back gate! Do you see me doing that in this outfit? No way!’, she gave a warm, relaxed smile while extending her hand.

‘Caragh O’Reilly! Nice to meet you!’, she was now closer and Paula was drawn in towards her without really knowing why.

‘Paula Smith, nice to meet you too!’, in a strange way this introduction relaxed Paula and she felt able to follow the woman in the house.

The interior proved to be yet another surprise, it could have been literally any house in Ireland, nothing memorable, nothing meant to stand out. With the corner of her eye, Paula could swear she had seen the door stopper cat get up and walk away giving her an arrogant look.

‘Come, come!’

The woman opened a door that was not easily visible as you walked into the house, actually, if it hadn’t been pointed out, you would for sure miss it and just go past it not registering it is there.

When Paula walked in she was dumbfounded. The space, that from outside seemed a small box room under the stairs, was actually a large living room with walls covered top to bottom in bookshelves. There was a large fireplace and on the wall above it there was a large mirror adorned with a steel rose frame. Strangely enough the mirror seemed to be something like a TV, as it showed a winder landscape with big snowflakes falling. The room was warm though, heated by a bright fire burning in the fireplace.

Oh, wow, she really went all out to create the setting didn’t she?! Paula thought to herself while taking a seat on a chair that the woman had indicated.

‘I made us some tea! Nothing like a hot cup of tea on weather like this!’, Caragh said pointing to the scenery in the mirror.

Paula did not know if she should laugh or just get up and leave. It was full blown summer outside, the flowers were in bloom, the woman seemed not all there. Not being able to decide what to do she just sat put. Freaking embarras du choix! She really needs to sort that out!

‘Shall we begin?’, Caragh’s voice was soft and understanding.

Paula nodded not really sure what to expect.

‘Tell me, how can I help?’

Silence. Paula felt that now, when she was put on the spot she could not put into words her query. She was surprised to discover that she was ashamed to tell this woman about her goings on. For sure she will think she is a floozy, easy and with no morals. Her grandmother would be so disappointed in her!

Seeming to understand everything that was not being said, Caragh reached out over the table reaching out for Paula’s hands.

‘May I?’

Nodding, Paula allowed her to take her hands and cover them with her own perfectly manicured ones. Strangely enough, on the right hand, the clairaudient had a green, sparkling ring that reminded Paula even more of her grandmother, the woman that had brought her up when her own mother, struggling with depression and anxiety, left to join a permanent retreat in the Slieve Bloom mountains. More like a cult, her granny used to mumble when she got all worked up, but at least she seemed ok there, aloof and not really connected to the world, but at least alive, and sometimes that is all a parent can hope for.

‘Tell me, how can I help?’

The warm touch, the sight of the ring, the memories of her grandmother whom she had not thought of for so long helped her to open up in a way she did not expect she would be able to in front of a stranger.

‘I am so stupid! I got involved with two men, and the problem is they are both so great and so loving, but I just cannot go on, I cannot keep lying to them, I am starting to hate myself more and more, I am not able to make a decision though, I just do not know which is the best choice, and I do not want to give both of them both. And then, after I choose, do I tell the truth? Do I admit to lying for so long? I am running after two rabbits, will I lose them both?’

She took a pause to breathe and as the clairaudient did not say anything she continued.

‘I feel so ashamed, but it just happened! If I look back I do not even know to pin point the moment when I started lying to them. It just grew so fast this situation that now I am overwhelmed and I do not know how to get out of it. I need your help to figure this out! Which one do I choose? I need to make sure I am choosing right, I do not want to find myself ten years from now thinking what might have happened if I had chosen the other one. I want to be sure I am making the right choice and be happy with it.’

Caragh smiled, let go of Paula’s hands and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes were bright and at close inspection it was like you could see the light in them moving at the same speed with her thoughts. She took a sip of the tea in which a sprawled purple flower was floating.

‘Ok, I get it.’, Caragh was nodding her head in understanding.

‘Have some tea!’

Prompted, Paula could not refuse and picked up the beautifully decorated china cup. The flower in the tea looked unusual but the tea itself tasted amazing, like hibiscus and pineapple, as it was lukewarm she just drank it all leaving the purple flower stranded at the bottom of the cup. Looking at it Paula could swear she saw it sparkle, but then her attention was drawn again to the ring on Caragh’s finger. The ring seemed to catch the reflection of the falling snowflakes in the mirror and light was moving inside it.

When Paula looked up she was startled to find herself facing her not so long lost grandmother. Strangely enough she was not scared, she just felt the happiness of recognizing somebody you deeply love in front of you.

‘Granny!’

The woman smiled and Paula was overwhelmed with warmth and joy.

‘Granny, I miss you so much! Oh Granny, I am in trouble! Please don’t hate me!’

The woman facing her shook her head.

‘Paula honey, what did I tell you it is very important to do in your life?’, the voice was that of her grandmother’s and in quick succession it brought back in Paula’s mind all the advice her grandmother had given her over the years. Which one, there were so many?!

‘Be good to myself? Be compassionate? I don’t know …’

Silence fell and the woman in front was just watching her, waiting.

Paula closed her eyes trying to remember.

‘I know! Be true to myself!’

When she opened her eyes she was faced again with the clairaudient looking at her intently.

‘Oh, I like the sound of that!’, the woman sounded nothing like her grandmother now.

Paula shook her head in confusion and felt like she had just come back from a deep sleep.

‘I can swear I heard my grandmother! That I saw her! That is not possible …’

‘Oh but it is! I heard her too! She sounds like one hell of a woman! Cookie? Peanut butter, made them myself!’

Paula declined the offer, she still had her doubts about the tea she had been given.

‘They are here if you change your mind. A good seance always makes me so peckish.’

And she started to gingerly munch away at one of the large cookies.

‘Tell me about her, your grandmother.’

Paula sat in the warm, cozy room and was reminded of similar moments spent in her past in the company of her granny, in front of a fire and with the rain tapping against the windows. Life made sense then, her grandmother had a clear cut way of looking at things that just seemed to always dissipate any doubts one might have had.

Thinking about it, talking about it, it all came back to the forefront of her mind and all the old woman’s teachings came alive again in her. Out of them, the most important one Be true to yourself.

When she left the inconspicuous house in Crumlin, Paula felt a wave of gratitude to the woman that had supported her to reconnect with her inner self, to Sally for pushing her to come here and to her grandmother for teaching her how to live a fulfilled life at peace with herself.

Paula now knew she will make a decision and that it will be the right decision for her, true to herself and fair to those she loved.

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Teresa, wearing a loose shirt, baggy jeans and old trainers, walked up to the podium and with a gentle knock on the stand in front of her called for attention.

She looked at the women gathered there and felt a pang of regret. What a pitiful sight! What they had been and what they had become…

Do you know that Ireland, in spite of its tiny size, gave the world an astounding number of witches? True, they were not as sophisticated as their French or British counterparts, or as exotic and memorable as their Spanish or Italian ones, but they were good, sound healers and carers, which enabled them to use their craft all over the world.

‘Thank you for joining this quarter’s meeting! Very nice to see you all here!’

The room grumbled and shuffled in their seats.

One of them, wearing a worn out shop attendant uniform, stood up and went to get some tea from the little refreshments corner the committee had set up.

Teresa was starting to feel overwhelmed by the lack of energy her colleagues displayed, and regretted ever putting her hand up to be communications officer for the Coven. It was obvious she was not doing a very good job. All her attempts at What’s Up groups and newsletters had flopped.

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Even now, she was not sure if those that were there had joined for the meeting or the snacks, or out of boredom maybe. The room seemed hot and oppressive.

It felt like the lack of belief of the witches in themselves, permeated the very fabric of existence and they were just left muddling through endless days of immortality.

Still, they all longed to be with those of their own kind, needing to relax and leave the guard down, even if just for a short while.

‘So, how are we?’, Teresa took a sweet, encouraging tone.

Grumbles, mumbles and chairs scratching the floor replied, but no words or anything she could cling to.

She was prepared for this, this time she would not just give in to their disillusionment, she had a plan. At the feet of the podium Teresa had placed, neatly folded, a precious cape, a cape as old as time, that had belonged to Dirri, one of their oldest and most feared ancestors. Nobody knew Teresa was in possession of this hooded cape, in recent times the witches even started to doubt that it existed. Teresa had it though, as she had other treasured clothing that had been part of creating history.

As a shapeshifter that used clothes to take on the appearance of their last wearer, Teresa was one of the few keepers left to mind and treasure such priceless items as the hooded cape of Dirri.

The witches in the audience were getting ready to leave, she could see by their movements and shifty looks towards the door. That is when she knew that if she was serious about it she had to act right then.

With a swift move Teresa picked up the cape and swinging it around, in one expert move, she draped it over her shoulders, tied it and put the hood on. The witches puzzled at first became entranced with the sparks, which turned out to be glittering snowflakes, that spread all over the room in the swift flow of the cape.

The whiteness of the cape was so bright that it looked like the person on the podium was lit by a powerful light. The room froze, watching in awe their ancestor hovering over the stage. They knew it was magic, but somehow their own disbelief was so deep that even they were surprised by the magic unfolding in front of them.

The white, cloaked silhouette made strange sounds like the waves hitting high cliffs, like howling winds running across the Burren. The witches were both scared and fascinated, and if you were to watch them closely you could see that small changes happened in their countenance, like they were focused and they understood why they were there.

Silence fell over the room like a protective blanket, and in the absence of sound the witches got the chance to turn towards themselves and connect to the magic within. Bright snow was swirling around and the magic in them shone through, rebuilding the witches from the inside.

Hoping that her little reminder of whom they were helped, Teresa took off the cape and sat there on the podium waiting for the room to recover. When the snow melted and the light returned to normal, she was happy to see that the witches were now smiling, they were engaging with each other seeming content to be present at the meeting.

Pleased with herself she gave them a few minutes and then called the meeting to order. They had an agenda to keep to after all.

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Teresa buttons up her blouse and adjusts the skirt.

'Well, what do you think?', she gives a demonstrative twirl for the woman slumped down on a chair in front of her.

'You look just like me!', her eyes are huge with wonder. 'How is this possible?'

'Magic!', Teresa's tone is light, but the word is said with a serious face.

'I don't believe in magic ... and yet, here you are ...'

'You must have done something right to get all the way to me. Now, tell me your story!'

Teresa sits down on her oversized library armchair and, with a cup of hot chocolate, gets ready to listen and assimilate the story, the gestures, the mannerisms of the woman facing her.

'This is really difficult for me to speak about, because of the uncertainty and because of what it means if it is true. I do not know if this is true you know, so I could never share it with anyone. What would I do if it is all in my head? If it turns out I am mad?'

Her hands seem close to breaking, it is that hard that she rubs them together. Teresa covers them with her right hand and the soft touch has a calming effect allowing her interlocutor to continue.

'It all started a few months back. I got this really bad tooth ache and I had to find an emergency dentist. You know how it is, when the pain is so horrendous, you would go to see anyone! You would do anything for the pain to stop! It is so difficult in Dublin to find a good dentist, honestly. With the help of my house mate, in the end, I did find one that would see me the same day. We went there, everything was fine, the dentist gave me some good pills, did an x-ray and said that he needs to see me at a later date when the swelling has gone down. He gave me antibiotics to take and so on. We went home and everything went back to normal.'

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Maggie put on her coat, threw her pouchy bag across her body, then sat down on a little shoe cabinet next to the door. She just sat there motionless, trying to muster the courage to go out the door. She had thought about it ever since she had heard about the store, the new shiny tarot store, opened right in the heart of Dublin.

She had heard stories about it, about all the wonderful things that could be found there, but a part of her never believed they were actually true, mere exaggerations.

Now though, she had to go, not just out of professional curiosity, but because she actually needed a new tarot deck. Hers, the working one, had just given the ghost the previous evening and now she needed a new one. Of course, like any self respecting tarot professionals she had loads more decks, but they were not for usual readings for customers, they were collection decks, that she handled with care and tried to touch as little as possible.

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Unlike her, the cards did not last hundreds of years, especially the ones that had been used frequently, so now, Maggie found herself in a pickle. Go out buy a deck and start making it her own as soon as possible, or order it online, not knowing if it was exactly what they described, wait a few days, and then start the process of syncing with the cards.

No, it could not wait, she had to go there. No matter how much she dreaded it! She was afraid of navigating this new world, that moved so fast that she could not keep up. Needs must!

Maggie had gotten into this situation exactly because of her stubbornness not to interact with the world. She was happy to spend her days in her little worker’s cottage in Sandymount, doing readings for people, taking long walks on the beach, reading her books and sometimes entertaining other witches she had been friends with longer than even she could remember.

It is easy to step out of the world, but then when you get back in, it is so different that you need time to adjust, and adjusting takes a lot of time especially when you are a witch too old and too settled in your ways to want to go with the flow of change.

Maggie stood up abruptly. She was determined to do this! She was a witch after all, she could handle a few nosy people. She straightened her hat in the mirror and smiled at the very young woman looking back. A long time ago she had decided to stick to a young age, it just felt right, and overtime her body, strong and reliable, had served her well.

Other witches, like her friend Teresa, the shapeshifter from Navan Road, had chosen to be middle aged forever, others liked to be older, they felt it suited their wisdom and experience. Maggie had enjoyed her younger years tremendously, so she decided to honor them by never letting her body age.

Still apprehensive about her visit, she pushed on through the busy public transport and then walking confidently the winding streets- she had been there long before they had been built- she got to a little square into which the narrow street opened up unexpectedly.

All around, imposing Georgian buildings stood like fierce guardians of the little central space. In a strange way it reminded Maggie of a very deep well with the sky somewhere far above her head. No, no drowning, not just yet. She whispered to herself while scanning the facades for the sign pointing to the shop. Then she saw it.

A few steps above the ground, with a large curved window full of sparkling incense holders, dream chasers, colorful scarves draped every which way, shiny gems spread everywhere. The window display seemed to beam and beckon. No cards though. Maggie felt a pang of disappointment. What if they didn’t have any?

With small steps she walked over and pushed the heavy door. A little bell announced her entrance and the smell of incense hit her. Maggie looked around for a living being and behind a huge glass pane she could barely distinguish a very thin man. He was standing up but that was noticeable only if you got really close to the glass.

‘Hello!’, Maggie was waiting to get noticed.

The man looked at her through very small, thick glasses, that covered only the eyes themselves, and the thought that, this is how grasshoppers must look like when they take a human form, formed into Maggie’s mind.

‘Hello…’, his voice was even fainter than hers and he seemed unprepared to answer any questions.

‘I was trying to faint a tarot cards shop … Do you know …’

‘Oh, this is it!’, his face brightened and a thin, long arm did a grandiose presentation gesture towards the wall behind her. Maggie turned around.

‘Ohhh!’, she was stunned.

An entire tall wall was covered in shelves and in the middle part there were hundreds, what seemed like thousands, tarot decks. Towards the top, there were endless books on tarot, and the bottom was closed, inaccessible without opening closed doors.

Maggie was in awe. She had been alive for a few good hundreds of years, but never had she seen anything of this magnitude. Up close, she could see there were tarot decks for the strangest and most unbelievable things. Cats, there was not one, but a few tarot decks with cats, white cats, pagan cats. Some linked to Celtic mythology and themes, Maggie was drawn like a magnet to them, but at a closer inspection she did not resonate with the scantily clad fairies depicted in them. Maggie’s head started to spin and felt overwhelmed. How was this possible? While she was out of the world, the world had changed so much!

It used to be that tarot was this arcane trade performed by readers in dark, back rooms. Now it was this expansive, colorful universe she had to get to know to figure out her path.

While she was standing there, trying to get her head around all of that, and gently touching and looking at cards, the Grasshopper came and joined her.

‘Starting out, are you? It is nice to start young, it can take a life to discover the tarot, and sometimes not even that is enough.’, and he gave a wistful smile.

Maggie looked at him waiting for him to go on. Although she was almost three hundred years old, she felt lost in front of all those possibilities.

He opened a hidden drawer and pulled out a beautifully designed box, covered in clovers of shiny green lacquer.

‘This is the last one of these that I have so I set it aside, but I think you should have it.’

From the box, he took out another smaller box and when he opened that one Maggie could see Pixie’s cards.

‘Oh Pixie!’ She said to herself remembering the wonderful friend she had.

The grasshopper took out the cards and when he stretched his arm to show her the cards, Maggie could see on top the card with her cat. In an instant she was taken back to that moment when Pixie, playful, added the black, naughty thing to the card.

‘They are so beautiful! I am so grateful to you!’, her voice expressed the authenticity of her words.

‘I knew you would appreciate them!’

He took the cards and went back to the till.

‘Forty euros please.’

Maggie paid and happily said her goodbye.

With the precious box in her bag she walked dreamily away looking forward to bonding with her new cards.

It is unusual this bright, new world, but there still is place for witches in it, they have been together for so long, for sure they can make things up.

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